Mime Doesn’t Pay
A mime, a magistrate, and a misunderstanding
“You have the right to remain silent…”
Which, in the case of Monsieur Étienne Silencieux de la Plume, was rather redundant.
Didn’t those cops know they were talking to the most très distingué mime artist—internationally acclaimed, tragically misunderstood, and currently being escorted into a police van for what he insisted (via interpretive shrugging) was a dreadful misunderstanding?
Arrest, he thought, was what to take when you’re tired.
Étienne had always maintained he was a man of culture. He once supplied Filofaxes to the French Mafia—you could say he was involved in very organized crime. Admittedly, the hard part of being broke was watching the rest of the world go buy, and Étienne—how shall we say?—occasionally helped himself to props that weren’t strictly his.
“I have kleptomania,” he would explain silently, pocketing a policeman’s notebook. “But when it gets bad, I take something for it.”
The charge sheet read: Disturbing the peace. Suspicious hand movements. Petty larceny.
When presented before the magistrate, Étienne performed his defense—a moving piece about isolation, invisible walls, and unjust authority. Wild horses on their bended knees would not make him speak.
The judge sighed.
“A mime who refuses to talk? How unexpected. You are clearly a professional crook, Monsieur de la Plume.”
A pause.
Étienne bristled. With great dignity, he mimed an objection: a hand to the chest, a gasp of wounded honour, then a delicate reenactment of his alleged crimes—lifting a watch… caught…a trinket…caught again.
He paused, then shook his head firmly and tapped his chest:
Hardly-a-professional-crook.
The judge watched, unmoved.
“I see,” he said. “A varied portfolio.”
Then, dry as parchment, the judge added: “It has never been suggested that you are successful in your profession, Monsieur de la Plume.
Étienne wept.
Silently, of course.
Before you go…
Join the Inkwave Club for occasional stories, writing tips, and a complimentary copy of Garth's Little Book of Remarkable Things.
The door is always open.