I do not own American Horror Story: Freak Show.
But this isn't about the freak show. This is a love story.
In the Absence of Light, Darkness Prevails
Hope and Strings
As Elsa began to find her way again, there was another damaged body that needed the talented, sure hands of a simple carpenter.
A man who had lost an arm just below the elbow in a factory accident.
A man who needed hope.
A man who needed compassion.
A man who needed a chance.
A man who needed Massimo Dolcefino.
And when her gentle Italian spoke to her of it, she saw a most wonderful opportunity.
An opportunity to be a part of something good, something outside of herself.
A way to pass on the grace of new limbs and new hope as they had been passed on to her.
"Massimo, allow me to come with you."
He considered it, then shook his head.
"No, cara mia. The man is in pain and may not be in his right mind to entertain a lady."
Her temper flared.
"I do not wish to be entertained like some mindless, flighty female only concerned with herself! I want to help!"
He removed his round frame glasses and gazed at her with renewed interest and attention.
She continued speaking, her voice rising with passion and fire.
"I want to help this person, like you helped me! I want to be a part of it!"
She paused.
She had no skills, no understanding of the procedures or techniques with which to grant this faceless stranger new hope and possibility.
She knew it. Massimo knew it.
"I can . . ." she stammered, pleading quieter now, remembering to control her fire. "I can . . . comfort him, prepare him for you. Show him my legs so that he will see there is hope."
Massimo was gently smiling at her and she suddenly felt very self-conscious after her sudden outburst.
"Very well, then, cara mia. If that is what you wish."
She nodded urgently.
"I do."
And so they went.
The factory worker lived in a poor section of Berlin with his four children and heavily pregnant wife. His elderly mother lived with them as well.
All living in a two room dwelling no bigger than Massimo's small space.
And now they had no means of employment.
The eldest boy, only eleven years old, had taken his father's place on the assembly line.
He was young and strong yet.
But the factory conditions and miserly income would soon rob him of that joy and light.
But he went, the good, strong son.
And provided for his family.
While his father stayed home in shame.
And now they welcomed Massimo and Elsa into their lowly surroundings.
The grim faced man sitting on ancient, nearly broken down furniture.
Two thin wisps of children playing on the floor.
And a solemn girl who stayed close to her worried mother as if protecting her from any more grief and tragedy.
The mother's belly was ripe with child.
And yet there was no joy left in her face.
But Elsa, having been rescued herself by the gifted, generous man who called himself a simple carpenter, felt at her core that Massimo could return the possibility to their lives.
And so she was his steadfast believer and their hope.
"We have no money to offer you, herr. We are close to starving."
Massimo opened his bag, seeming unconcerned with the pitiful declaration.
"No matter on that. We shall see first what may be done."
Elsa offered a flask to the man and he took it from her tentatively.
"Drink," she directed gently. "He must inspect the stump and this will help numb your pain."
The man took a swig, grimacing at the liquid fire within.
She recapped the flask and handed it back to the carpenter.
Who traded her a large syringe of penicillin, murmuring simple instructions.
The children on the floor stopped playing and stared in growing fear at her as she cautiously approached their father.
"What is that, fraulein?" he inquired with a trace of anxiety in his tone.
She tried to reassure him with confident, kind eyes.
"Penicillin. It will keep you from getting an infection and losing the rest of your arm. Or your life."
She injected the amber liquid at the elbow of the unmangled arm, drawing a hiss of concern from the pregnant wife.
Returned the instrument to the bag and moved aside to allow Massimo to begin his inspection.
As she stood and watched the carpenter inspect the ragged stump and converse with its owner, she felt a tug on her yellow dress.
It was one of the smaller children.
"Is that man going to help my papa?"
Elsa nodded, fascinated by the tiny creature in her frayed poka dot frock.
"How can you be sure?"
What mature words to come from such a young child, Elsa mused as she knelt carefully beside the child onto the floor.
"Because he helped me," she relayed gently.
The child immediately looked toward Elsa's hands, which were undeniably flesh and blood. And back into Elsa's dark eyes, ripe with skepticism.
Elsa smiled again and reached for her left leg, unrolling the stocking just enough to display the rich wood that made up her lower limbs.
The child gasped in surprise, her entire small face an 'o' of disbelief.
She reached out, the tactile child, toward the oddity.
And Elsa watched the child touch her wooden shin.
And she did, caressing the smooth wooden with her tiny fingers.
Then drew back with wonder upon her narrow face to gaze once more at this strange lady.
"You are like Pinocchio!" she whispered in awe.
A child's murmur can be louder and carry further than an actor's stage whisper.
And of course her mother heard her.
"Greta! Do not say such things to our guests!"
Elsa shook her head kindly at the fretting mother and waved her hand dismissively.
"No, it's quite alright, Frau. She is only honest, yes?"
Then Elsa raised her arms up just a little to the child and acted as though to inspect them closely before returning to her former position.
"Alas, no, my dear child. I am no Pinocchio," she whispered conspiratorially. "For there are no strings on me."
And the child stared without words for a moment before reaching out, plucking a thin string from the lady's skirt and showing it to her.
Elsa scoffed gently, winking at her as she took the fabric from her tiny hand.
"Well," she amended lightly, "perhaps just one."
And looked up to the mother for consent.
The mother hesitated, then nodded with a ghost of a smile.
And Elsa stroked the child's blond braids.
As Massimo hid his smile and focused on planning the creation of a man's new arm.
I thought a bit of light fluff would do nicely after so much heavy stuff lately. Hope you enjoy! :)
Thanks to MaverickPaxAPunch, Mango Marionette, and my mystery guest for your wonderful, wonderful reviews.
Figure we'll wrap this up by sometime next week. But Massimo and Elsa still have a little more to tell.
As for my husband, my caring mystery guest, he's having surgery Friday. And he's a little nervous. But I'll keep you guys updated. Our anesthesiologist yesterday visually and auditorially resembled George Takei in the most soothing way I can describe. They're even going to play spa music during surgery and recovery so he'll wake up calmer. How cool is that?!