I step out into the ring. Words that once stuck in my throat now spill out. Truth can be a miserable lie to perform. “Why do I mourn?”
The audience holds its breath.
“E perche, signore, my wife is unfaithful to me.”
The audience chuckles.
I reply with gusto, “How is this my fault?”
Simon – that is, Propizio – steps out of the shadows. “You forgot to buy her nice things.”
“For want of coin, I sold her my heart.”
“You failed to satisfy her desires.”
“For want of romance, I gave her my mind.”
“You forgot to tell her, Pagliacci. How was she to know?”
Laughter. End Scene. Come back tomorrow for finale.