In the Shadow of Shakespeare (20 page)

The
ball had grown so large that the people began to become life size, and Alice
felt her every day surroundings fall away from her.  The very edges of her
world were pulling down at the edges, and for one brief moment she felt a sense
of panic – either she would enter this world completely, or quickly wake from
what seemed to be a dream.  She ran towards a rapidly dissolving corner
meaning to grab the last bit of present day reality and pull herself through
it, but bumping into a motley jester who playfully pushed her away, she ran
head long into a wooden plank and everything became black.

Chapter 27

The
dream was about something hard and flat.  A surface with no ridges and
contours.  She became aware of odors, the smell of urine and brine. 
Alice wrinkled her nose, and pulled her arms up to her chest, fetal position,
trying to escape the smells and the hardness of the dream.  There was a
tugging on her legs and she braced herself.  The tugging on her legs
became more intense and she opened her eyes. 
This was no dream.
 
She quickly sat up and banged her head.

 “Ow!” 

She
was met with a pair of eyes staring into hers.  They blinked, and Alice
peered beyond the eyes into the space beyond.  It appeared to be a market
square.  People milled about in the dusty street dressed in clothing
styles that seemed to be from the sixteenth century.  Alice began to
laugh. 

 “What
part of London is this Jim?  This is a great set-up.  I almost
believed it.”  She began brushing her arms off.  They were covered in
dust and grime.  “Geez, my legs, too.  You went to a great deal of
trouble, Jim. The thing is, how did you get me here?”

She
gazed at the face cloaked in shadow.  The bright eyes met hers
again. 

 “Have
you need of anything?  A girl of small size found ye under here.” 
The eyes inquired unto hers.

 “Need
of anything…” Alice looked at her, and then out at the market place.  She
began to crawl out from under the structure she found herself under.

 “Aye,
I wouldn’t do that.  You haven’t the proper dress.”

Alice
stood up and surveyed her surroundings.  It looked too real.  As far
as she could see, it was all…authentic.

 “Where’s
Jim?”  She asked faintly, putting a hand to her forehead.  She was
starting to feel dizzy. 

 “Jem? 
I know no Jem.  It ha’ a Turkish sound to it.  Is he a Turk, this
Jem?”

The
eyes had materialized into a pleasant face.     Alice felt
a sense of foreboding creeping over her.  The dizziness became acute and
she dropped to her knees.  The images of the people in the market place
swam around her but did not dematerialize. 

 “Make
it stop.”  she whispered.

 “Lady? 
Are you ill?”  The woman crouched next to Alice, laying a hand on her arm.

 “Where
is Jim?  Who are you?  I haven’t seen you working at any theatre
company…”  She trailed off watching as people walked by.

The
woman laughed.  “Theatre Company?   You speak strangely. 
Are you from the low countries?” 

Alice
nodded slowly, realizing where she was.

 “This
is England.”

 “Aye. 
My name is Mare MacPhail.  Would you be in need of any help?”  She
rose to her feet, and Alice slowly stood beside her.

 “I
don’t know.  I just need to talk to Jim.”

 “I
know of no Jem, Lady.” 

“It’s
true isn’t it?  How did this happen?”   She wondered if she
should give into the despair or the hilarity of the situation.  The
feelings rose like bubbles inside her, either one threatening to pop and
overwhelm her. 

 “Surely
I must be mad.  I fell off the porch, or something.”

 “Lady? 
What is it you are saying?  Why do you speak so to yourself?”

“I
saw a dwarf before it happened.”

 “Shh.” 
Mare whispered in her ear, “Be careful what ye says’t.  They will say
witch
,
or conjurer.”

 “His
eye became huge, and I just kind of…fell into it.  Is the best way to
explain it.”

Mare
nodded, as if this was entirely probable.

Alice
began to laugh.  “It sounds ridiculous.”

Mare
continued nodding.  “Aye, there are some things which cannot be rightly
spoken of.  Such as Alvis.”

 “The
dwarf?”

 “Aye.”

 “Maybe
it could be described correctly in a painting.”

Mare
frowned.  “A large eyeball?”

Alice
laughed.  “Aye!”

 “It
resembles a play.  This fantastical eyeball.  I should speak of it to
Kit.  He will enjoy the thought.”

Stunned,
Alice asked: “Kit?  Christopher Marlowe?”

 “Aye,
befriended me he did.  Myself and Mary.  Ye know of him?”

 “Are
you real Mare?”  She touched her arm, felt the solidness of it.

Mare
patted her arm.  “Come now, Lady.  We will go to my house.  Let
you sup.  Methinks you ha’ not eaten in days the way you carry on.”

Alice
let herself be led by Mare as they walked through the market square.  She
felt like a child being led by the hand.  People stared as they walked
by.  She had no idea that madness could be so enticing, so
entertaining.  She thought back to the earlier demons in her manic
state.  No demons that plagued her past occurred now, just a state of
being entirely enfolded in the present. 

 “Mare,
what happened to me?”

 “What
happened?  I don’t rightly know.  Two lasses found you under the fish
monger’s stall.  Dressed in your underwear,” She glanced at Alice. 
“We must dress ye lady.  There are laws of bawd and lewdness.”

 “Laws
of bawd.”

 “Aye.”

 “I
assure you I’m not a whore.”  Alice laughed. 

Mare
slapped her face.  Shocked, Alice stopped and placed a hand to her
stinging cheek.  Mare continued walking, adjusting her shawl around her
shoulders, above her breasts.  Tying a knot in the shaw, she shrugged.

 “Tis
no consequence of thou’st thinking better of thou self.  Thou art a
bawd.  I was trying to give thou’st succour.  Sustenance.”

 “But
Mare, I assure you, I’m not a – ”

 “Fie! 
That thing betwixt your legs will feed thou, will it not?  

This
woman is a whore, and I have just offended her by thinking better of myself.

 “Mare,
I – ”

 “Pish!  
Leave me.”

Mare
walked ahead.  A back that walked proud and erect.  Alice realized
that the friendliness of the world was swallowed by that receding back. 
People stared at her, ugly and mean – there was no disguising the contempt in
their looks.  Panic over whelmed her.

 “Mare!
Please!”

The
receding figure turned.  And waited.  Alice ran to catch
up.   “I’m sorry.”

 “Thou
name and thou are full of strangeness.”  Mare frowned and continued
walking.

So
this it it.
 
This was the movie.  She didn’t quite know how to digest it, but it was. 
There was no mistaking.  She took her hand, held it to her face, and
realized that it was just a hand. 

 She
glanced at her shorts; her bare legs.  “People think I’m in my underwear.”

 “Aye. 
And the words thous’t speak art strange.”

 “What
can I do?” 

 “Thou
will know of men whens’t they come, but be not too bold.”  Mare gripped
her arm, pulling her close.  Alice realized she was speaking of
prostitution.           

She
thought she would change the subject – a subject beyond whoring.  A
profession, she wondered, if she would be able to pull off.

 “How
did you meet Kit Marlowe?” 

Mare
did not answer right away, but instead gazed at the horizon.  The dust
from the heat of the day rose above their feet.  People let them pass, but
the men still jeered at her.  She wondered how women survived this type of
misogynistic climate.  The very air vibrated with it.  Mare had given
her her shawl, and Alice now fashioned a skirt with it, tying it snugly around
her waste.  It amused her that the sight of a bosom pushing from a gown
did not draw looks, while a pair of bare legs did. 

 “Fie!
Get thou’st eyes in thy head, giggling piglet!”  Mare made a motion with
her thumbnail, scraping it across her teeth in an exaggerated manner, towards a
jeering man.  It was a motion Alice recognized from the theatre – a sign
of Elizabethan swearing.  The equivalent of giving the finger.

 “Kit
bestowed a kindness on me.  He gave me herbs for Mary, a medicine. 
You shall see.”  Mare smiled to herself.  “He ha’ a room with Thomas
Kyd, the playmaker.  Ye know of him, too?”

Alice
nodded.  It seemed so odd to be hearing these names.  Names that she
had seen set in type on a page speaking of the beginnings of theatre four
hundred years earlier. 

It
isn’t real! 
  An
ancient piece of her identity hung on for dear life, trying to keep her in her
place and in her time.  Some thread like consistency that had evolved
through the eons, keeping the two separate. 

The
air became heavy, and the twilight set in. As they walked along the street became
narrower, with half-timbered Tudor row houses crowded on either side.  A
juggler stood by the side of the road.  He was dressed in motley green,
topped with a hat of a jester.  He dropped a ball when he saw Alice, but
quickly picked it up and began juggling again. 

 “How
dost thou, sweet lady, pretty lady?   A visage for mine blind
eyes!”    The fool, pretending to be blind, let the balls drop
by his feet, which he promptly stumbled and fell over.  Looking up, he
smiled broadly at Alice, two dimples speckling his cheeks.

 “Ah! 
Get thee gone, Hadeus.  Cans’t thou see there is no light for yer jests?”

 “All
the light I need is here.”  He winked at Alice, and bowed deeply.  A
tuft of  dark curls protruded from his jester’s cap.  “Tell me your
name, pretty lady.”

Mare
stood in front of the door, ready to turn the latch and enter the dwelling.

 “This
one comes from afar; she has no need for a motley such as yourself.”

 “I
beg of ye women of the world, worldly women, what say you to a poor soul such
as myself?”

 “Tarletorizing
he is, Alice.  Thinks he is the image of that famous clown, Richard
Tarleton,” Mare smirked at him, “What say you clown, caught in the shadow of
that tumbler Tarleton?  Ye think that ye are famous now?  Now that
you have played a jest in
Tamburlaine
?  And the
Spanish Trajedy
?”

 “Aye. 
Kyd and Marlowe use me wisely.”

 “Wisely,
I’ll say fool, is something naught for thou.”  Mare opened the door,
ushering Alice in.

 “Good
even, clown.”  Alice returned his smile.

 “Ah! 
She speaks!  She speaks!”  Hadeus swooned, falling to his knee,
bowing deeply.

Mare
firmly shut the door.  “Enough of that clown.  Puts on airs he
does.  Ever since he played a jest in those plays.  And his name is
Aaron.”  Mare spoke confidentially, in a whisper.

 “Oh?”

 “Aye. 
Aaron.  A Jew he is.”  Mare nodded, as she walked to another room in
the back of the dwelling.  A young girl sat next to a cupboard, tending to
a baby in a cradle.

The
baby began to cry and Mare picked it up.  “Calls himself Hadeus, but he’s
naught but a Jew.”

 “I
see.”  Alice knew that it was common for Jews to hide their identity in
Elizabethan England if they didn’t want to be ostracized within the walls of
the Jewish ghetto, where the gates were locked at night. 

 “There’s
many here in the theatre.” Mare said.  “Jews, I mean.”

She
crooned to the baby.  “This is Mary, my little one. Take a peek.” 
She held the baby out for Alice to see. 

Alice
was presented with the spitting image of her Maria.   Confused, she
stroked the baby’s cheek, looking into her eyes.

 “Have
thou any children?”  Mare asked softly. 

 “Yes
…No.  I did.  May I hold her?” 

 “Surely.” 
Mare placed the baby in her arms.  Alice felt transported back to a warm,
secure, place.  She felt like the mother she once was. The baby looked at
her cooing.

 “Maria?”

 “No,
Mary, her name is.”  Mare looked concerned, and took the baby from her
arms. “Perchance ye should lie down Alice.  You look tired.  I ha’ to
go soon.  The night is coming, and I’ll be makin’ my way to the
Mermaid.” 

Alice
looked at the silent girl who sat next to her on the bed.  The girl had
lanky brown hair, and was wearing an old, dirty gown of a greenish hue. 
The candle on the table next to her made her glow with a sickly cast.

 “Hello.” 
Alice smiled, but the girl merely looked towards the floor, saying
nothing.