“What did you think when you first watched the puppet show?”
“I wished I could have watched it as a child, with the wonder that comes naturally to them.”
“The puppets are violent. Why do children delight in violence?” Mo shook his head in mock disappointment.
“Puppet shows were originally satire for adults, and Pulcinella, like Punch fromPunch and Judy, was often associated with characteristics of the devil. But in the eighteenth century he became a little more benevolent, representing the greater good, even if through violent means. People were used to seeing violence, and humor helped to balance such unsavory aspects of life.”
“I didn’t ask about the history. Answer my question. Why do childrendelightin violence?”
Aida tried not to show how flustered his questions made her. She had only tangentially explored the psychology of the puppet shows, preferring to stick to the history of the tiny theater. “They aren’t responding to the violence—they’re responding to the uniqueness of the mode of storytelling. There’s excitement in watching a figure fight off injustice, even if it is only perceived injustice.”
“They’re watching a puppet beat the shit out of another puppet and they think it’s hilarious.” He was leaning against the farwall, his arms crossed, staring at Aida. “Didyouthink it was hilarious?”
“I did,” she said, although she felt dirty as the words fell from her lips. In this context, it sounded terrible that she had found such behavior funny.
“Do you also delight in violence?”
“No, I don’t.”
“What a conundrum we have here,” he said, chuckling and drumming his fingers on his upper arm. He stared at her, willing her to speak.
Aida held her ground and waited for his next question.
“It seems that violence can make even normal people happy. Would you agree?” Mo smiled again, but this time there was something softer behind it. “You ever think about the Colosseum? Thousands ofnormalpeople, rooting for real bloodshed. Makes you wonder how far we’ve really come.”
Aida exhaled slowly, keeping her frustration in check. “There’s a difference between enjoying a story and condoning real harm.”
“Is there?” His smile faltered for a moment before returning. “People used to cheer for blood. And here you are, cheering on fake violence.”
“You are distorting my words.”
“But I’m not incorrect, am I?”
Aida couldn’t deny that he was right. She thought of all the violent TV shows and movies, all the video games she had played, the books she had read. She had grown up watching the Road Runner repeatedly destroy Wile E. Coyote, laughing every time his head was blown off or he fell off a cliff.
“We delight in watching the destruction of bad things,” she said, but she knew it sounded weak.
“What do you consider a bad thing?”
Mo’s needling was starting to grate and her retort was sharper than she meant it to be. “I don’t know what this has to do with the work I’ve done in the last three months.”
Mo pressed on. “So now our conversation is a bad thing?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Oh, but you did.” Mo broke into loud laughter. Then he seemed to notice the recording device on the table. “But, my dear Aida, I will refrain from continuing this mode of inquiry lest my partners accuse me of scaring off our little novelist.”
He gestured for her to stand and leave. Aida was surprised... She had not covered most of her work in the last quarter. She gathered up her bag and went to the door.
“You’ve done well today, Aida,” he said as she put her hand on the door handle. “Very well.”
Aida raised an eyebrow at the praise. He seemed sincere. But when she looked back, he wasn’t interested in her and was instead fiddling with the recording device. Perplexed by everything that had just happened, she opened the door to go.
“Wait.”
She turned and Mo was coming toward her, pulling an envelope out of his jacket pocket. He handed it to her, then gestured for her to go before turning back to the recorder.
Aida waited until she was in her hotel room to open the envelope and gasped when two stacks of €50 banknotes fell onto the bed. She stared at the money in shock. They had just boosted her salary when she was longlisted for the National Book Award, and now MODA was throwing more money at her. Why? Then she thought of all the times she’d struggled to convince bosses she was worth her salt, and smiled.
