The Mercutio Problem

by Carol Anne Douglas

  “I didn’t hear him. Maybe we should try Macbeth.”

  Beth shook her head. “Lady Macbeth is worried about his disappearance. She should know if he’s in her area.”

  “Are you sure she’d know? Let’s try it. I wouldn’t mind seeing the queen again anyway.”

  “You already play her so well that you’re scary,” Beth said, but she thought it was only fair to let Sita visit Macbeth’s Scotland even if they didn’t have much chance of finding Bottom there. Sita had seen Lady Macbeth only once, in Richard’s hall, the time that the Lady killed Richard.

  Beth concentrated on Macbeth. She spun through gray clouds and howling winds. Ravens flew with her. She felt a wing brush her cheek.

  She landed inside Macbeth’s castle. She knew it by the smell. It smelled of old blood and sorrow. The dampness on the castle walls felt like tears. It was night, but few torches shone on the walls.

  Sita stood beside her, turning her head this way and that. “Look,” she whispered, pointing in the distance.

  Beth peered through the dark hallway and saw Lady Macbeth, wringing her hands. Beth heard a faint moan. “Out, out damned spot.”

  “We came at a bad time,” Beth whispered. “I don’t think the queen would want us to see her like this. Let’s leave.”

  “Let me call Bottom first.” Sita let out her strange fairy call, “Bottom, come hither, come hither,” which was so high-pitched that it almost hurt Beth’s ears.

  There was no response.

  Beth concentrated on Denmark. Bottom might be there after all.

  She spun away from the ravens through a cloud of seagulls. They landed inside Elsinore castle this time. Beth was glad because the castle was warmer than the promontory on which it stood. She heard music and laughter nearby.

  “King Claudius must be holding a banquet,” she said.

  “Good,” Sita replied. “I’m hungry.”

  “I don’t think I want to eat at his table.” Beth shivered.

  “It’s fine if you don’t drink the wine.” Sita grinned. “I don’t really want to join the party. I’m just joking.”

  A pale young woman with long blonde hair and a tear-stained face stalked past them without noticing them.

  “Ophelia isn’t enjoying the feast either,” Beth said. “Why don’t you call Bottom now?”

  Sita called, “Come hither, Bottom, come hither,” again and again.

  After a pause, Sita shook her head. “No response,” she said. “But I hear voices outside.”

  “It’s probably just the old king’s ghost. But I guess we’d better find out who it is.”

  They slipped carefully to a window so they could see without being seen. The cold air hit them. “Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to go to Claudius’s banquet after all,” Beth whispered.

  Beth saw Hamlet talking with King Lear. She recoiled. Lear meant danger, and she wasn’t ready to die yet.

  “Yes, a hawk is different from a handsaw,” Lear said in a serious tone. The expression on his face was calmer than Beth had ever seen it. “The wind is blowing, but it is not so cruel as the wind in my land.”

  “Wind is an illusion of the air,” Hamlet said. “The air is nothing. How can nothing move? We just imagine the wind.”

  “You haven’t felt the wind and rain in my country.” Lear sighed. His sighs were even deeper than Hamlet’s. “It is cruel hard for any who venture in it. The wind must chill the poor people of Denmark, who have no shelter.”

  “Who is poor?” Hamlet asked. “Is a man poor if he lives in a wooden shack but he still has both parents, and they love him? I say he is not poor, but rich.”

  Lear shook his head. “You have never felt hunger.”

  “I hunger for justice,” Hamlet said. “But am I blessed?”

  “Blessed?” Lear asked.

  “I forgot. You lived before my religion was founded. Pardon me,” Hamlet said. “But even in your time, people knew about justice.”

  “Justice?” Lear’s face reddened. “There is no justice.”

  “There may be, if you are willing to die for it,” Hamlet said. Despite the cold, beads of sweat broke out on his face. “Is justice more important than life?”

  “You were a good son.” Lear patted Hamlet’s shoulder. “Never regret that you gave your life to bring down your father’s murderer.”

  “And you should be grateful that you finally recognized which of your daughters loved you and that you reconciled with her,” Hamlet said.

  “Grateful?” Lear shouted in a deafening voice. “Grateful that my Cordelia was killed? Never!” He drew his sword and waved it around. “I will do all in my power to bring her back, and I’ll kill anyone who stands in my way!”

  Beth shivered. Sita put her hand on Beth’s arm.

  “Your play is noble, and it reminds many children to love their parents and parents to love their children,” Hamlet told him. “No other love is more important than those loves.”

  “Where is your rage?” Lear shouted. “Have you lost your rage? Rage against Shakespeare, who forced you to die for avenging your father’s death.”

  “I was ready to die,” Hamlet protested. “I am a martyr. I had no other claim to sainthood, so martyrdom is good.”

  “Fool!” Lear yelled. “Only life is good. Martyrdom is dust, bones and dust.”

  “Everything must come to dust,” Hamlet retorted.

  “Not the young! Not the young and good!” Lear jumped up and paced across the castle terrace. “Shakespeare killed Cordelia, and I must save her!”

  “No one can be saved, only avenged,” Hamlet said. “The evil characters in your play died, so Cordelia was avenged.”

  “No! She was not!” Lear screamed.

  His scream was so loud that Beth tumbled from the window onto the balcony.

  “Mercutio!” Lear yelled. “The prattling Veronan who is keeping me from saving Cordelia!” He drew his huge sword.

  “You should listen to Hamlet, noble king,” Beth stammered, trying to stand.

  “Enough blood has been spilled,” Hamlet said, trying to hold Lear’s arm.

  Sita leapt in front of Beth. She stared into Lear’s blood-red eyes. “You would not kill a woman, would you?”

  Lear paused, sword in the air. “Only my worthless daughters Regan and Goneril,” he said.

  “Let’s go!” Sita demanded.

  Beth still hadn’t gotten to her feet, but she wished to be back in her room.

  They spun through Denmark’s chill to Bethesda’s. Snow was falling outside Beth’s home.

  Beth sat on one cushion and saw that Sita was still on the other one.

  “I’m supposed to die as Mercutio,” Beth said. “But I’m afraid to. I’m not doing my job.”

  “You’re not dying in front of me!” Sita grabbed her hand. “I hate the idea of you dying. Who knows what it would do to your mind?”

  “Is that why you’re coming to the world of the plays with me?” Beth asked.

  “Of course, I care more about you than about Bottom,” Sita said.

  “I’m glad.” Beth relaxed. Tension flowed out of her body. People cared about her.

  “Are you very much in love with Amelia?” Beth asked.

  “Yes.” Sita rolled over on her cushion. “I’m so happy.”

  “Congratulations.” Beth could almost say that sincerely because she felt their friendship was secure. She wondered when she would fall in love. With someone other than Mercutio, that is.

  Beth’s mother’s voice came through the door. “Are you up, girls? Would you like some French toast?”

  “Thank you, Professor Owens,” Sita said. “We’ll help you make it.”

  Beth realized that if she was going to die in the other world, she’d have to go there alone. She didn’t want Sita to have to see her die.
Or get attacked for trying to prevent it.

  Chapter 25

  AFTER SITA HAD LEFT, Beth contemplated writing her paper. What would be the least painful way of writing about Richard? Her head began to hurt and she took some aspirin. She thought she was taking too many. Maybe if she got cut she would bleed to death.

  She knew so much about Richard that she couldn’t tell. There was no way she could write that Shakespeare had based Richard on Mordred. Should she write about how different Shakespeare’s Richard was from the real Richard? She could find papers from the Richard III Society and analyze them. Not plagiarize them. Or should she compare Richard with Macbeth or some other villain? Should she try a psychological approach and say that Richard was weak? Would that lessen his power over her?

  The aspirin didn’t work. Her head ached so much that she wanted to close her eyes, but she was afraid that if she did she would see Richard.

  She could write about one of the other characters in the play! She jumped up and danced around the room. She could write about Queen Margaret’s history and Shakespeare’s use of her in the play. Margaret of Anjou had ruled England when her husband, King Henry VI, went mad (or so it was said). She had led the Lancastrian armies against the Yorkists. Richard’s older brother, Edward, defeated Margaret, and she was gone from England before Richard became king. When Margaret was queen, she had founded Queen’s College, Cambridge. No doubt she had disliked all the House of York, but her raving at Richard was one of Shakespeare’s inventions.

  Beth smiled. She could say how clever it was to introduce Margaret into the play.

  She spun out of control and landed in Richard’s hall. Incense made her choke and the mirrors nearly blinded her.

  “Do you think you can escape me by writing about Queen Margaret?” Richard scoffed at her. “What a pathetic dodge.”

  Beth reeled. Richard was intruding in her brain more than ever.

  “What did you do to me?” she yelled at him. “You don’t have the technology to put electrodes in my brain. How can you see what I’m thinking? Get out of my head right now!”

  Richard laughed at her, and continued laughing like a hyena. “I shouldn’t admit this, my dear Beth, but I can only do that occasionally, and only when you are thinking about me. I congratulate myself that I could do it this time.” He smirked. “I am sure that you must think of me more often than I am able to see into your brain. You are much too open. Write about the formidable Margaret all you like. Indulge yourself with thoughts of women in history who had some power. But don’t imagine that you can erase me from your mind so easily.”

  “Good-bye. I refuse to listen to you.” Beth whirled back to her room.

  She dug her nails into her hands. She would do anything to get him out of her mind, Beth thought. She wondered whether Richard had been able to influence Mr. Clarke’s choice of assignment, but she doubted that. Could she be going mad? No, she thought, I’m not mad. I’m angry.

  She tried to concentrate on Margaret of Anjou. She liked Margaret because that queen had the chance to call Richard a devil. Beth’s computer screen froze a few times, but she just rebooted and refused to believe that Richard had anything to do with her computer problems.

  ON MONDAY MORNING, BETH decided to time travel again. Now traveling felt more like a duty than a pleasure. She went to school early and entered the empty drama classroom. She gazed at the poster of Shakespeare.

  She spun past columns and felt the warmth of a new day. That is, a very old day. She had landed in Ancient Rome. For some reason that she could not fathom, instead of being Mercutio she was now a boy whom no one would notice. She wore a shining white toga with a purple stripe. She hoped she could keep it clean. There were sandals on her feet. The sandals were more comfortable than the boots she had worn in other plays. The sun beat down on her, and she wished she could stay in Italy for a while. She stood on a street from which she could see hills covered with the pines of Rome.

  What would she call herself in Rome, if she was there long enough to be asked her name? Lucius might be a safe choice.

  Julius Caesar stood on the summit of the nearest hill.

  Beth looked for a path and scrambled up the hill to see him. Running in sandals was an art she had not yet learned. Pebbles scraped her feet. The scent of pines invigorated her. As she neared the top of the hill, she could see that only a few guards had accompanied Caesar, and they stood some distance away from him, though they watched his every move.

  Someone walked ahead of her—a massive man trod steadily. She recognized him.

  He came in view of Caesar. “Hail, Caesar,” he said, saluting him.

  “Hail, Othello,” Caesar replied. His voice was calm, even stoic, and so was his face. “Caesar knew that you were seeking him, so he has let you find him alone, not amidst the crowds of Romans who follow him. Caesar has ordered his guards to witness what happens, but not to intervene. Here is Caesar. Caesar opposes changing the endings of the plays.” He extended both arms, displaying his weaponless hands but not offering them for touching.

  “Mighty Caesar,” Othello said, his voice just as dignified and stoic as Caesar’s, “I have come to challenge you because I must. If you stand with those who block me from saving my wife from my misguided wrath, I must fight you. I am not a man who would stab you in the back.”

  “You must stab Caesar in the chest, then.” Caesar’s voice was cool as ever. “Caesar is prepared this time.”

  “I cannot do that unless you fight!” Othello exclaimed. “I have murdered once, and can never bear to murder again.”

  “Caesar will not fight you, noble Moor,” Caesar said. “Caesar bears you no ill will. But Caesar stands against softening the plays. We cannot change our destiny. If you demand to change the endings, you must do it over Caesar’s dead body.”

  “No!” Othello groaned. “I cannot! God witness my agony! I cannot kill this brave man. Caesar, you are an excellent general. I am a general, too. You must fight me.”

  “Caesar is a great general, and more than a general,” Caesar said. “This is Caesar’s strategy. You cannot kill Caesar unless you murder him.”

  “Oh, most unhappy day!” Othello moaned. “I have no fear. I would face you in combat, and you might kill me. But I cannot act like the ignoble Cassius and stab you when you are unarmed. Yet perhaps I should give up my honor for Desdemona’s sake.” He raised his sword, but he remained standing at a distance from Caesar.

  A woman with flowing brown hair and light olive skin swept into the clearing.

  “No!” she cried, flinging herself on Othello. “No, my beloved husband. Do not kill a noble man in my name.” She clung to him.

  Tears formed in Othello’s eyes. “My beloved! I have wronged you so terribly. I must do anything I can to change the ending of our play. I cannot bear what I have done to you.”

  Desdemona stood straighter and looked him in the eye. “You are strong and brave. Be even stronger and braver, my love, and bear what you have done. I accept our ending, and so must you. Remember the days of our love without grief. I love you too much to let you lower yourself to fight on the side of evil men.”

  Othello embraced her. “It must be as you say. I cannot kill Caesar and I must live with what I have done. Your forgiveness overwhelms me.” He turned to Caesar. “Hail and farewell, Caesar,” he said. Othello and Desdemona walked away. Beth scurried out of the path to let them pass. Desdemona’s endless love sickened Beth.

  A faint smile crept over Caesar’s stern countenance.

  Beth wondered whether he smiled because he believed that he had outwitted Othello, or because Calpurnia’s pleas could never have changed a decision of Caesar’s.

  The answer didn’t matter. One of her problems was solved. Othello had left Richard. Beth hoped that others would also.

  “Beth!” someone called. Suddenly recalled to the classroom, Beth looked around he
r.

  Ms. Capulet stood just inside the doorway. Her face was pale as a marble statue. Her eyes welled as if she were going to cry. “I’ve heard that Merlin has planned for you to die as Mercutio in Shakespeare’s world. You mustn’t do that! I’d never have agreed for you to time travel if I had any idea that Merlin would be so careless with your life.”

  Beth had never seen her teacher so emotional. “Who told you about that? Sita?”

  “Yes, she finally told me. I can’t believe you’d try to do that.”

  “I know what I’m doing. I have to do it to bring Mercutio back to life.”

  Ms. Capulet took a step closer to Beth. “You don’t have to do it! You mustn’t do it. I won’t let you do it.”

  Beth scowled. “What can you do to stop me? Give me an ‘F’ in drama class?”

  Ms. Capulet gasped. “I’ve never heard you talk like that. Please consider how much anguish you would go through. The experience could scar you for life. You already are hurt. I can see it in your eyes.”

  Ms. Capulet reached out her hand, but Beth backed away from her.

  “Mercutio is my friend. I’m going to do it.”

  Beth walked out of the classroom. She was afraid enough without listening to anyone else’s fears for her.

  “Beth!” Ms. Capulet called, but Beth kept walking and didn’t answer her.

  Chapter 26

  BETH WOKE UP THE next morning ready to do more than go to school. She couldn’t travel to London. But she could still time travel for a few minutes before breakfast. She wanted to do something, not just wait for things to happen.

  She spun through rain, but the rain wasn’t water. It was raining blood. Not a good sign, Beth thought.

  She landed in King Richard’s courtyard, with its fountain that spurted red water just for effect. She hoped that was all the rain had been.

  She was Mercutio, looking at the guards in boar-emblem uniforms. They nodded to her. It seemed that they hadn’t been told to regard her as an enemy, even though she had once been held in Richard’s dungeon as a ruse to confuse Beth. But Beth as Mercutio was an enemy. She felt an urge to run into Richard’s hall and attack him, but she knew that would only get her killed. She was supposed to die as Mercutio, but she wasn’t suicidal. She wanted a little more time. Just to find Bottom, of course. Not because she wanted to live.