In the Shadow of Shakespeare (3 page)

Alice
watched the eyes.  They stared back, empty and silent.

Impatient,
she turned and grabbed her keys off the desk, heading out the door.

Chapter 5

Kate
was worried about Mary.  She had been curled up on the bed for a week now,
coughing and spitting up blood.  She had kept the house as warm as
possible, boiling water and keeping the fire going.  Taking the pot off
the fire, she poured the water over some herbs.  She took the pan over to
Mary and let her breath in the vapors, then she came back and poured a little
cup of the brew to steep for a while. 

Christopher
came over to where she was resting and tugged at her dress.  Kate picked
him up, tickling him under the chin.  He had been constantly underfoot
since Mary had been ill.

 “You
miss yer sister.  Don’t you?”  Kate looked at him, examining his
face.

He
peered up at her with large brown eyes.  Eyes that seemed to see
everything; took in everything.  Kate would catch him sitting on the floor
watching her as she did the daily chores.  She wondered what he was
thinking.  Once, she had mentioned it to John.

 “John,
look at Christopher’s eyes, they are so large.  He has the eyes of a monk,
or a holy one.” 

 “Don’t
be silly Kate, he’s just a boy.” 

Christopher
sat and looked from John to Kate.

 “He
has your eyes John.”

 “Well
I a’nt no monk, am I now Kate.”  John winked, then turned and went back to
his cobbler’s work shop in the next room.

Kate
took Christopher from her lap, and set him on the ground.  She took the
cup of steeped brew into Mary.  She was getting worse, her face was
flushed and her breathing was labored.  Kate took a rag dipped in water
and lay it on her head, then wiped her neck with it. 

 “Mary,
sweet, mama has something to drink.”  She cradled Mary’s head, putting the
cup to her lips.

Mary
pushed the cup away.  “Water.” 

 “Mama
will get some water.” 

Kate
stood, catching Christopher watching her.

 “Mama,
why is Mary sick?”

 “I
don’t know Christopher.  We need to keep her warm.”

Christopher
looked over at Mary.  “She is warm.”

 “She
is.  Very warm.  Come Christopher, we need to go, let Mary rest now.”

 ***

In
the early morning light Christopher crept from his bed, and went to his
sister.  It was still dark in the room but he could see that her eyes were
slightly open. 

 “Mary.”

She
did not answer.

He
pulled back the bed covers and touched her face.  It was cold; her skin
was blue.  He crawled in next to her, snuggling as close as he could,
trying to keep her warm.

 “Mary,
we can get apples today, then you will feel better.”

When
Kate came into the room she found them this way.  She put her clenched
fist to her mouth and began to sob. 

Chapter 6

O’Leary’s
was always crowded on Friday night.  Alice surveyed the bar from her table
close to the swinging doors of the kitchen.   There was a deer mount
on the wall, pictures of well endowed women in tight racing clothes standing
next to fast cars, and a lighted O’Doul’s sign in the window. 

It
was a rough crowd composed mainly of Oldsmobile workers getting off their
shift. They poured out of the factory in droves to get a beer and get in a
fight.  Alice could never figure why Jeannie chose this bar for their
Friday night forays and wished they would go somewhere a little more upscale
downtown Lansing.  This place smelled like old tires.  She wrinkled
her nose, taking a sip of Chardonnay. 

Alice
casually looked around for her father.  She hoped she wouldn’t see
him.  He usually didn’t go to this bar, so she felt pretty safe. 

Joannie
burst through the door and was greeted by a few men jubiliantly yelling her
name.  She saw Alice and went over, sat down.  The waitress quickly
approached, and Joannie ordered a Bud, smiling all the while and laying her
hand on the waitresses arm.  The waitress, her name tag read, “George,”
laughed at something Joannie said.  More men came through the door dressed
in clothes lined with soot and oil.  George turned and left when she
caught their eye. 

“A
friend of yours?”  Alice began coughing. The place was full of smoke and
she could hardly hear.  Someone leaned over the jukebox pushing buttons,
and the sound of Bob Seger’s “Hollywood Nights,” started to play.  There
was a loud whoop from a table in the corner. 

 “I
like the drums in this song.”  Joannie began drumming on the table. 
“Oh yeah,”  Joannie lay a hand on Alice’s arm, “She was, is a
friend.  We were dating.  God, I hate that word.  It always
sounds like it’s leading up to something.  Don’t you think?”

 “It
does lead up to something.”

 “Maybe
for some people.”  Joannie smiled as George brought her beer, a
Budweiser.  She took a long, hardy gulp from it.

 “This
place is so loud, can’t we go somewhere else?” 

Joannie
had a perplexed look on her face as she watched George walk around the
room.  “I can’t believe she likes guys now.” 

Alice
looked over at George.  She had her arm around a guy who looked to be around
thirty, blond and muscular. 

 “Maybe
she’s looking for something more stable.”  Alice smirked at her.

 “Who? 
That guy!  Give me a break.  Pretty soon she’ll be calling herself
Georgiana.”  Joannie looked dispirited.

“Is
that why we came here?  To watch George?”

 “No.”

Alice
felt like a little kid looking for attention.  She wanted to yell
Well
pay attention to me damnit! 
The hurt from being ignored as a child
flooded her full force.  But instead of yelling she looked in her wine.

 “Come
on Alice, this place is alive; I love it here!  Where else could you get
all this action?”  She nodded to a group of guys who had gotten up dancing
and singing to Seger:
He was a Midwestern boy all on his own…

 “Well,
it’s quieter downtown.” 

 “Downtown,” 
Joannie said. “Amongst the lawyers and government cronies?  Forget
it!  Not for me.  C’mon Alice, lighten up.  Sometimes I wonder
what side of the tracks you came from.  Didn’t you write a play about this
stuff?”

Alice
smiled weakly.  “Well, yes, it’s who I am.  It’s what I know. 
You
know
that.”  She thought of a little girl with brown hair and
eyes on a pink banana seat bike.  Looking for popsicle sticks in front of
the Dairy Queen so she could make a little box for her treasures. 
Who
was that girl?  Where did she go?
  

She
watched the guys doing their karaoke imitation of Bob Seger.  “I don’t
know Jeannie, I just can’t really relate to any of it anymore.”  She bit
her lip and turned to catch Jeannie’s reaction.  But Jeannie had
gone.  She was off talking to George.

 ***

She
arrived home to find that Albert had all the mail spilled out on the table,
sorting the junk mail from the bills.  He tossed a letter towards her and
she deftly caught it.  It was a letter from her niece Jasmine. 

Alice
looked at the envelope.  It was pink and decorated with little flowers,
hearts and mermaids.  She brought it to her nose, inhaling deeply. 
It smelled like patchouli.    She flopped on the couch and
extracted the letter.

Dear
Aunt Alice,

Hi! 
How are you?  I am okay.  School will be over in another month! 
Do you think I could come stay with you and Uncle Albert?  Mom say’s it
would be okay with her!  Yesterday I went shopping with my friend Kayla
and bought the coolest pants.  They had mermaids and flowers on
them!  Can you believe it!

Mom
has been traveling a lot.  I have been staying with my babysitter (which I
don’t like as much as you!)  That’s all for now!  Please write back
soon!

Love,

Jasmine

Alice’s
sister, Pam, had divorced her husband when she claimed to have found out he had
an affair with someone whose hair was blonder than hers. 

 “It’s
because he’s Arabic!”  Pam had wailed, “All Arabic men want
Baywatch
blonds.”

 “Don’t
be ridiculous, Pam.  Any guy could have done that.  Don’t you think
it had something to do with the marriage?”

Pam
shook her head and pouted.

Now
Pam was the corporate head of a major cosmetics firm. She neglected her
daughter and tried to make up for it by buying her expensive presents. 
Alice figured she was richer than deep chocolate mousse, but that’s what she
had always wanted. 

Alice
slowly fanned herself with the letter, wafting the smell of patchouli up to her
nose.  She lay the letter on her chest and looked towards Albert.  He
was still sorting the mail. 

 “You
know, Jasmine is the only normal one in my family.  Thank God I have
her.” 

Albert
nodded, preoccupied with his letters.  He was sorting the mail from his
new clinic from their personal mail. 

 “Where
were you tonight, love?”  He glanced over towards her through the opening
from the kitchen to the living room.  All the townhouses had these little
openings.

 “Out
with Joannie.”

Albert
nodded.  “Doesn’t she have a drinking problem?”

She
wondered  how much she should divulge.  It was true, Joannie had
claimed she had had a problem, but it was taken care of now. But she knew she
could never swing that by Albert, who had the hawk like perception of an
analyst.

 “I
really don’t know Albert.  She hasn’t said anything about a problem. 
I stayed awhile and came home, that’s all.”  Alice figured feigning
ignorance was the safest thing with Albert.

 “Where
did you go?” 

 “O’Leary’s.”

 “Hmm. 
That’s a rough place isn’t it?”  He watched her carefully.

 “Not
really.  It’s where the Oldsmobile workers hang out.  You know, five
o’clock shift ends on Friday, and they all pour out of that factory.  Like
oil.”  She fingered the fringe on the pillow, thought of changing the
subject.  “What about having Jasmine this summer?”

 “Jasmine?  
That’s fine, love, fine.”  He was momentarily distracted by the mail
again.

 “She
needs someone to pay attention to her, and my sister cares only about herself –
her money.”

 “Yes,
an insatiable narcissistic desire.  But Joannie now – ”

 “Albert!”

 “You
see, I haven’t forgotten; I keep track of these things.  And you thought
you could throw me off the track.”  He shook a letter at her.

 “Never. 
How could I be so bold to actually think that?”  She rolled her eyes.

 “Really,
these friends of yours…you know they will only drag you down.  And then
there is this Sonia and Derrin – ”

 “This
Sonia and Derrin are two individuals who are extremely talented…please Albert,
can we stop?”  She put her hands over her face. 

Albert
put down the letter and sat by her on the couch.  He took her hands of her
face.  “You know I worry about you.  You have been working too hard –
teaching and this theatre business – why don’t you take a break?  It would
do you good.  Go somewhere fun.”  He kissed her on the
forehead.  “I know what you are trying to do with your plays darling, and
I know how this press bothers you – the business press taking a stab at it –
calling it communist, anti-American and what not.  You’ll see, it will get
better.”  He rubbed her cheek.

 “I
don’t know Albert.  Maybe your right, maybe I do need a break.”  She
looked out the window, the streetlamps had come on.  “I miss watching
Oprah
. 
Did you tape it for me?”  She looked at him hopefully.

 “Yes,
of course I did, programmed it for the week.  It’s in the machine.”

 “Good.” 
She grabbed the remote from the side table, turned the machine on, and hearing
the faithful click and whine of the tape unwinding, settled back on the
couch.  “I hope it’s Dr. Phil.”

 “That
arm chair quack?  I suppose you love him more than me?”  Albert
pretended to pout in the kitchen.  He opened the cupboard and extracted
some onions, placing them on the counter.  “I’m making stir-fry. 
Want some?”

 “No,
it’s too late.  I don’t want anything.  I had a sandwich after
school.”  Alice waited through the commercial.  “No Dr. Phil. 
Darn.”

 “Good. 
That guy is silly, a father figure really – barking at people.  Is that
what they want in America?” 

 “Your
just jealous ‘cause the guy's a millionaire and you’re not.”

 “Right.”

Alice
watched as Oprah announced the day's guests.  She said they were
distinguished Shakespeare scholars that were investigating the authorship
controversy.  One guest was a Stratfordian:  believing that William
Shakespeare had wrote the plays; another was a Marlovian and believed that
Christopher Marlowe had wrote the plays.