A moment burned into my brain:
A children’s theater thing in Central Park, sometime in the late 70s. A crowd of kids of ages… oh, 7 to 10 or thereabouts. A fairy-tale-ish story’s being enacted for them. A princely hero’s been given a sword to take on a journey and instructed not to put it down under any circumstances or Very Bad Things will happen.
Shortly the prince runs into a witch (as one does). She wants the sword, and starts wheedling him to put it down, take a rest, it must be so heavy, etc etc. He resists for a while but finally begins to think about agreeing, about putting it down. And while this is happening, a Monster is creeping up behind him.
Shrieks of warning from the horrified audience as the Monster gets closer and closer. “No, no!” “Look out!” “It’s right behind you!” “Don’t put it down!”
And into one of those unpredictable spaces of silence that sometimes falls in live performance, a single voice speaks up. Little girl sitting not far from me, one of those absolutely angelic-faced children, maybe seven years old, like a little doll. And she says, with piercing clarity and sheer bloodthirsty relish:
“Go ahead! Put it down. Let’s see what happens.”