by Marvin Kaye
I closed my eyes and let her go on talking.
“If you think about it,” Hilary said, “the witch has no choice but to rescue Fleance. The other prophecies she made operated through the direct agency and action of Macbeth, but in this one case, she couldn’t expect that. Another thing—though I think it’s remote—is that one commentator presents a case for Hecate being the familiar of the Third Witch. If that were so, then it would make eminent sense for Scene 35 to follow so close on the murder of Banquo, because Hecate would logically be furious that her diabolic partner had—”
Hilary says that’s when I started snoring.
Shortly after midnight, the shrill summons of the phone woke me.
Opening my eyes, I saw Hilary asleep in the chair beside my bed. My first thought was that she, too, had dozed after dinner, but a quick glance around the room told me I was wrong. She’d disposed of the food cartons, utensils, and dirty plates, but then, instead of going to her own room, she’d apparently decided to return and sit by me while I slept.
The phone wouldn’t shut up. I cursed it as I hurried along the corridor to the office. The proper form of address after six is supposed to be “Ms. Quayle’s residence,” but I was too cross to use it.
“Hello! Who is this?” I demanded.
The party identified himself and apologized for the lateness of the hour. I wished I could hang up on him, but it was Hilary’s call and I knew better than to try.
She looked so comfortable there in the chair I hated to wake her. I reached out to shake her by the shoulder, but ended up touching my fingertips to her cheek.
Her eyes opened. She looked at me and smiled.
“Telephone for you, Hilary.”
“At this hour?” she groaned. “Who is it? If it’s Harry, I’m not in!”
“It’s Dave Bluestone.”
“What does he want?”
“He wants to talk to you.”
Hilary sighed and went to the office to take the call. I waited in the hall, wondering about her change in attitude toward Harry. I wished I knew what had happened in Washington.
After a moment, she hung up. I joined her in the office.
“They’re still planning to do the show,” she remarked.
“What? Macbeth?”
“Uh-huh. Grilis is delaying opening for a month. That means he’ll have to give up Felt Forum and take it somewhere else, maybe Brooklyn Academy.”
I shrugged. “Let him. I never want to hear about it again.”
“Dave was calling late,” she said, “because he had just finished rehearsing and once he heard Harry say I keep late hours, so he didn’t think he’d be disturbing me—”
I had a feeling she was about to tell me something I didn’t want to hear, so I changed the subject.
“How come you’re turning your head that way?” I asked. “Are you stiff?”
“Yes,” she replied. “From falling asleep in your chair, I suppose.”
“May I help?”
Hilary drew nearer. “What did you have in mind?”
I hesitated.
“Don’t be afraid to say, Gene.” Her voice was low.
“I thought I might ... massage the stiff spots.”
“Yes,” she said, smiling, “I think I’d like that.”
On the way out of the office, I took the damned phone off the hook.
The sun shone through the drawn curtains. Spring was finally within hailing distance and the snow had begun to melt.
Hilary murmured, “He asked me for a date.”
“Who, Dave Bluestone?”
“Mmm-hmm. I turned him down—told him I was busy Saturday.”
“Doing what?”
“Well,” she said languidly, “I thought you might possibly ask me to go somewhere. ...”
I realized, of course, that Hilary had been two steps ahead of me, as usual. But it was no time to argue just then, so I said I’d be glad to share her company Saturday night.
Privately, I wondered how the hell I was going to break my date with Pat Lowe without hurting her feelings.
Acknowledgments and Attributions
THE INITIAL ACT OF gratitude is for mentors: Thomas Bowman and Gordon Smith, who awakened a deep love for, and involvement with, the scholarship of the Bard; Warren Smith, who provided invaluable practical insight into the production and staging of Elizabethan drama; Dr. Joseph Lee Brown, for early exposure to the problems of acting in the tragic tradition; and Duncan Ross, of the Old Vic, for intensive instruction and coaching in the Shakespearean acting style. Time and distance have intervened, but the memory still is green.
I am deeply indebted to Bill Shannon for providing schematic data on the physical layout of the Felt Forum facilities, and to his partner, Bill Doll, for the chance to observe several spectacle shows “on the road.”
Many thanks are due to the staff of The Folger Shakespeare Library in Washington, D.C., for making its archives available, and for the courteous assistance provided during the research period. Special thanks to Dr. O. B. Hardison, Jr., director of the Folger; Helen Walker Spencer, registrar; and Nati Krivatsy, reference librarian, for making it possible to complete a maximum of study in a minimum of time.
Deepest appreciation must necessarily be voiced for those scholars who have studied the problems of Macbeth for more than 350 years. Since this book is an entertainment, it would be burdensome to the reader were I to cite textual proof and pedagogic antecedents for every bit of argumentation advanced by Michael Godwin and Ms. Quayle. However, those who wish to test the basic thesis may address questions concerning scholarship and my bibliography to me in care of the publishers.
The excerpts from Macbeth follow the form and spelling of the First Folio, except in certain minor instances where the meaning of some critical word might be obscured for the modern reader.
Marvin Kaye
New York City, 1975
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this ebook onscreen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
copyright © 1976 by Marvin Kaye
cover design by Connie Gabbert
978-1-4532-9012-5
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