If We Were Villains

by M. L. Rio

He was nowhere to be seen, but his voice pressed in on us from all sides, so loud it rattled in my bones. James was no less alarmed than I or anyone else and stumbled over his words when he spoke. “What’er thou art, for thy good caution, thanks; / Thou hast harp’d my fear aright: but one word more—”

  Richard interrupted, deafeningly.

  Richard: “BE BLOODY, BOLD, AND RESOLUTE; LAUGH TO SCORN

  THE POWER OF MAN, FOR NONE OF WOMAN BORN

  SHALL HARM MACBETH.”

  James: “Then live, Macduff: what need I fear of thee?”

  Richard: “BE LION-METTLED, PROUD; AND TAKE NO CARE

  WHO CHAFES, WHO FRETS, OR WHERE CONSPIRERS ARE:

  MACBETH SHALL NEVER VANQUISH’D BE UNTIL

  GREAT BIRNAM WOOD TO HIGH DUNSINANE HILL

  SHALL COME AGAINST HIM.”

  James: “That will never be—

  Who can impress the forest, bid the tree

  Unfix his earth-bound root? Sweet bodements! good!

  Rebellion’s head, rise never till the wood

  Of Birnam rise, and our high-placed Macbeth

  Shall live the lease of nature, pay his breath

  To time and mortal custom. Yet my heart

  Throbs to know one thing: tell me, if your art

  Can tell so much: shall Banquo’s issue ever

  Reign in this kingdom?”

  The witches all cried out at once, “Seek to know no more!”

  James: “I will be satisfied: deny me this,

  And an eternal curse fall on you! Let me know.”

  ALL: “Show his eyes, and grieve his heart;

  Come like shadows, so depart!”

  Eight cloaked figures rose in the back row of the audience. A girl sitting beside them squealed in surprise. They glided toward the center aisle and began to descend (more third-years? I wondered) while James watched in wide-eyed horror. “What,” he said, “will the line stretch out to the crack of doom?”

  My heart leapt up into my throat. I stepped into the light for the second time, blood slick and gleaming on my skin. James gaped up at me, and the audience all turned together. Stifled screams fluttered on the surface of the silence.

  “Horrible sight,” James said, weakly. I started down the stairs again, raising my arm to point and claim the eight cloaked figures as my own. “Now, I see, ’tis true; / For the blood-bolter’d Banquo smiles upon me, / And points at them for his.”

  I lowered my hand again and they disappeared, melted into the surrounding shadows as if they had never existed. James and I stood ten feet apart before the fire. I gleamed crimson, grim and bloody as a newborn baby, while James’s face was ghostly white.

  “What, is this so?” he said—it seemed—to me. A strange, swelling silence followed. We both leaned forward without moving our feet, waiting for something to happen. Then Meredith came between us.

  “Ay, sir,” she said, and dragged James’s gaze away from me. “All this is so: but why / Stands Macbeth thus amazedly?”

  He allowed himself to be led away, back to the fire and the tempting attentions of the witches. I climbed to the top of the steps, stopped there and lingered, to haunt him. Twice his eyes wandered my way, but the audience was watching the girls again. They reeled around the fire, cackling up at the stormy sky, and began to sing once more. James looked on for a moment, aghast, then turned and fled the firelight.

  ALL: “Double double, toil and trouble;

  Fire burn and cauldron bubble—

  Scale of dragon, tooth of wolf,

  Witches’ mummy, maw and gulf…”

  While Meredith and Wren carried on the dance, their movement wild and violent, Filippa lifted up a bowl that had been hidden deep in the sand. A red and viscous liquid sloshed against the sides, the same false blood that prickled on my skin.

  ALL: “Double double, toil and trouble,

  Fire burn and cauldron bubble.

  Cool it with a baboon’s blood,

  Then the charm is firm and good.”

  Filippa upended the bowl. There was a sickening splash, and everything went black. The audience surged to its feet in a roar of glee and confusion. I sprinted back into the cover of the trees.

  When the lakeside lights came on—weak orange bulbs flickering weirdly at the edges of the beach—the shore was alive with shouts and laughter and applause. I doubled over in the cool forest darkness, hands on my knees, breathing heavily. I felt like I’d just outrun a landslide. All I wanted was to find the other fourth-years and share a sigh of relief.

  But quiet celebration was not to be had. Halloween demanded a party of bacchanalian proportions, and it didn’t take long to begin. As soon as the faculty and the more timorous first- and second-years had gone, kegs appeared as if conjured by some lingering magic, and music came thudding through the speakers that had so eerily magnified Richard’s voice. Alexander was the first of us to emerge, staggering out of the water like a drowned man reanimated. Admirers and friends from other disciplines (there were many of the former, few of the latter) surrounded him, and he regaled them with a thrilling tale of treading water for over an hour. I waited in the safety of the trees a little longer, well aware that I was covered in blood and it would be impossible not to draw attention to myself. Only when I spotted Filippa did I venture back out onto the beach.

  As soon as the light hit me, people shouted congratulations, reached out to slap my back and tousle my hair before they realized how sticky I was. By the time I made my way to Filippa, two plastic cups foaming over with beer had been forced into my hands.

  “Here,” I said, and passed one to her. “Happy Halloween.”

  Her eyes flicked from my bloody face to my dirty bare feet and back again. “Nice costume.”

  I plucked at the sleeve of her dress, which was still damp and mostly transparent. “I like yours better.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Think they’ll try to get all of us completely naked this year?”

  “There’s always the Christmas masque.”

  “Oh God, bite your tongue.”

  “Seen the others?”

  “Meredith’s off looking for The Voice. No clue about James and Wren.”

  Alexander excused himself from his audience and barged between us, hooking an arm around each of our necks. “That went about as well as could be expected,” he said. Then, “What the fuck? Oliver, you’re filthy.”

  “No, I’m Banquo.” (He had been back under the boat for both of my scenes.)

  “You smell like raw meat.”

  “You smell like pond water.”

  “Touché.” He grinned and rubbed his palms together. “Shall we get this party properly started?”

  “How do you propose we do that?” Filippa asked.

  “Get drunk, get loud, get lucky.” He pointed a finger pistol at her. “Unless you have a better idea.”

  She put both hands up in surrender and said, “Lead on.”

  Halloween seemed to bring out a sort of sybaritic hysteria in the Dellecher students. What I remembered of it from my first three years was quickly forgotten, as being a fourth-year was a little like being a celebrity. People I didn’t know, barely knew, barely recognized, heaped compliments on me and all the others, asked how long we’d been rehearsing, and expressed appropriate amazement when they learned that we hadn’t, at all. For an hour or so I accepted proffered drinks and drags on spliffs and cigarettes, but the close press of people soon began to suffocate me. I scanned the crowd with some urgency, in search of one of my fellow fourth-year thespians. (I’d been separated from Alexander and Filippa, though at that point I didn’t recall when or how.) I shook off a desperately flirtatious second-year girl by saying I needed another drink, found one, and wandered toward the edge of the light. I breathed a little more freely, content to watch the debauchery for a while without participating. I sipped slowly at my beer until I felt a hand on my arm.

  “Hello there.”

  “Meredith.” She had detached herself from a group of
studio art boys (probably begging her to pose for a drawing class) and followed me to the periphery of the party. She was still in her witch dress, and in my foggy state it was impossible not to stare at her through the fabric.

  “Tired of hearing how fabulous you are?” she asked.

  “Mostly they just want to touch the blood.”

  She smiled and walked her fingers from my elbow up to my shoulder. “Sick little freaks.” She’d definitely been drinking, but she held her liquor better than the rest of us. “Then again, maybe they just want an excuse to touch you.” She licked a spot of stage blood off the tip of one finger and winked, thick black eyelashes like ostrich-feather fans. It was unbearably sexy, which irritated me for some reason. “You know,” she said, “the bare-chested, covered-in-blood look, it’s working for you.”

  “The braless, wearing-a-bedsheet look, it’s working for you,” I said, without thinking, and only half sarcastic. A slow-motion movie of Richard kicking my teeth in reeled through my head and I added, loudly, “Where’s your boyfriend? I don’t think I’ve seen him.”

  “He’s sulking, trying to keep me and everyone else from having fun.” I followed her gaze back to the beach, where Richard was sitting on a bench by himself, nursing a drink and watching the revelers as if he found their partying profoundly offensive.

  “What’s wrong with him now?”

  “Who cares? It’s always something.” She tugged my fingers and said, “Come on, James is looking for you.”

  I pulled my hand away but followed obediently, downing most of my drink in one gulp. I could feel Richard glaring at me.

  Someone had built the fire up to blazing again, and James and Wren stood beside it, talking to each other and ignoring everyone else. As we approached he offered her his coat; she pulled it close around her shoulders, then looked down and laughed. The hem hung halfway to her knees.

  “How on earth did all four of you fit under that canoe?” James asked, when I was near enough to hear.

  “Well, it was very cozy,” she said. “I must’ve accidentally almost kissed Alexander five times.”

  “Lovely. Give him a few more drinks and he’ll be telling everyone how badly you want him.”

  Wren turned toward us and gave a little gasp, clutching the collar of James’s coat with both hands. “Oliver, you startled me! You still look frightful.”

  Me: “I’d love to wash off, but that water looks very cold.”

  Wren: “It’s not terrible once you’re in it up to your waist.”

  Me: “Says the girl standing by the fire, wearing someone else’s coat.”

  “Wren,” Meredith said, glancing over her shoulder toward the benches, “will you please talk to Richard? I’ve had enough of him.”

  Wren offered the rest of us a wan smile and said, “My gentle cousin.”

  James watched her pick her way through the crowd. Meredith peered into his half-empty cup, took it from him, and reached for mine. “You two stay here,” she said. “I’ll be back with more drinks.”

  “Oh good,” I said. “I can’t wait.”

  When she was gone, James turned to me and asked, “All right?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Fine.”

  I could tell from his skeptical smile that he didn’t believe me, but mercifully he chose to change the subject. “You know, you do look frightful. Scared me half to death coming out of the trees like that.”

  “James, you did this to me.”

  “Yes, but in the dark in that tiny little shed, it wasn’t the same. With all the light on you and that look on your face…”

  “Well,” I said, “blood will have blood.”

  “Well, I plan never to get on your bad side.”

  “Likewise,” I said. “You make a surprisingly convincing villain.”

  He shrugged. “Better me than Richard. He looks really murderous.”

  I glanced toward the benches again. Richard and Wren sat side by side, heads bent together. An ominous frown darkened his face as he spoke, looking down at his hands. That half-buried unease pushed up toward the surface again. I told myself it was just a stomachache, too much booze drunk too quickly. “Sound and fury,” I said, “signifying nothing. Don’t mind him.”

  Another hour went by, or maybe two or three. The sky was so dark that it was impossible to tell how time was passing, unless you measured the minutes by the number of drinks you had. I lost count after seven, but my hand was never empty. The younger students retreated to the Hall, weaving through the trees, laughing and swearing as they tripped over protuberant roots and spilled what was left of their beer on themselves. Fourth-years of every discipline and a few precocious third-years lingered. Someone decided that the night couldn’t end without everyone soaking wet, and slippery, wobbling chicken fights had begun.

  After a dozen rounds, Alexander and Filippa were the reigning champions. They looked more like one creature than two, Filippa’s long legs wound so tightly around Alexander’s shoulders that they could have been a terrifying set of Siamese twins. He stood waist-deep in the water, barely swaying, gripping her knees. Unlike Meredith, his drunkenness was obvious, but it only seemed to make him invincible.

  “Whozenext?” he yelled. “Undefeated, that’s what we are.”

  “If someone defeats you, will you call it a night?” James asked. The rest of us sat in the sand, our bare feet at the edge of the water, forgotten drinks hanging heavily from our fingertips. The air was unseasonably temperate for October, but cold waves nipped at our toes, a forewarning of approaching winter.

  Alexander listed to the left and let go of Filippa’s leg to point at us; she grabbed for his other hand to keep from falling off. “’Sgotta be you guys,” he said.

  I shook my head at James. We had been happy to heckle and cheer them on as they thrashed the remaining third-years.

  Meredith: “Well, I’m not getting back in the water.”

  Filippa: “What’s the matter, Mer? Afraid of a little rough play?”

  The thirty or so onlookers hooted and whistled.

  Meredith: “I know what you’re doing. You’re baiting me.”

  Filippa: “Duh. Is it working?”

  Meredith: “You bet, bitch. Bring it on.”

  People whooped and Filippa grinned. Meredith stood, brushed the sand from her backside and called over her shoulder, “Rick! Let’s teach these morons a lesson.”

  Richard, who had deigned to come down to the beach but was sitting a yard or so behind the rest of us, said, “No. Make a spectacle of yourself if you want. I’m staying dry.”

  Another round of laughter, meaner this time. (Meredith was much admired but also much envied, and any misstep of hers was jealously savored by at least a few.)

  “Fine,” she said, coolly. “I will.” She grabbed her skirt and tied it up in a knot high on her hip. She waded into the water, turned, and said, “Coming, Oliver?”

  “What, me?”

  “Yeah, you. Someone has to help me sink these idiots, and James sure as fuck isn’t going to do it.”

  “She’s right,” James said, blithely. “I’m sure-as-fuck not.” (Unlike the rest of us, who were all attracted to Meredith in some biological, unavoidable way, James seemed to find her overt sex appeal somehow repulsive.) He smirked at me. “Have fun.”

  Meredith and I stared at each other for a moment, but the fierceness of her expression didn’t make refusal feel like an option. People I didn’t even know shouted encouragement at me until I climbed, a little sloppily, to my feet. “This is a bad idea,” I said, mostly to myself.

  “Don’t worry.” Wren nudged James with her elbow. “I’ll make him fight the winners with me.”

  He protested, but I didn’t hear what he said because Meredith had grabbed my arm and was dragging me into the water. “Get on your knees,” she ordered.

  “I bet she says that to all the boys,” Alexander said. “Have you no modesty, no maiden shame, / No touch of bashfulness?”

  I glared at him as I crou
ched down in the water. The cold nearly knocked the wind out of me, seizing onto my stomach and chest like a sheet of ice. “Jesus,” I said. “Hurry up and get on!”

  “I bet he says that to all the girls,” Filippa said, with a wink. “Perforce I must confess, / I thought you lord of more true gentleness!”

  “Okay,” I said to Meredith, as more lewd laughter bubbled in my ears. “Let’s kill them.”

  “That’s the spirit.” She swung one leg over my shoulder, then the other, and I nearly toppled her right off. She wasn’t heavy, but I was drunk, and I hadn’t realized quite how drunk until just then. She hooked her feet under my armpits and I straightened up slowly. There was a smattering of applause as I tried to find my balance, wishing the water would stop pushing and pulling at me. Some of the stage blood loosened from my skin and snaked down my abdomen to my waistband.

  Colin, our cocky young Antony, seemed to be the acting referee. He sat straddling the overturned canoe, double-fisting Solo cups. “Ladies, keep your claws to yourselves,” he said. “No plucking out of eyeballs, please. First to knock a girl in the water wins.”

  I struggled to focus on Alexander, wondering how to upend him. With Meredith’s thighs wet and glistening on either side of my face it was difficult to concentrate.

  “Fie, fie!” Filippa said, delightedly. “You counterfeit, you puppet you!”

  “Ay, that way goes the game,” Meredith said. “How low am I, thou painted maypole? Speak!”

  “Oh, when she’s angry she is keen and shrewd!” Filippa replied. “She was a vixen when she went to school!” More scandalized laughter.

  “Will you suffer her to flout me thus?” Meredith said. “Let me come to her!”

  And we lurched forward. I wove underneath Meredith, fighting to stay upright. The girls grappled violently, the churning water and Alexander’s manic laughter loud and disorienting. Meredith lost her balance, and the shift of her weight pulled me sharply backward.

  I threw my body in the opposite direction and slammed against Alexander. Filippa nearly kicked me in the face and the whole world reeled, but an idea sparked at the very same time. I lunged headfirst at Alexander again, and when I saw the white flash of Filippa’s foot, I risked letting go of Meredith’s leg to grab it. We leaned hard to the side but I shouted, “Meredith, now!”