Confessions of a Mask
Coda to "Muse"
vanhunks
Disclaimer:
Rating: G
Summary: Kathryn's mask speaks of chances
lost.
*
CONFESSIONS OF A MASK
When masks and muses thus our lives dictate,
the stage of life our stories to relate;
our tales, imbued with tragic tones, did hide
the truth when masks disguised what hearts denied...
I am a mask. I have a face.
I adorned the faces of persons great and grand throughout the ages. I have purpose, though at the end of this little account, what
purpose I endeavoured to define would, I wonder with apprehension, not quite
fully denote my function.
I see you are as confused
as I am. Let me state: Today, I am Melpomene's handmaiden. Melpomene?
Ah, yes, she was the muse most favoured by the great dramatists of the ages.
What would a play be, they contended, if events could
not be driven by drama and tragedy? But I digress.
I come and present myself
to you, and this my chorus, in a tale as tragic as the dramas of the ancient
Greek theaters. I could tell you of all my glorious triumphs in the
amphitheater of Dionysius, where I represented pain, anger, love, desire,
happiness, sadness, apathy, duty...
Whatever emotion was
required by the actor or actress to express or reveal on the stage of the vast
open air theatre, I could successfully assume those different personas in
Medea, Daughter of Jephthah, Periander of Corinth, Germanicus, Iphigenia…
Now you know. Once that was my purpose. I could show the actor's emotion
as clear and defined so that Kephthah, the poor, educated slave who sat in the
very last row on the right-hand side of the amphitheater, could see if Medea
was angry, or whether Iphigenia was distraught at her coming sacrifice, or, if
Sappho sought to woo Periander with her poetry.
Today, with smaller
theatres designed to encourage a greater intimacy between players and audience,
I have somewhat lost my original purpose. Players have no need to hide their
faces behind masks. Every emotion, every small flicker of pain, sadness, anger
is shown in a face that has become animated with passion. No, not passion, but
Passion. Feeling, a love, a grand obsession for the Craft.
Still, - and here I am at
great pain and confusion I suppose, to have to admit it – the more the players
on Life’s Stage moved forward and entered new eras, the more successful it
seemed, they became at hiding their emotions. Sadly, no mask was needed for
that. What the world saw, was a face, one with an invisible mask.
And, our Players have become so good at it, so instinctive that my present
predicament is urgent enough to warrant this little tale.
Once, I served to reveal a
particular emotion. Once, I had audiences at my feet. Once, I was Medea,
Sappho, Jephthah’s Daughter, Iphigenia.
Now, I serve to hide a
particular emotion. Now, my audience is a worried crew who would throw
themselves at my feet if only...
Now, I am Kathryn.
Kathryn
Janeway of the vessel USS Voyager, Intrepid Class, of the United Federation of
Planets. It
sounds important, doesn't it? Such a long title for a slip of a woman easily
blown over by a breeze, so light she is. Yes, a vessel which by the very nature
of its 'mission' in the Delta Quadrant is the reason Kathryn Janeway has
employed me more and more to steel herself against anything that was designed
to divert her from duty and command. It is interesting. You can’t see me. I am
not here, but I am. You may ask: how can a face so
beautiful, with grey-green eyes, lips as soft as the clouds and cheeks smooth
as satin, hide the very essence of her?
What do you say, Chorus of
Crewmembers?
CHORUS OF CREW
To show a face that glowed
with beauty
submerged all feelings crowned by duty -
The mask of Kathryn rarely faltered,
Affairs of state which could have altered
Had Kathryn sometimes hid the Captain
and smiled at antics of the ensign.
This is the face of
Kathryn Janeway, and I, her mask. I am once again ruthlessly employed to
suppress the deepest yearnings of my mistress. Yes, that is what she is because
she can, like thousands before her in the dusty amphitheaters of the ancient
worlds and cultures, exercise control over me. What used to be a hand that
could, out of its own will and volition expose the face or hide it, is now
simply The Face. A set of muscles,
bone and skin that transform real feeling into a charade, a show to mislead.
In a second, you may
witness the transformation of Kathryn Janeway, and I, her hapless subject,
forced to assume a posture that - I don’t hesitate to tell you that, for I am,
unlike my mistress, willing and able to share my feelings with you – in the
extreme, hurts my facial muscles. I am even willing to say that Kathryn has
become so good at it, and so accustomed to this transformation that very soon
no one will see the real Kathryn.
No doubt you may wonder why
– as we sit here in the ready room with her hands clasped - I am so morbid
today.
It’s not my fault.
It’s the fault of Kelis.
Shame, no, I can’t blame him. He is a wonderful dramatist and poet whose play
has just thrust my mistress into a state of deep ponderance. Kelis, bless his
poetic heart, was merely the latest catalyst that caused Kathryn Janeway to
pull me up tightly against her own skin so that I became welded to her. I have
to admire her for that. She does it so well. In a second she can be a loving,
smiling Captain who gently gives young Naomi tips on Being Captain, and the
next instant she is different when she faces another crewmember.
I am in pain.
CHORUS OF CREW
We know that Kathryn loves
us dearly,
although it's never shown clearly;
her precious mask she sometimes lowers -
how panic we when that hand hovers!
she gives enough to show her feeling
but oh, how dear Chakotay's reeling!
This is what my sorry
little tale is about. Yes, she has feelings for her first officer. I want to
say she loves him even. I can feel the blood rushing to the tiny veins in her
cheeks that anyone who is allowed very close to Kathryn Janeway, can see. They
are red, the finest network of vessels just under her skin that makes me boil,
for I can feel the heat of it. It spreads and wells until I stretch to
impossible lengths, a breaking point beyond which the stars beckon, but which,
miraculously, Kathryn is able to control.
I can hear Kathryn's
heartbeat. It thumps like drums against her ribcage, and only the quietest
expelling of air, so quiet, so soft, is felt by me. No one else can see that,
no one can hear it. No one can sense it. When Kathryn puts me in place, it
happens so instantly that even I wonder how I can slip into my role with such
speed.
When one
man enters this room.
Chakotay.
Chakotay sees me: the mask
that tells him to back away. I know he can sense the terrible turmoil raging in
Kathryn's heart. But, it is her call.
SENIOR CREW
We understand Chakotay's
heart
was pierced and pained by Cupid's dart;
''twas on a planet called New Earth -
our Captain settled for the worth
of friendship, weighed by far the most
than make her heart a lover's host.
From that point she
hardened herself, insulated her heart against the betraying stings of Cupid's
arrows and let Command rule, with Duty, her consort, in close proximity. I am
the vaunted safety net now, a cover to shield her Self from becoming Involved.
Things have come to a head,
and I want to relate to you what happened two days ago. It started a little
more than two weeks ago when Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Kim went on a power
hunt. Ah, I see you think it's funny calling a search
for dilithium a power hunt. Be that as it may, they did not return, and were
believed to be missing, probably dead. How Mr Paris, the significant man in the
life of the ship's engineer reacted to her disappearance, I shall not go into,
or how Seven of Nine reacted to Mr Kim's disappearance, or how Tuvok burned
candles in his nightly vigils.
All were affected on board
this lonely vessel cutting its way across the expanse of the Delta Quadrant.
They were about to lose a lover, a close friend, indispensable members of the
crew, protégé's, reclamation projects. It was the way Commander Chakotay and
Kathryn Janeway behaved in this time that is what I am about.
Two days ago, Chakotay came
in here, and stood in front of Kathryn. Kathryn, I should tell you, hadn't
slept in days, and neither it seemed, had Chakotay. The worry was etched on the
Commander's face. I could see it: the drawn look, the droop to the mouth that
seemed to crowd out the dimples that always deepened whenever the Commander
smiled. Well, he had no reason to smile. What news he brought was not good.
Kathryn's
face? Well, I
couldn't see her face, but I can tell you what I felt, for in those moments
after the Commander came in, I felt what she felt. It was the golden moment on
the Stage of Life when the Great Admission turned the tide in the events of the
Play.
"Tell him,
Kathryn," I urged her, trying to relax my muscles where she was trying to
tighten them, "tell him you need him..."
A tendon,
a muscle, the clenching of the jaw. I hurt! I hurt! Oh, the pain! I know what she
is thinking...thinking...thinking...
<Dear Father in heaven, let me tell Chakotay I can't deal with my pain all
alone...>
"Then tell him,
Kathryn, by the gods, by Zeus, by all that drives the human heart to throw
discretion to the wind, tell him, tell him, tell him...>
She heard my urgent
pleading.
I could see the waiting on
the Commander's face. I could see the flicker of hope in his tired eyes. I
could see how the fingers tightened around the PADD he held in his hand. I
could see the drooping mouth readying into a tentative, but hopeful smile. I
could see...
My heart was thundering.
No! It was the beating of
Kathryn's heart that boomed against her ribs and resonated all through her
body. I felt it behind my eyes, the way my lips trembled and the blood rushed
into the myriad of tiny vessels in my cheeks. I felt the sting of tears...
"I know you love him,
Kathryn. Tell him so, and let me go... Drop me, bring your hand to my face and
take me away from yours. Let him see your soul as it reflects in brilliant hope
and release in your eyes..."
I could hear her as Chakotay
stood waiting. In the long pause in which I was certain my own counterpart on
his face was telling him to drop him, the seconds hammered away in inexorable
finality.
<I want you to hold me
so badly, so badly, Chakotay. Please, come closer. Just a touch of your hand on
mine and I am yours. Just touch my hand. See here? My own hand hovers, readies
to receive yours...>
"Take her hand, for
the love of Athena, Chakotay. She wants to share her grief with you. I feel it.
Rise, Kathryn and walk to him. You touch his hand. Can't you see how he waits
for you? After all, you determined the parameters... You make the move…"
She heard my passioned plea
for release. The pause was drawn out, a painful silence that hanged in the air
and wanted to dissolve into possibilities.
Instead:
"Less
than ten days."
A long
pause.
"Tell him now,
Kathryn," I pleaded. I was too tightly welded in place. I tried again.
"But Kathryn, there is nothing that is impossible to remove, or to climb
or to overcome. Let me go!"
"An L-class
planet--" Kathryn said.
"In the name of all
the gods on
"I've already narrowed
the search parameters."
"No, no…please,
Kathryn, don't shut him out…"
She tightened me to her. I
became undone... I didn't want to do her bidding. I know, by all the ancient
peoples of Earth who worshipped the Unknown God, that
my sole purpose then was to conceal every emotion she was feeling. She loved
him. She wanted him. The moment was about to pass into oblivion
.
"If B'Elanna made it
there, it's possible Harry did, too," Chakotay
said, offering what hope he could.
"You can do it,
Kathryn," I told her, but I sensed how the net tightened, I sensed how she
withdrew. Her hands were shaking. Her heart was pounding. She was denying
herself. I know it. What fire had burned and the ashes were about to remain.
<I can't...I can't...I
can't...> Her thoughts echoed like the thumping of
her heartbeat.
Another
pause. I looked
at Chakotay, and in his eyes I saw Kathryn's withdrawal.
"No! No! I am wailing, I am dying. You are killing me. I can't
breathe...breathe...breathe..."
Kathryn hardened. Her heart
remained bleeding, but her words…her words were not
what her heart was feeling.
"Good night,
Commander."
"Oh, dearest, Captain
Kathryn Janeway, let me go, please... and be at rest." I pleaded.
"Captain."
"No! No! Don't let him
go, Kathryn... Don't let him go."
Did I hear Chakotay click
his heels? Did I imagine that sigh that escaped from him? Did I imagine the way
he gave the slightest of bows? Did I imagine that dying light in his eyes?
I did not imagine the door
of the ready room opening and closing.
I did not see it. I heard
the soft swish and when the door closed, there was a finality
in that sound. It offered the narrowest peek into the life of the ship in one
moment, and in the next, shut that world out.
I was distraught. And so
was Kathryn. We cried. I, because in the minutes that I desired passionately to
be Kathryn's heart and mind and soul, she set me upon her face so hard, so in
place, so submerged into her own soft, beautiful skin that I knew I would never
be free. The Golden Moment had passed.
Kathryn cried because of
chances lost. Kathryn cried because she knew what she had thrown away yet
again. She knew that one word, one gesture, one look in her eyes would have
changed the parameters forever.
Chakotay's sigh all but
revealed the vain hope of his desires.
Kathryn's
tears? Well,
where no one could see them, she took me from her face. Everything Kathryn
Janeway should have given Chakotay, everything she should have done where he
could offer her solace in her grief, where he could fold her into his warrior's
arms and stroke her hair and cheeks, wipe the tears from her face, she released
in heart-rending pain in the solitude of this ready room.
"You should have told
him, Kathryn," I said in my final capitulation to her control.
<I was afraid…>
"I know…"
<I have a duty. I can't
let them see me less than who I am, who I should be on
this vessel.>
"What do we do
now?" I asked her.
<Now, we carry on as
before. I need you, surely you know that.>
I gave a sigh. Yes, she
declared she needed me. Now that Lieutenant Torres and Ensign Kim have been safely
returned to Voyager, and Kathryn and I heard all that B'Elanna experienced on
the planet, she needs me more than ever to keep me in place, and in my place.
Kelis the poet be damned.
He had Kathryn and Chakotay kiss, in the name of Apollo. Kiss! They even
lowered their masks, thereby removing all barriers between them.
I believe as surely as I am
sealed to Kathryn Janeway's face and lowered only in the privacy of this room
or in her cabin, that the players on that stage lowered their masks at exactly
the moment my Kathryn and her Chakotay welded theirs in place and kept each
other, as they've done a hundred times before, at a distance.
I am a sorry spectacle of a
mask. I know everything about Kathryn Janeway. Everything.
Yet I have no choice but to do her bidding. I come up and remain in place for
as long as she needs me to be there. I shall remain in my dubious role as
Kathryn's protector. Just as Kathryn Janeway will sometimes lower me where no
eyes can be set on her and she can cry to her heart's content and be the woman
she should be, I will also have these monologues on morbid self-pity.
So, Kathryn and I leave the
ready room, to assume our place on the
We look at Chakotay. I feel
the slight tremble of Kathryn's fingers, hear the soft sigh.
I smile at him.
CHORUS OF CREW
When masks and muses thus
our lives dictate,
the stage of life our stories to relate;
our tales, imbued with tragic tones, did hide
the truth when masks disguised what hearts denied...
*******
END