I swallow hard when I see the straitjacket. Is it supposed to be an artistic touch from the costume designer? The cook was mad in Lewis' book, obsessed with pepper and having a bad temper.
But the straitjacket also implies the possibility of a man who's just escaped an asylum.
The Pillar rushes onto the stage and interferes with the scene. Since this is the most improvised chapter, it's no big deal. He nears me and talks in my ear. It's obvious he wants to tell me something about the cook. I can't hear him, and I don't know how to weave this into the act.
"And who are you, strangely dressed man?" the Duchess says obnoxiously.
"Shut up, ugly lady," the Pillar says. "I'm the doorknob. Everyone knows that."
The audience laughs and claps hysterically. It buys the Pillar time to tell me, "The cook!"
"I know," I say. "There is something wrong about him."
"Let's see what he is up to." The Pillar points his cane. "Why is he hiding his eyes with his hair?"
"He might be the Cheshire," I shriek.
"That's not the Cheshire," the Duchess says, thinking we're acting. "That's my cook. He has an obsession with pigs and pepper."
"Shut up, hag!" I say. "We're trying to solve a crime here."
Why doesn't anyone laugh at my jokes?
"Peppa!" The cook acts furious, pulling jars of pepper from under the table. "More peppa!" He starts pouring ridiculous amounts into a boiling cauldron.
I realize the boiling water in the cauldron is real. Doesn't this endanger the actors? The cook is definitely the Cheshire. I look at the Pillar for confirmation, but he is in a haze of confusion.
Maybe we're both just paranoid.
As the cook pours the pepper, a few kid actors run into the scene and ask the Duchess for food. I know for sure this isn't part of the real script of Alice in Wonderland . But nothing has exactly followed the book so far.
"Go away, you obnoxious, filthy children!" The Duchess kicks one of the kids away. The boy rolls on his stomach, aching. Those guys act brilliantly. It's so believable.
"Pigs for the children," the cook announces and holds a baby pig in one hand. It's a real pig. "Do you want me to cook it for you, along with some spicy peppa?"
"Yes!" the children plead. "We're hungry. We haven't eaten in days."
Suddenly, I can't help but notice the children's clothes look exactly like in my vision. But it makes sense. The play portrays Victorian times, so I shouldn't be suspicious about it.
The Pillar still watches the cook closely.
Another unexpected thing happens when a woman, acting as the Queen of Hearts, bursts onto the stage. She is short and chubby and wears a joker's outfit. She holds an axe triple her size.
"Off with all your heads," she shouts. "Horrible children eating the food in my kingdom."
Even the Duchess acts horrified by the Queen.
"Pardon me, my Queen," the cook says. "Could I use the axe to chop off my pig's head? I need to cook it for the children." Then he says, in an unnecessary way, "Peppa! More peppa!"
"What is this?" the Pillar asks me. I have never seen him offended by nonsense like this before. But honestly, this is way crazier than I thought it would be. "What's going on?"
We're hardly part of the act anymore. The crowd loves every bit of this mishmash of characters.
"I can't give you my axe," the Queen of Hearts tells the cook. "But, I can chop the pig's head for you." The grin on her face is deeply disturbing to me. Of course, none of the audience can see it this far.
Is the Cheshire also the Queen of Hearts?
The cook holds the pig heartlessly from its feet. The poor animal struggles with its head upside down. It sneezes painfully because of the pepper.
"Put the pig down!" I shout. This not acting anymore. What the heck is this? "This play is over. Put the poor pig down!"
Instead of backing me up, the crowd boos at me.
"Show it to me," the Queen of Hearts orders the cook. He nears the kicking pig down to her, so Her Majesty's short existence can reach it.
And then...
Then...
The unbelievable happens, the sort of thing that breaks all barriers between real and unreal.
The Queen of Hearts swings her axe and chops off the pig's head.
My head processes the scene in slow motion. It's too horrifying for my mind to digest it at normal speed.
The axe chops off the pig's head, which blobs down into the hungry boiling water in the cauldron.
I have never witnessed a crowd love such a performance.
Mouth agape, I feel something hot splash on my face. I felt it once the Queen chopped off the head, but I only register it when it trickles down my chin. I rub my face with my hands and raise them in front of my eyes.
It's the pig's blood.
This stage show is happening for real.