THE KING OF TIME AND SPACE

4 9 R T H E K I N G O F T I M E A N D S P A C E E L I S A B E T H M U R A W S K I Olivier mutters bastards before the curtain rises, the lions filing in, the quiet as the house dims hungry as the silence that surrounds a dying prince, the heirs hushed, shifting gears to greet the moment he becomes something else. His legs threaten to buckle. Everything rides on his skin, thin as a diva’s. Palms wet, he clenches and unclenches his fists, afraid he’ll freeze before an audience peevish and intemperate. O act of sweet seduction, diving in for the woods, the turns that woo and win a wall of hearts immersed in private seas 5 0 Y of sorrow and regret. Feet planted on the boards, he summons from within the telling gestures, hallowed moves that bless the dark like lights in a harbor. Pretending to be whole, he holds them in his hand like a banded bird. ...