The Hearth

Louis Marshon was a master puppeteer. His life was consumed by his art. Forty-five years a virgin, he was uncomplicatedly asexual. Neither gender attracted him. Relationships with real people were less stimulating than quiet evenings alone in his shop, lovingly maintaining his puppets, and fashioning new puppets from many and varied a material.

He had traditional wooden marionettes, molded plastic, stuffed toys, hand puppets and finger puppets. He fashioned puppets out of garbage and junk. He made fantastic creatures and commonplace humanoids. He brought them to life on a stage or at a clearing in the park. People put tips in his briefcase when he performed. He spent whatever was disposable on more parts, paints, and material.

People in his life could not understand his obsession. His parents encouraged him as a child to pursue it; but as he grew into adolescence with no sign of pursuing anything else, they expressed concern.

“You can’t make a living this way, son,” his father said. “What if you get married, have kids? How will you support them with this? You’re very talented, but this is a hobby, not a career.”

“I won’t get married. There will be no children,” Louis replied, “but my puppets.” Louis didn’t know how to express his indifference to both sexual and emotional relationships. It never occurred to him that he could be anything other than what he was.

His father laughed in disbelief, but as Louis got older, Thomas Marshon came to accept that his son was telling the truth. He and his wife Margaret were thankful their daughter went on to give them grandchildren and did their best to be understanding of their son’s strange lack of passion for anything but his work.

Louis’ little sister Magdalene had three children. They loved to watch their uncle do his work. He let them explore the shop and play with the puppets. He showed them how the puppets worked and put on shows just for them.

It was moments like that, seeing the children smile and laugh at the fruits of his labors, that he would feel the intense ecstasy of emotional connection. Always the audience delighting in his creations—not in him, but in his creations!—would give him the feeling of elation that resulted from no other situation.

Louis also felt great joy in imparting his knowledge, in seeing the curiosity of the children about the ability to build, to create, to render personality to this inanimate object; and, of course, they always wanted to know how he threw his voice. He hoped to one day mentor someone to his profession. He made a point of getting to know his neighbors. He invited them and their children over to explore his shop and see a show.

Yet the children would grow out of interest in his work, relegating it to fond childhood memory, baubles compared to the ambitions and aspirations that seized their own hearts.

Louis despaired. Forty-five years, and he loved his children, his puppets, his dearest friends; but what would become of them when he was gone? Who would make them speak to the world, to delight the young and the old alike with their antics? Who would make them live on? He desired nothing so much as to know that they would. In this way he was as much a doting parent as anyone.

One day, after an exhilarating show, a woman approached him while he was packing up. He saw her at many of the shows, and talked to her a few times, but could not remember her name, though he recalled seeing her with another woman.

“Hello, Louis. That was a fine display today. You really make them come alive! I always enjoy your work.” She seemed to realize from his facial expression that he was trying to grasp something in his mind. “We’ve talked before. My name is Evelyn?”

“Evelyn! Yes!” He laughed. “It was in there, but I couldn’t quite get it. How are you?”

“Oh, well enough.” She clasped her hands together and bit her lip. Looking away, she said, “I’ve got something very strange to ask you.”

“Okay. Ask away.”

“Um...” Evelyn took a deep breath. “This is going to sound crazy, I know, and I’ll understand if you’re creeped out, but please know that I ask because there is no one in the world whose talent I respect more. I’ve watched you put on shows here at this park since I was a little girl. I always wanted to take you up on the offer to explore your shop, but—”

“Your parents thought I was a child molester?” He laughed. It wasn’t uncommon for people to suspect it.

“Yes! Oh, do you get that a lot?” He shrugged and she went on. “Well, what I wanted to ask was...” Another deep breath. “Will you be a sperm donor?”

Louis didn’t know how to reply. What would this woman think if he told her he’d never even been sexually aroused? He recalled his father’s bemused disbelief at the notion that his son would never be interested in love. A long moment went by while Louis smiled to himself, looking inward. Evelyn was encouraged, so she went on.

“You see, I’m a lesbian. My partner and I want a baby, but we didn’t want to just roll the dice with whatever’s laying around at the clinic. We discussed other men we know, but I kept coming back to you. There must be something in you that makes you so perfect at what you do, and I’ve never had cause to believe you are in any way malevolent, despite my parents being so paranoid and judgmental. What do you think?” She was still biting her lip and wringing her hands.

“I think you and your partner should come visit me at my shop, and we can talk it over. Truth is, I don’t know if it’s even possible, but I am intrigued. Can you come by for dinner later tonight?”

“Sure! Bree and I will be there! Is it still over there across the street? The old Victorian?”

“Yes. Seven okay?”

“Yes. Should we bring anything?”

“Only if you prefer to have drinks with your dinner. I don’t drink, but I’ll be happy to feed you. Takeout okay?”

“Sounds great! See you then. Thank you so much.”

“Happy to oblige. I really appreciate fans of my work, and I’m always glad to be able to find a way to show them. Thank you so much. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to finish gathering my things. See you at seven.”

“Definitely, and thanks again.”

They smiled at each other, shook hands, and went their separate ways.

***** * *****

The old Victorian house belonged to his parents, who moved out and left it for him. The basement was his workshop since childhood. Every puppet and part had its place, and he kept them organized.

As he puttered around, putting things away, his mind wandered through memories long suppressed of a confusing, troubled adolescence. In high school, girls were attracted to him. His sister, only a year younger, told him all her friends thought he was cute, but why wasn’t he interested? He hadn’t known what to say. Some girls got angry with him. Many of the boys made fun of him, called him a fag and a queer and a homo; and made jokes about how he liked to play with himself, him and his puppets.

Then there was Kyle. Kyle was the closest he had to a friend and playmate growing up. They were in the same class and lived down the street from each other. Kyle liked to help Louis dress his puppets, helped with the actual carpentry sometimes, and even helped him put on shows.

One day Kyle kissed Louis. Out of nowhere, he leaned in and put his lips on Louis’ mouth and held them there. Louis didn’t respond at all. He just waited. After a moment, Kyle pulled away and looked at Louis searchingly.

“If you’re not gay,” Kyle said, “and you’re not into girls, what are you?”

“Are you gay, Kyle?”

“Duh! Everyone seems to know but you! That’s why they call us fags and homos! They think we have a thing!”

“Well, I don’t know what I am. Uninterested, I guess.”

“Surely you get horny?”

“No. I don’t know.”

“You jerk off, right? You have to.”

“What do you mean?”

“Pull the pud, rub one out, clean the pipes! Jerk off! Masturbate! Don’t you wake up with come in your pants, then?”

“No.”

By this time, they were fifteen. Louis knew about ejaculation because of sex ed, but he never ejaculated, so far as he knew, nor had he ever felt compelled to try.

He simply did not possess the same biological impetus to have sex that others did, for whatever reason.

Now someone wants him to help make a baby!

He knew he would be telling Evelyn and Bree no. But it had been so long since anyone wanted to speak with him about anything. He could only admit it to himself now. He had no interest whatsoever in being a sperm donor and was sure he couldn’t do it. But he invited them over so he could have some company.

He felt a sudden crushing despair. It assailed him infrequently, but when it did he could only sit and stare into nothing while the same thoughts arose to pester him, always some version of:

Who will ever love me? Why must I remain alone?

He knew, of course, that his family loved him. But they were family. He had no friends. After Kyle discovered he wasn’t gay, they drifted apart. Kyle lived states away now. Occasionally, when he was in town to visit other old friends, Kyle would stop by the park or the house to say hello, but they were two different people living in two different worlds, and, pleasant though it was, it was always a brief, cursory exchange.

There was no one in Louis’ life that loved him in anything resembling an intimate manner. In these moments of despair, he wondered if his life’s obsession was a diversion from this hollow, soul-sucking pain. Usually, when the sorrow passed, he would go back to his obsession and forget. But Evelyn’s request pried the wound open a little more and now he found himself probing, searching beyond the veil of sorrow for something he never encountered.

***** * *****

The two young ladies showed up promptly at seven with a couple bottles of wine and, best of all, warm regard for their host. Their smiles made Louis smile, and the last vestiges of his despair dissipated like fog disperses before the sun at high noon.

He ordered Chinese from the takeout place down the street. White rice, vegetables, sesame and General Tso’s chicken, all arranged on his dining room table. He grabbed some wine glasses from the cabinet in the kitchen, rinsed them in the sink and dried them with a towel as he brought them out.

“These haven’t been used since my parents lived here! They had some smashing dinner parties when I was a kid, because my father was a lawyer and wooed clients and peers alike. Mom and Dad moved down south to warmer climes, so I appreciate you giving me the opportunity to break out the dinnerware. It makes this place feel like a home again, instead of just a hermitage.” He said this so cheerfully, surprising himself with a robust laugh, and the ladies laughed with him.

Evelyn brought her own wine opener and popped the cork on a sweet red, pouring a glass for Bree and herself. “Are you sure you don’t want any, Louis?”

“Positive. I’ve tried drinking a few times, but it just makes me sick. I don’t begrudge others the pleasure any more than I regret my inability to experience it. There are other pleasures, I’ve found.”

As they ate, they made small talk. Evelyn was an architect. Bree was a homemaker in their relationship but contributed a supplemental income buying and selling items online, sometimes shipping them from the house. At one point, the question of Louis’ online presence came up.

“I have none!” Louis said. “Attempts I’ve made to engage social media have made me as sick as the wine does. Again, not a moral judgment. To each their own! But it is not for me.”

“So you make enough money to get by from tips at the park?” Bree asked.

“Yes, but it’s been a little harder since people don’t carry cash as much. This house is bought and paid for, though the property taxes have gone up since the housing market inflated. But I’m good at saving, I have no expensive vices—other than my work, of course—and I enjoy a Spartan lifestyle, so it’s not too hard.”

“Bree and I were discussing that before we came over. She’s a wiz with website development. She did it for a living before we met.” The two ladies, perhaps unconsciously, turned their heads, smiled at one another, and Louis knew they were fondly recalling their courtship. This made him happy too. “She would be glad to help you develop an online presence, help you book shows if you want. This is totally unconnected to…” Evelyn blushed. Bree placed a hand on her wife’s arm.

“We don’t want you to think it’s a tit for tat offer, Louis,” Bree finished for Evelyn. “We really think your work here in the community is a treasure that should be preserved, even if you can’t help us with our desire to have children.”

Louis felt an inestimable relief, as well as a pang of guilt. It must have showed on his face, because the two ladies looked concerned as they watched him. “Are you okay, Louis?” Evelyn asked.

“Yes, it’s just…” he started, and his voice hitched, but he pulled back short of tears. “It’s just that though I want very badly to help you with that, I am incapable. I literally don’t think I can because I never have.”

“You’ve never…” Bree started.

Louis laughed out loud again, and it startled the ladies, but his spirits were lifted as he remarked, “Look at us, in this day and age, dancing around a discussion about sex! No, I’ve never even jerked off. I am asexual. Severely so, I guess, though from the inside looking out it seems like no big deal to me.” The ladies look of disappointment renewed his pang of guilt, but he went on. “However, even though I won’t be donating sperm, I do want to offer my shop as a place for any child you adopt or bring into the world to grow and learn. I am deeply touched by your request and wish I could fulfill it for you. But I can give your child the next best thing. My knowledge, and hopefully an appreciation of my art the likes of which his or her wonderful mothers possess.”

Tears came to Evelyn’s eyes, and she quickly wiped them away. Bree pulled her close. “Evelyn’s the sentimental one.” Bree kissed the top of her head. “Louis, we’re going to help you.”

“I’ll accept the help in time, but not just yet,” Louis said. Evelyn looked up, sharing Bree’s perplexed expression. “First, I want us to take the time to get to know each other. Can we make this dinner a weekly affair? It doesn’t always have to be here. We can meet out, or at your place. Point is, I could really use some friends.”

The ladies agreed, and this was indeed the beginning of a long, fruitful friendship.

The ladies went on to have one boy from in vitro fertilization and adopted a girl. Louis became a surrogate uncle, and both children delighted at his shows and in his workshop. As the man grew old and the children became adults, they visited him, doted on him, took care of him, watched out for him. The girl inherited the house and workshop, and carried on Louis’ legacy, which became local legend. Bree took care to promote The Wonderful World of Louis Marshon, and recordings of his live performances remained for all to see, even after he passed away.

People who saw him perform before and after the ladies entered his life would often remark that, though his talent was always profound and his skill impeccable, there was a subtle difference in the way he carried himself, a change in him, as if a fire sparked inside him which beckoned all to his threshold to warm their hearts and hands.