In the Shadow of Shakespeare (5 page)

“Like
the Fates?”  Alice smiled brightly, believing this was a clever answer in
regards to spinning.  Maybe Selina would think so, too.

She
continued to stare at her. 

Alice
never did give the answer Selina had wanted, or
thought
she had wanted,
she corrected herself, but now that spinning image continued to haunt
her.  She thought of things connected by string, by fine gossamer
twine.  Like a spider’s web, space and time were connected in a way that
was unfathomable to her.  But could it be that perhaps they were poised to
catch something spectral and special?   The thought comforted her as
she drove from the theatre and towards home. 

 ***

When
she unlocked the door and went inside she noticed the smell of spaghetti. 
The windows were fogged and the pasta was on the stove in a rumbling
boil.  Albert sat in the living room, feet propped up on the coffee table,
reading the paper.  She tossed the keys on the table.

 “How’s
it going?”  She bent over the paper and gave him a kiss.  His lips
were warm and moist.  The paper crinkled as she attempted to put her arms
around him, drawing him into something further. 

 “Please…dinner
will be ready in a minute.”  He gently disengaged himself from her
embrace. 

She
sat on the chair next to him.  “What’s wrong?”  Alice noticed the
bags under his eyes, the five day stubble.  “Are you growing a beard or
just forgetting to shave?”

Albert
brought his hand to his face and absently began to rub his chin.  “I
suppose a beard would be in order.  I keep shaving the stubble off. 
It has been awhile, hasn’t it?”

“Do
you mean the beard, or us having sex?”

He
quickly broke her gaze, looked out the window.  “I’m sorry.  I have
been preoccupied.”

 “Albert,
what is
wrong?
  Is it me?”

 “No,
no…”  He got up and went into the kitchen.  Alice followed him,
suddenly frightened.  “You’ve met someone?”

 “Don’t
be silly.”  He frowned, then smiled at her.  “I could ask you the
same thing.  You have been pretty preoccupied yourself.”

Alice
sat down at the edge of a chair.  “Yes, I have.  It’s been
strange. 
Synchronistic
really, the way things that have been
happening.”

Albert
observed her.  “What things?”

Alice
told him about the Renaissance man she had seen opening the theatre door. 
Then about the dream she had had. 

 “You
know, I really didn’t think much about the dream.  Thought it was probably
some sort of nightmare regarding being swamped and all that.  You know the
kind of dream one has when you too busy.  So I was literally
drowning.” 

Albert
nodded. 

 “But
the strange thing was, after I had seen that show about the mystery regarding
Shakespeare?  Well, I picked up a copy of
Hero and Leander
 
written by
Marlowe.  The poem is about Leander trying to swim over to Hero, his love,
and he eventually drowns.”  Alice wrinkled her brow thinking about
it. 

Albert
took the noodles from the stove, dumped them into the colander.  “Could it
be that person symbolizes another type of preoccupation that you have been
having and haven’t been able to articulate yet?”

 “Like
what?”

 “Well
as you said, this man was drowning.  Perhaps your animus feels
unexpressed.  Perhaps it is drowning.”  Albert openly gazed at her,
looking for her feelings regarding his interpretation.

 “You
sound like my shrink.”

 “I
am your shrink.”

Alice
pulled him towards her and felt a readiness in him that she was looking for
earlier.  “No more talk about shrinking – just growing.”  She stood
and deeply kissed him, feeling him melt against her.

 “I
think the noodles can wait.”  Albert brushed the hair from her face.

 “Yes,
the noodles, the noodles, the soft, warm noodles.” 

Giggling,
Alice took his hand.  Then they raced the stairs to see who would be first
to bed.

Chapter 9

Kate
stirred the stew over the fireplace.  She had prepared it when she arose
from bed and it had been cooking the entire morning.  John had managed to
snare a few small birds from the pasture beyond the walls of the city, and Kate
had added them to the stew.  The aroma of marjoram, potato, and chicken
settled in the air.

Goody
Frye sat by the fire on a stool smoking a pipe.  She mixed the tobacco she
had bought from a merchant in town with an herb she knew would bring good
health and cleanliness.  She was matter of fact and not given to
rumination.  People thought her eccentric and independent, but left her
alone and came to her when they needed help or advice.  She sat smoking in
silence. 

Christopher
stared up at her from his place on the floor.  Goody caught his eye. “That
one’s still lonely, eh?”  Goody tapped her pipe on the hearth,
extinguishing the spark.  She rubbed the inside of the bowl with her
thumb.

“Aye,
yeah.  He is always about, playing with the old poppet and never wants to
go outside.”  Kate wiped her brow with her hand.  The steam from the
soup made the house warm. 

“Been
quite awhile?”

“Since
Mary died.  He has become…fearful.  He is getting smaller too. 
Look at him.”  Kate sat on a stool next to Goody.  She picked him up
from the floor and sat him on her lap.  Christopher sat sullenly sucking
his thumb, clutching the old poppet.

Goody
watched him a moment, then deftly grabbed the poppet from him. 
Christopher screamed, raising his arms towards the doll, “Mary, Mary, Mary!”

“Mary
is dead boy!” 

Christopher
went on screaming.

“Goody,
I think – ”

“No
thinking Kate.  He needs to waken up.  He has been asleep, wasting
away.  He will be next, I tell you.”  

Goody
gave the poppet back to Christopher.  He sat on Kate’s lap glaring at
her.  She extracted a bundle from her pocket in her skirt.  It was a
little cloth bag filled with herbs suspended from a string.  Goody put it
around Christopher’s neck. 

“Let
him wear that now.  Morning and night he should be wearing that
charm.  I woke him up, now he can smell it fully.  Gave thee quite a
scare!”   Goody wrinkled her nose at him and made a face. 

Chistopher,
alert now, watched as Goody’s eyes twinkled at him.   He lay back on
Kate’s breast, comforted.   “Will he be healed from this
sickness?”  Kate smoothed Christopher’s hair.  Her brow was creased
with worry.

“The
boy will make that decision.  He will decide to follow his sister or
not.  I came in here, and felt…he might take leave.  He was’t not all
the way there…in his body.”  Goody extracted her pipe, and took an ember
from the fire to light it. 

Kate
had gone white.  She squeezed Christopher closer to her.  He wiggled
free and jumped from her lap.  Goody laughed.

“Aye,
there’s a good sign.”  She puffed on her pipe, a twinkle in her eye.

Kate
blanched, as if stuck by an invisible hand. 

“You
can’t keep him to ye, Kate.  Let him be.  Let him heal.” 

“I
must keep him safe!  I must…He is leaving this place!”

“It’s
the boy’s decision.”

Kate
put her hands to her face and sobbed.  Goody puffed quietly on her pipe,
and Christopher stared at them both.  He fingered the herb bag around his
neck.  Goody winked at him.

“It’s
part of his nature.  He is not always
here
Kate.  Look at his
eyes. He has the eyes of a seer.”

Kate
looked up, wiped the tears from her face.  “That’s just what I was sayin’
to John!”

“Aye. 
I remember when this one was born.  He had that Caul around his
face.  I knew this one would be lookin’ inward.  He will be special
Kate.  He will be like one of the old ones, of the old times.  He is
of Merlin’s race.  Words will come to him in a magic way.”

Kate’s
eyes had gone big.  “He will be a poet?  A scholar?”

“Aye,
a poet – a Merlin.  He will be a bard, a conjurer of words.”  Goody
smiled down at Christopher, holding out her arms.  Christopher cautiously
went to her.  Touching her knee, he smiled.  Goody picked him up.

“Tell
him the old tales Kate.  The old stories.  Never stop talking to
him.  That will be this one’s cure.”

“The
old stories…And the songs?”

“Aye. 
All of it.  All of it is a good balm for the heart.  His soul will
bind up with it, and it will make him strong.”

“And
what of the poppet?  Should I take it from him?”

“Nay. 
Let him be with it awhile,”  Goody whispered in Christopher’s ear. 
He giggled.  “He will never forget his sister.  Never.  Those
two had a bond.  A strong one.  They were like the oak and the
mistletoe, bound together, always together.  And because of it…He
will  be a friend to women.  Always.”  

Goody
looked towards the window, staring at something at once inside and far
away.    Christopher followed her gaze, and watched her
eyes.  He carefully touched the old face, the old wrinkled skin.  He
touched her old bulbous nose; then, softly touched his own.

Chapter 10

Alice
tugged at the corset that was biting into her side.  Mercer La Mer at
All
Occasion Costumes
told her it would take awhile to get used to it, but then
she could swing into the Renaissance in style.  Alice went to Mercer for
the costuming of all her plays.

Alice
pulled the corset up, feeling her bosom push up into her neck.  Coming out
of the dressing room, Mercer had been waiting for her. 

 “Ah
madame, exquisite.  It fits you,
oui
?”

 “No,
it doesn’t.  It’s too damn tight.  I don’t like it.”  Alice
stared sullenly at her reflection in the mirror, secretly hoping the corset
would pop open, freeing her from this torture. 

Mercer
lifted up her long brown hair.  “Now you can braid the hair Renaissance
fashion.  It will be very beautiful.”

Alice
smiled.  At least Mercer knew how to make her feel good.  Tousling
her hair in her hand, she lifted it up on top of her head, sticking her tongue
out at her reflection.  Mercer laughed.

 “My
dear Alice, you have a bit of the imp in you.   You will be at home
in the Renaissance.”

Sitting
at her desk she wasn’t so sure she was at home in the Renaissance.  She
didn’t know how to get these kids interested in it.  Maybe dressing up in
a costume would do it.  Sitting awkwardly at her desk, she stared at the
clock on the wall.  The bell sounded, and students began to pour into the
halls.  Alice got up from her desk and stood in the corner.  She put
her hands on hips and waited.

Dion,
always the first to enter the class, bounded into the room, followed by
Alex.  The two were playfully pushing each other.  Dion looked to the
desk, frowned, then noticed her standing in the corner.

 “Hey,
yo, look at Ms Petrovka.  She gone
Renaissance
.”  Dion slid
into his seat staring at her. 

The
rest of the kids filed in and sat in their seats.   Most of them
giggled when they saw her.  Alice stood quietly watching them, trying her
best to remain motionless like a mannequin.  She vaguely felt like
something from the wax museum.  They talked amongst themselves, quietly at
first, then loudly, to see if they could elicit a reaction from her. 
Finally, when the bell had rung for class to begin, they stared at her
expectantly.  She stared back.  When she couldn’t take it any longer
she burst out laughing.

 “This
is the longest I’ve ever had you stay quiet.  Maybe I should dress up more
often,”  Her corset began digging into her again, and she tugged at
it.  “Well I suppose you all are wondering why I dressed up like
this.  As Dion guessed, it is too launch ourselves back in time to
Elizabethan England, during the time of the Renaissance.  Incidentally,
Renaissance means rebirth, and we will be birthing ourselves into a new art
form – that of Mr. William Shakespeare.”  She flourished her hand towards
the poster of Shakespeare on the wall.  The class groaned. 

 “Now,
now.  Before you get all pooh pooh on me, we will be having some
fun.  I want us to get in the spirit of this.  Plays are meant to be
read out loud, that means
performed.
  So everyone, take out your
standard issue text books.”

Howard
Bennely timidly raised his hand.  He wore glasses and a tight Izod short
sleeve shirt. 

“Ms
Petrovka, what book do you mean?”  Howard gazed confusedly into the
contents of his backpack.

“Yeah,
we got about five hundred books in here.”  Roberto disinterestedly tossed
books onto his desk.

“Roberto,
you exaggerate.  The book that we have so fervently skipped through to get
to the juicy morsels of literature,”  The class stared at her.  “Oh
c’mon people, the school issued textbook!”