He looked sheepish. "Just a bit of medicinal tea, for my aching knees."
I picked up the jug and smelled its contents. The alcohol fumes shot straight up my sinuses. Some tea. "Perfect," I said. "Troy, I think we can sterilize your wound. It's the only thing I can think of that might help."
"Sterilize?" the friar asked, rubbing his bald spot. "Is this something you do back in Manhattan?"
"Yes." My stomach turned queasy as I glanced at the glistening pus.
You can't even look at an accident scene, my mother had said. You're too sensitive.
I clenched my jaw. "I'm going to need boiling water. It must reach a full, rolling boil. Can you do that?"
The friar nodded. "I have a small oven and cooking pot out back. It will take some time, though, to get the fire started."
So we set to work. The wound was such a mess that I figured we should start all over and do it right. When the water was ready, I convinced the friar that we needed to wash our hands. I sterilized a knife and a tweezerlike tool. The friar was curious about the entire process and asked all sorts of questions. I told him about bacteria and he listened intently, fetching more water when I needed it. I cut the stitches. Then, using the sterilized tweezers, I pulled all twelve stitches free. Since there were no clean bandages, I cut the bottom half of my underskirt into strips. It was unbleached linen and since it had been stuffed under the velvet dress, it seemed fairly clean. I used these strips, soaked in hot water, to soften the scabs and clean away the pus, reopening the wound. Troy kept wincing but kept very still. This wasn't rocket science, obviously. Everyone knows how to clean a wound, though I had never cleaned one as deep as that. I became very focused. The friar watched my every move. It didn't seem disgusting as I got caught up in the process. "This is going to hurt," I told Troy when I picked up the jug. He nodded and clenched his entire body as I poured the alcohol onto the wound.
Having never stitched anything, I turned this part over to Friar Laurence, but only after sterilizing his needle and thread. Troy gulped down some of what was left in the jug, which I later learned is called grappa, an intense alcoholic drink made from grapes. He pressed his head into the pillow and groaned each time the needle pierced his tender skin. I took his hand and held it. He almost squeezed my fingers off.
Finally, it was over. I dried the wound and tied the rest of the linen strips over it. "Hopefully that will buy us some time," I told him.
"Thank you," he said, smiling weakly. "Have you ever considered becoming a doctor?"
I returned the smile. Maybe Dissection 101 wouldn't be so bad after all. "It's the least I could do," I said. "I'd probably be dead if you hadn't saved me from Tybalt." Candlelight reflected in his green eyes. Reddish stubble sandpapered his square jaw. I sighed. "You wouldn't even be in this mess if I had just handed my mother the necklace."
Troy drifted back to sleep. Friar Laurence and I shared the rest of the bread. It was chewy, with seeds sprinkled throughout. My letter lay on the desk. "Friar, I wrote a letter for Juliet Capulet. If anything happens to me, or if I suddenly disappear, will you make certain that she gets it?"
"Of course, my child. But why would you disappear?"
"That charm I mentioned, I think it brought me here. I think it's magic. Do you believe in magic?"
"What you call magic, I call divine intervention. So yes, I believe." He wiped crumbs from the front of his robe. "I am a man of faith, Mimi. I struggle with the impossible every day. When I first saw you standing in the square, I knew you had come from someplace else. And all your talk about medicine convinced me further." He chuckled. "And I listen to confession every Sunday. You'd be amazed by some of the impossible things I hear."
I decided to make my own confession. "Friar, Juliet is supposed to fall in love with Romeo. They are part of a story that a man named William Shakespeare wrote, but their love is doomed from the start because of the feud."
"Ah, the feud." He frowned and shook his head. "It is a plague on this city."
"Why are they feuding?" I asked. Shakespeare never explains that in his play.
Friar Laurence stroked his cross. "It's no secret, so I shall tell you the tale." He sat back in his chair and rested his hands on his belly. "Lady Capulet was born Veronique Valdiza, a member of a wealthy, merchant-class family. But they were not nobles and her father desired a title of nobility more than anything else. Just before Veronique turned thirteen, she attended her first formal ball, where she met a bachelor by the name of Alfonso Montague, heir to a titled Verona family. He was none other than Romeo's future father. And, as you may have guessed, she fell passionately in love with him."
Lady Capulet, in love with a Montague? This was just like my second cousin Greg's soap opera.
Friar Laurence continued. "Though Alfonso Montague was beyond her class, Veronique wanted to be his wife and her father wanted his daughter titled. So Valdiza tried to entice a proposal of marriage by offering half his Venetian fleet to the Montagues, but only if Alfonso married his daughter. The Montagues would not agree to marry their only son to a merchant's daughter. They made this proclamation while standing on the church steps, for all the eavesdroppers and gossips to hear.
"The Valdiza family was shamed and Veronique was heartbroken. People whispered when she passed by and pointed fingers at her in church. They said she did not deserve a titled marriage. They said that she should never have dared to rise above her station. She refused to eat, refused to leave her house. She began to waste away. Her father almost went crazy with worry because he truly loved his only daughter. Fortunately, word of the generous offer spread so it wasn't long before other suitors came calling and one of them had a noble title--a Capulet title. Hoping to save his daughter's reputation, Valdiza agreed to the marriage on one condition: For Veronique's hand and access to half of Valdiza's fleet, this man would seek revenge, forever more, on the Montagues. All was agreed and Veronique married Lord Capulet."
"Did she want to marry him?" I asked.
"I cannot say. Her father arranged the marriage. Initially, Alfonso Montague felt no hatred toward the Capulet family, but as the years passed and the Capulets continued to attack his men and vilify his name, his heart began to rage and he, in turn, vowed to seek revenge on all Capulets. While the feud thrives, many have forgotten the cause. But Lady Capulet has not forgotten."
Even those who appear evil and wretched have feelings hidden beneath their powdered skin. Lady Capulet had loved and had lost, badly. She had been humiliated and her desire for revenge had blinded her.
"Who goes there?" Friar Laurence called out. Troy's eyes flew open and he sat up. Someone was coming up the stairs.
I turned toward the doorway as a small, robed figure entered. Troy hurled himself from the cot, grabbing the surgical knife from the bedside table.
The front of the figure's robe bore a golden Capulet crest.
Eighteen
***
"The miserable have no other medicine but only hope."
Friar, i need your help." The visitor lowered her hood. L "Juliet," I said, overjoyed to see her.
The friar eased the knife from Troy's outstretched hand. "You won't need that, my son. She is a friend."
Juliet's mask of desperation melted into a smile. "Mimi!" She rushed to me and squeezed the air out of me with an ecstatic hug. A hint of onion still lingered on her skin. "Tybalt returned this morning and said that you were still in Verona, cavorting with Montagues. Mother ordered Tybalt to find you and to arrest you for disobeying the exile and for stealing a dress. I am so sorry. I fear this is all my doing."
"It's not your doing," I assured her, trying not to focus on the fact that I was a fugitive. Did they put up wanted posters in the sixteenth century? "How are you? What happened after I left? Did your father beat you?" I was happy to see that there was no sign of her mother's slaps. Except for dark circles beneath her eyes, her face looked as cute as ever.
She shook her head. "He told me that he would not mar my body si
nce the wedding night was fast approaching. He was afraid that Paris would refuse me if I had whipping scars." That statement sickened me. Her body was a mere possession to be handed over to a new owner. "But he locked me in my room. No one but Nurse is allowed to see me until tomorrow. I told Nurse that I was taking to bed early. Then I climbed down the balcony and ran here to seek the friar's help."
"My child," the friar said. "Disobeying your father is a sin."
"Is it not a sin to sell your daughter to the highest bidder?" Juliet asked, her voice desperate. "I overheard them. Father is almost bankrupt and my marriage is his way out of debt. And Paris has promised Tybalt a titled position in the royal guard once we are married. I am to finance my family's future with my body and soul. Is that God's will, that I should marry a man I despise?"
Friar Laurence wrung his hands and frowned. "The Fourth Commandment is to honor thy father and mother. That is God's will." He scratched his overgrown ears. "Yet I have sat in the confessional with your future husband on many occasions. While I can't divulge the confessions themselves, I can say that they were of a most inappropriate nature. It is clear, in my heart, that the two of you are not a good match. But your parents ..."
"Forget them," Troy said, returning to the cot. "If you don't want to marry the guy, then don't marry him."
"It's not that simple," Friar Laurence explained. "If Juliet were to refuse a marriage that her parents had arranged, the Capulet name would suffer. Great shame would befall the family."
"I do not wish to bring dishonor to my family," Juliet said.
"And, if Juliet refused the marriage," the friar added, "she would be breaking the law of Verona."
"So?" Troy said.
"So, my son, she would be imprisoned, perhaps even put to death."
"Put to death?" Troy folded his arms. "That's the stupidest law I've ever heard of. What kind of people would put a girl to death? In my country, we barely even put murderers to death, and I'm talking about those scum-of-the-earth serial killers who slaughter prostitutes and drug addicts. Most of them get to spend the rest of their lives in a comfortable cell with free health care and television. What kind of place is this anyway where girls get put to death?"
Juliet took a hesitant step toward Troy, looking at him the way a child looks at a new toy. "I've never heard a man speak in such a manner. Who are you?"
"I'm ..."
"That's Troy," I said, stepping between them. The less Golden Boy said the better. "He's from Manhattan, just like me. And yes, he's a Montague, but we don't have the whole feud thing in Manhattan."
She stepped around me. "Do you really believe it's a stupid law?"
"Of course."
Juliet smiled, then sighed. Then smiled again. Uh oh. I knew that dazed expression. And Troy knew it, too, because women bestowed it upon him constantly. "You're so nice," Juliet said, stepping closer. "Did you get that wound in bat-tie? Does it hurt much? Are you an actor, too?" She moved closer still. "Do you have any interest in marriage?"
Troy raised an eyebrow and stepped away. "Mimi?" he said between clenched teeth.
The last thing anyone needed was for Juliet to fall in love with Troy Summer. Time to nip this in the bud. Time to get back on track. "Friar, you said that it's God's will that we honor our parents. But isn't it also God's will to help those in need?" I asked. "Haven't you taken a vow to do just that? And wouldn't it be a terrible sin to break that vow?"
"Indeed, it would be." He placed his palms on his fat belly. "But how can I help?"
"Isn't there a third option, besides marriage or death? Couldn't she leave Verona? If she ..."
"Leave Verona?" Troy interrupted. "I thought we were going to end this story, Mimi. You want to get out of here, don't you?" He bumped into the wall, retreating from Juliet's amorous gaze. "Don't you?"
"Troy, can I talk to you in the other room?" I asked. Troy eagerly slipped past Juliet and followed me to the friar's workshop. We stood beneath the hanging herbs, glaring at each other. "Of course I want to get out of here. There's a price on my head. But I promised Juliet that I would help her, and that's what I intend to do. She's such a nice girl, Troy. She's so young."
Troy leaned on the table. I expected him to argue with me, to tell me I was an imbecile, to tell me I should get a lobotomy or something. "You may need a vacation from your life, Mimi, but I can't afford to take one. I have to shoot this DVD. My sales were way down last month, and if I don't keep moving forward, I'm going to become one of those pathetic, washed-up teen idols. I've got to get back."
"Oh," I mumbled, stunned by his confession.
"And don't forget the whole gangrene thing." He raked his fingers through his blond hair, pushing it off his forehead. "I don't pretend to understand any of this but I know one thing for certain. We're the real people here. They're just characters. Don't forget that."
I sighed. My mother was a real person and she would be worried sick. Troy was a real person who needed to see a doctor, and I certainly needed to deal with my own problems. Maybe he was right. But maybe he was wrong. "If these people aren't real, Troy, then how did one of them manage to do that to your leg? I think they're as real as we are."
"You're so pig-headed." His blue eyes turned stormy. "You know the play as well as I do. Romeo and Juliet kill themselves. It's the way it has to be."
"Why? Why can't it be different?"
"Because Shakespeare didn't write it different," he insisted, folding his arms. "Juliet's destiny is already mapped out."
"But she didn't get to choose her destiny."
"Huh?"
"Why does everyone else get to choose our destinies? That's what I want to know." Feelings began to bubble-- feelings I thought I could control. But they came fast, shooting to the surface like a geyser. I was going to blow. I clenched my fists. "Why does everyone think they can tell us what to do? That they know what's best for us?" I took a deep breath then wagged a finger at him. "Just because Shakespeare created this world doesn't mean that he gets to decide Juliet's fate."
"Uh, yes it does, actually," he said sarcastically.
"Well, I say it doesn't." Rage took over. "She has her own desires and she doesn't have to die if someone gives her a chance to get away from her horrid life. Away from that horrid mother. Away from her name. Do you hear me? She needs to get away from her name!"
Have you ever had one of those lightbulb moments? Just like in the cartoons when you felt like you had actually reached up and flicked on the light switch? That you had achieved some sort of enlightenment? Rage can do that. Like an eruption it can clear away all the clutter we layer over our true feelings. We were in the same boat, Juliet and I, riding down the same tumultuous river with our parents at the helm. Our choice was to stay on board or capsize the whole thing!
Juliet's destiny could be changed. I was going to stick to my promise because I knew, to the core of my being, that I had been sent to help this girl. Our fates were linked in some kind of cosmic, otherworldly way.
"I'm going to help Juliet find that happy ending and I'm going to get us both home. Somehow, I'll do it." I didn't give him the chance to reply.
I returned to the friar's room. He and Juliet were eating the last of the soup.
"Juliet," I said. "It's true that only death will free you from this situation."
She straightened her back and tried to look brave. "I'm ready to face death."
"But she won't have to, will she, Friar? There's a way that death can be faked, isn't there?" I waited for his reply. He knew what I was talking about because he stared at his soup bowl for a very long time. The friar helps Juliet fake her death in Shakespeare's play, but who knew what he'd do in this upside-down version.
Juliet threw herself on the floor at his feet, clutching the hem of his brown robe. "Please, Friar Laurence. Do you know of a way?"
He clutched his silver cross and nodded.
Nineteen
***
"Delays have dangerous ends".
Fr
iar Laurence, Juliet, and I sat in the herbal room while Troy sulked on the cot. A light breeze drifted through the open window, carrying the sickly sweet scent of a jasmine vine. We didn't have much time to pull everything together since the wedding was scheduled for the following evening.
Friar Laurence mixed up a batch of sleeping potion. "We are not so different," he told Juliet. "I also wish I could leave Verona."
"Truly?" she asked.
"Yes. I would like to travel the countryside, taking my medicines to the poor. The patrons of St. Francis are wealthy. They can hire apothecaries and surgeons. My talents would better serve those of lesser means." He poured the brown potion into a small glass vial. "But I am tied to this place. I cannot leave here unless the church's governing body releases me." He corked the vial and tied a string around it. "This potion mimics death by turning the skin cold and slowing breathing to the point of imperceptibility. Upon drinking this you will have only ten minutes of consciousness." Juliet tied the vial around her neck and tucked it into her bodice. "I will arrive a few hours before the ceremony. A servant will notify you of my arrival. Take the potion immediately. When I come to your room to offer a wedding prayer, I will declare that you are dead."
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