“No.” She refrained from adding, “Thank you.”
“Would you like to know who is going to kill you? I could tell you,” he taunted her. “You see, I do want to help you.”
“You would probably lie,” Beth told him. “Or you might tell me who you ask to kill me, but that might not be the character who actually does it.”
“Such a clever girl.” Richard heaved a stage sigh. “What a pity you waste your talents on Merlin and Mercutio. What do you hope to gain from Mercutio? Do you believe that he would marry you? Would you want to be married to a character? If you did, you could find a nobler one.”
“I don’t want to marry him.” Beth realized that was true. She let her face and voice show her anger. “Don’t dare discuss him with me. And don’t flirt with me. I’m not a fool like Lady Anne. I don’t believe any woman would do what she did, marrying a man who had killed her husband. Shakespeare was a man, after all. He didn’t completely understand women.”
“But you would give your life for his words. What a romantic, girlish idea. You should not ruin your life for such a fantasy.” Richard spoke in a fatherly voice that made her stomach sick.
“I’m leaving now,” Beth said, hoping that she would be able to get away. “I won’t say farewell because I don’t want you to fare well in your plots.”
She sat down in her computer chair. Her stomach growled.
“Honey, I’m home,” her mother called from downstairs. “I’ve brought pizza for dinner. I hope you’ll like it.”
Beth jumped up. Was she ready for pizza? Yes. And she was sure that her mother had purchased her favorite kind, with mushrooms, extra cheese, and pineapple.
Chapter 11
BETH ENTERED THE AUDITORIUM. Today they would have a chance to practice there, where they would perform. She loved standing on the stage. Here at least she felt safe.
The rows of blue no-stain seats were empty, but in a few weeks they would be full with an audience of hundreds, she hoped. She had stood on that stage before and heard one of the sweetest sounds in the world—applause.
She sniffed the air, but the auditorium didn’t have any overriding smell. That was just as well, she thought.
On the stage, Sita sang, “What is love? Tis not hereafter. Present mirth hath present laughter. What’s to come is still unsure: In delay there lies no plenty; Then come and kiss me, sweet and twenty; Youth’s a stuff will not endure.” She sounded androgynously sexy.
“A mellifluous voice, as I am a true knight,” said Arnie as Andrew Aguecheek. He managed to overplay it, so that one would doubt he was a true knight.
“A contagious breath,” said Kevin as Sir Toby Belch.
“Very sweet and contagious in faith,” Arnie replied.
Beth sat down to watch them. They were doing well.
A few minutes later, Frank stormed on stage. “My masters, are you mad?” He emphasized the word “masters” in a way that was truly creepy. “Or what are you? Have you no wit, manners, nor honesty, but to gabble like tinkers at this time of night?” His ranting had an unsettling quality of outraged servility. This Malvolio wanted people to hate him, relished their hatred and despised them for it at the same time. This Malvolio was so certain that he was above his “masters” that he let them see it.
Beth felt yucky, and knew that was how she was supposed to feel. Frank certainly could act.
When Malvolio stormed out, his departure left them gaping.
The others’ conspiracy to humiliate him seemed to have a tinge of racism.
“This feels uncomfortable,” Kevin complained as the practice ended. “Why do we have to make the characters seem racist?”
“Why?” Frank repeated. “Good Sir Toby and Sir Andrew and clever Feste could never be racist.” His tone out-Malvolio’d his Malvolio tone.
“It’s an interesting interpretation,” Ms. Capulet said. “I think we should play it that way. The audience should both dislike Malvolio and sympathize with him.”
“I don’t need their sympathy,” Frank said with a gesture of dismissal. “Let them just feel uncomfortable. When I want sympathy, I’ll play Romeo.”
Beth realized that she was gasping internally, thank goodness not externally. She guessed that some of the others also took a minute to be able to visualize Frank as Romeo. She had never seen a heavy Romeo, which seemed stranger than a black one. But Frank was probably a good enough actor to carry it off well.
“Hi, Viola.” Amelia joined the group, but her gaze focused on Beth.
“Hi, Olivia.” Beth tried to give a smile that was just friendly enough, and refrained from commenting on Olivia’s matchless beauty as she would have if she had been sure Amelia was heterosexual. Beth felt remarkably like Viola.
Ms. Capulet clapped her hands. “It’s snowing hard, and Montgomery County says we should go home early.”
The students cheered.
“Snow day tomorrow!” Frank beamed.
“I hope so,” Kevin said.
Beth didn’t feel as eager as usual. If she was home, there would be more time for time traveling, which hadn’t been much fun lately. She put on her coat and wool hat, and trudged out with Sita and Arnie, who both lived on the way to her house.
Snow covered the trees and the cars parked on the street. People drove their cars slowly. The street was filling with snow, and the snow plows hadn’t come yet.
“Wrathful nipping cold,” Arnie complained, brushing snow from his face.
“Showoff! I can’t believe you’re quoting from Henry VI, Part II,” Sita said. “Who reads that?”
“You have.” Arnie grinned.
“In winter with warm tears I’ll melt the snow,” Sita replied.
“Titus Andronicus,” Arnie added.
Beth shivered. “I’ve avoided reading that one. I’ve heard that it’s all blood. You’re both hopeless geeks.”
“As opposed to you, who live half the time in Shakespeare’s world,” Sita said, picking up snow and making a snowball. She held it up as if she were going to throw it at Beth. “You live Shakespeare.”
“Just so I don’t die Shakespeare.” Beth rolled a snowball of her own and menaced Sita.
“What do you mean?” Arnie’s eyes opened wide. “You can’t die in Shakespeare’s world.”
“She can as Mercutio,” Sita said, squishing her snowball on Beth’s shoulder.
“You didn’t have to tell him that,” Beth objected, rubbing snow onto Sita’s coat.
“What!” Arnie yelled.
Beth had never heard him yell before. “It’s nothing, Arnie. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine as Beth.”
“Did you mean that you’re going to die as Mercutio?” Arnie planted himself in front of them, blocking the sidewalk. Snow began to accumulate on his shoulders.
“I’m not going to argue in a snowstorm.” Beth walked off the curb and went around him, then climbed back onto the sidewalk.
“So invite us to your house and we’ll argue there.” Arnie spun around and walked in front of her again. “You’ll come with us, won’t you, Sita?”
“I can’t wait to see this fight.” Sita grinned. “It’s more fun than snowballs.”
“Thanks a lot for being so free with my secrets.” Beth glared at her.
Sita shrugged. “You already knew I was indiscreet, at least compared to you.”
Beth walked in front of Arnie again and led them to her house. They left their coats in the hall and went to the living room. Everyone knew Beth’s mother was off teaching.
“How about some cider to warm us up?” Sita said. She was already on the way to Beth’s kitchen, which she knew well.
“So I have to serve you as well as defend myself? I’ll do it.” Beth went into the kitchen, poured three mugs of cider, heated them in the microwave, and put in cinnamon sticks.
When she
returned to the living room, she set the drinks on the coffee table and plopped down in her mother’s armchair. Arnie was on the sofa and Sita sat in the armchair Beth usually used.
“Merlin turned me into Mercutio,” Beth explained. “Above the waist,” she added, blushing.
“Why?” Arnie demanded.
“To save Mercutio. He’s dead, but if I die as Mercutio, I can bring him back. Anyway, Merlin says I can.”
“Are you in love with Mercutio?” Arnie asked. He seemed to have shrunk on the sofa.
“Why does everyone ask me that?” Beth’s face reddened again. What business was it of Arnie’s? He wasn’t her boyfriend. “A little bit, maybe. But I care a lot about him, and he died trying to save me from Richard.”
Arnie put his hand to his forehead. “You have such a simple life, Beth. A typical girlhood. Why couldn’t you visit Jane Austen’s world instead of Shakespeare’s?”
“I don’t think Merlin’s offering tickets to Jane Austen’s books,” Sita said. “And Austen didn’t write plays. Beth wants to be the greatest actor in the world.” She turned to Beth, “But you won’t be, because that will be me.”
“You mustn’t risk your life,” Arnie declared. He looked at Beth as if she were someone precious.
“I’m not just saving Mercutio. I think I’m also supposed to be saving Shakespeare’s plays.” It sounded crazy, but Beth’s friends looked as if they believed her. Being able to tell the truth made her feel so much better. The cider didn’t hurt, either. Even though she was talking about her own death, she felt warm and cozy.
“Look at the way she’s smiling,” Sita complained. “Beth has the starring role again, so she’s happy, even if a violent death is thrown in.”
“Well, it’s just a role,” Beth said.
“You hope,” Sita retorted.
Arnie covered his face. “I could have joined the debate club. I could have been on the school newspaper. Instead, I joined a troupe of maniacal actors.”
Beth tried to explain as much as she could, leaving out a few details, such as her recent conversations with Richard, because those would worry Arnie, and the witches’ warning about her friends.
She started wondering about her mother. She hoped her mother’s classes were canceled. Driving from the college where she taught was a long distance in the snow.
The phone rang. Beth picked it up and was glad to hear that her mother was on her way.
“OK, my mother will be here in half an hour, unless the highways haven’t been cleared yet. So I can’t tell you everything,” Beth said.
“I’ve already texted my mother, but she keeps texting me back and telling me to come home,” Sita said.
“Mine, too,” Arnie admitted. “Be careful, Beth.”
Beth hoped her face didn’t show how relieved she was to see them go.
Chapter 12
AFTER AN EVENING OF hot chocolate and warmed-up pizza with her mother, Beth opened the front door to see how deep the snow was. It was poetic snow, not sloppy, but she decided to stay indoors. There was probably no school the next day, so no Richard III readings. She still feared that Kevin would let Richard slip into the classroom. Maybe if they had several snow days Mr. Clarke would move the class on to another subject and let them finish the play on their own.
“Wouldn’t you like to do your homework downstairs?” her mother asked. “It’s warmer here.”
“No, I need to use my PC. I’ve been having problems with my laptop,” Beth said.
“You can turn on the heat in your room if you’d like.” Her mother’s tone was less than enthusiastic.
Beth knew her mother fretted about the heating bills. Instead of turning on the heat, Beth wrapped herself in a blanket and rested on her bed.
She couldn’t seem to keep out the cold. Perhaps that was because she had traveled to Lady Macbeth’s castle.
At least there was no snow on the ground. Beth walked through the courtyard to the lady’s chamber.
Two other ladies stood behind Lady Macbeth.
Beth had become Mercutio. She bowed and kissed Lady Macbeth’s hand. “Gracious lady, we meet again. Queen Mab sent me a dream of angels, so I knew that I would see you.”
“Doubtless angels would remind you of me.” Lady Macbeth pulled her sleeve over her hand as usual, but she never did it soon enough to preclude the kiss.
The ladies behind her raised their eyebrows. They had classic features, but no warmth in their eyes.
“Meet Lady Regan and Lady Goneril,” the queen said, inclining her head in their direction.
Beth bowed. She didn’t offer to kiss their hands though Mercutio would have done so. She wondered why Regan was willing to cooperate with Goneril, who had poisoned her because of jealousy over a man. “It is an honor to meet you, lovely ladies. No wonder my dream showed me more than one angel.”
Regan smiled an insinuating smile. “Greetings, gentleman of Verona.”
Goneril sniffed. “Angels. We’re dead enough in our play. Remember this isn’t really Mercutio, Regan. Don’t make a fool of yourself.”
“I know that. I was just being courteous.” Regan frowned at her sister.
“Have you met our foolish father?” Goneril asked.
“Er, yes.” Beth wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. “He is, well, formidable.”
“He is, well, nasty,” Regan said. “He always was. It infuriates me that the play is so sympathetic to him.”
“It’s difficult not to be sympathetic to an old man out in the rain,” Beth said.
“The blasted rain it raineth every day in old England,” Goneril complained. “He isn’t the only person who was ever soaked. The rain has ruined several of my best gowns.”
“What a pity.” Beth tried to sound as if she agreed.
“Thank you, dear ladies,” Lady Macbeth said. “Could you leave us now? I have set aside a modest collation for you in the hall. My husband’s handsomest warriors are also there.”
Both ladies smiled at their hostess and swept out of the room.
“How on earth are they going to help us?” Beth asked.
“You shall see.” The queen smiled her mysterious smile. It certainly was similar to Sita’s. “How many characters are now with us?”
“Rosalind and her friends, Toby Belch and Andrew Aguecheek, and Henry V. A motley group. And of course Titania would try to help us, but she’s trying to keep the Midsummer World together. It’s distressed about Bottom’s disappearance.”
Lady Macbeth frowned. “Richard is already bringing grief to a world where it should not exist. I wonder where that poor fool is.”
“I hope not in his dungeon. That’s a miserable place.” Beth shivered at the memory of visiting the dank dungeon to save Mercutio, who, it turned out, hadn’t been a prisoner after all, but had been collaborating with Richard.
Lady Macbeth shook her head. “The dungeon is too obvious. Richard has probably hidden him in some other play. Likely not a pleasant one.”
Beth shivered, which wasn’t difficult in that damp castle. “Merlin said we shouldn’t look for him yet, but I want to.”
“I believe that Merlin is mistaken. You should save Bottom. After all, the quality of mercy is not strained,” Lady Macbeth told Beth.
Beth didn’t want to think of all the terrible places in the plays where Bottom could be hidden. She was only moderately surprised that Lady Macbeth would quote Portia. Every character seemed to have layers and layers. Like people.
Beth wondered what she herself was like, deep down. When she was Mercutio, would she attack without much provocation? And when she was herself?
What was Bottom like, at bottom? Could Richard win him over, or force him to participate in something evil? Would Bottom understand evil when he saw it? Did she? Why was she working with Lady Macbeth, anyway?
Chapte
r 13
THE NEXT MORNING, BETH slept late. When she woke, she saw that the snow was at least a foot deep.
“It’s a snow day,” her mother announced. “Montgomery County schools are closed. I didn’t want to wake you to tell you.”
“Thank you.” Beth hugged her, but wondered whether she was getting too old to do that.
“How about pancakes for breakfast?”
“Great. Thanks.” Beth gave her mother a smile.
“Arnie Silver called and asked that you call him back.” Her mother took the pancake mix out of the cupboard. “He’s nice.”
“Yes, really nice.” Beth wondered whether her mother hoped that Arnie would become her boyfriend. “Is it okay if I call him while you’re making breakfast? I’ll be quick.”
“Of course, honey.”
Beth went to the living room and dialed Arnie.
“Hello. Silverado here,” Arnie said.
“Hey, Long John. It’s Beth. I heard you called.”
“May I come over in a while and talk?”
“Sure. In about an hour?”
“Fine.”
Beth hung up the phone and sighed. How much more would she have to reveal to him?
When Arnie came over, they went for a walk. Beth hoped her mother wouldn’t jump to any conclusions. And that Arnie wouldn’t.
The air smelled crisp. Most of the neighbors had shoveled their sidewalks. People were walking dogs dressed in jackets, and some dogs had already yellowed spots in the snow. Some big dogs jumped into snow piles, while little ones had to be dragged, or, in some cases, carried.
In places where the snow hadn’t been shoveled, it came over the top of Beth’s boots and slid down her ankles, making her socks unpleasantly moist.
Snow still covered the tree branches, but Beth didn’t see many icicles.
“There’s our breath,” Arnie said of the little clouds emanating from their mouths. “Proof that we’re still alive.”
“Did you need proof?”
The Mercutio Problem Page 10
