In the Shadow of Shakespeare (38 page)

"You
could try.  Shamans take ayahuascara.  These are plants prepared for
hallucinatory experiences that lead them to certain revelations regarding sick
or unbalanced individuals.   I don't advocate that, but there are
music and trance states.  Rituals if you will.  Rituals done
throughout time seem to break down the barriers of time, and connect people to
times past."

"Rituals."

"Yes,
rituals, " Bernie said.  "They are a powerful way to connect you
to the past.  To the logos and knowledge that are in the collective
unconscious."

Alice
turned on the television.  She clicked through the channels, looking for a
station broadcasting the weather.   She was taking a small charter
plane to Venice and was hoping for clear weather over the Austrian Alps. 

As
she watched TV, absently flipping through channels, she found herself telling
Bernie the detailed course of events that had transpired since their dinner
date so long ago, and why she was so intensely interested in the nature of
time.

"And
that," she finalized, "is why I need to prove that Christopher
Marlowe is Shakespeare.  If I can I can show that – oh my God!" 

A
small crumpled body appeared on screen.  Alice couldn't believe how small
she seemed. 

"What
is it Alice."  Bernie’s voice was level.

"They
killed her." she whispered. 
          

"Killed
who?  What is going on, Alice."

"Celeste
Cecil. I've got to go Bernie."

"Please
Alice, I'm afraid you may be in grave danger.  Come back to the
states."

"I'm
afraid it's too late for that, Bernie." 

She
hung up the phone and stared at the door.  The door knob was turning.

Chapter 50

Jim
Schelling wasn't surprised that Cecil had gotten a hold of him.  As a
member of the Shakespeare Society he realized that he might be contacted any
time by its governing  members, especially since they gave him funding for
his work.   He knew most of what Cecil had told him.   He
knew members had become suspicious when Alice Petrovka had become convinced
that Christopher Marlowe had written Shakespeare's plays and sonnets.  Then
they knew she was onto something when she had found the rose.  Jack McGill
had notified the society that she had found a rare cultivar, something that
only a small cadre of dedicated rose growers in England would know about. 
They said they were concerned about the symbolism of the rose.  The
symbolism of the rose would perhaps get them to the heart of the matter, they
had said.

He
wasn’t buying her falling back through time story either.  Of course
everyone had heard about it now; some found it fascinating, others found it
completely ridiculous.  Schelling realized that Alice was easily
manipulated by fantasy and her ideas regarding dreams and images, so he found
that her current delirium worked to his advantage. 

He
sat on the edge of the stage at The Lion and gazed into the empty
audience.  These things were eating at him because he now owned the
theatre and the society wanted to play a much bigger part of what went on in
its affairs.  Jim Schelling had his own ideas of what should go on in this
theatre. 

It
was a fairly easy matter keeping Sonia and Brad in line with his goals. 
Once they learned they could have money and power they easily fell in
line.  A far different matter was Derrin.  He wasn't motivated by
traditional tokens of ego gratification and the drug fiasco he had managed to
entangle him with had turned into a big fiasco.  Schelling's current worry
was how to keep Derrin quiet.  It was proving harder than he
thought. 

As
he thought of these things sitting on the edge of the stage, he fingered his
pony-tail, wrapping it round and round his finger.  He would have to
become more creative in his solutions to these problems.  Problems that
now seemed insurmountable, but would soon diminish with his creative
abilities.  After all, he didn't rise to the top of his profession in the
world of university theatre without something of a hassle.  But as he
thought of acting and Shakespeare, he was suddenly inspired.  There was a
simple answer to his problem.

Chapter 51

Alice
had boarded the charter jet at Heathrow early in the morning still clutching
the note the maid had given her.

As
Alice advanced with the lamp, ready to bring it down on her would be assailant,
the maid from the hotel had protectively covered her head with her arm. The
woman looked harmless enough as she hid behind her cart of towels and cleaning
supplies, trying to explain to her in broken English that she was there merely
to "drop towels."  As she was about to slip away she had handed
Alice a note that a gentleman in the hallway had given her.  When Alice
asked who he was she said she didn't know and mentioned that he was wearing
glasses and a fedora. 

"Cold,
cold eyes." she had said.  "Frozen." 

Apparently
the eyes matched the words in the note.  Alice unfolded it again and
silently read it. 

The
canals of Venice are long and winding

It's
nothing for a body to disappear there under the pilings.  Forever.

She
had kept it as a sort of talisman to keep her strong and now the words were now
losing their power over her.  Of course they had kept her from sleeping
last night, and she had tossed and turned on her comfortable bed and soft
pillow –  a comfort she could not indulge in.  As the darkness ebbed
and light flowed into dawn, she had reluctantly turned on the television and watched
a comedy, which only made her sad.

The
jet steadily veered towards the Alps and the white peaks glimmered through the
clouds.  As she approached Venice the fear that had so solidly gripped her
began to dissipate.  It was laughable really, she had thought.  All
it did was to serve to build momentum in her.  Perhaps she was on the
right path.  Why else would these people be trying to thwart her
investigation?  What were their motives?

I
must be getting close to the truth.
  There could be no other
explanation.  Apparently there was a lot more at stake in proving Kit
Marlowe was Shakespeare than she had at first thought.  The Shakespeare
industry was a powerful force; many people had staked their careers on
it. 
But murder?

These
thoughts plagued her as the plane touched down in Treviso.  And as she
boarded the bus that would take her to Venice, she wondered about all the
players involved and all the pieces in the puzzle. 

And
then there was her life back in the states.  What little was left of it,
she thought.  She had called Albert after she had spoken to Bernie. 
He had been tight lipped with her, unwilling to discuss anything.  He had
hinted that perhaps she should talk to Jim Schelling about the Lion, that there
were new rumors in town of changing ownership. 

He
spoke of the rumors after there was a disagreement regarding who owned what in
the relationship, or post-relationship.  Alice had initially been relieved
that everything had went so well regarding the break.  But his sudden
insistence that she should check into a possible problem with the Lion while
emotionally downplaying the incident caused her to rethink his motives. 
At first she had been unwilling to believe the rumor
.  Of course he
wants to hurt me, he is angry that I set divorce proceedings in place. 
He
knew how important the theatre was to her.  After a time she chalked it up
to his passive aggressiveness, and applauded her efforts at figuring out
Albert’s psychological state instead of vice versa. 

The
emotional fallout seemed to be building in intensity.  She was not
prepared for Albert's anger, or the vindictive way he seemed to be trying to
get back at her. 

That
has to be it…

The
man next to her looked at her strangely, and she realized she had spoken out
loud. 

 “Sorry.” 
Alice said. She looked out the window.

The
bus rolled into the station and people began pulling luggage and parcels from
the overhead compartment.  Alice remained seated, waiting for everyone
else to gather their luggage so she had room to move. People milled all around
the bus, some hailing taxis, others taking other buses to get into the heart of
Venice.  The faint smell of the lagoons was in the air, all musty and
damp, like washcloths that had been sitting on a basement floor for to
long. 

A
dwarf appeared around the corner of a brick building in the parking lot. 
He was dressed in an orange sequined jump suit, and had a matching sequined
mask.  There was a pointed white hat on his head.  He looked directly
at the bus.  Alice’s heart began thumping in her chest and she waited for
the tell tale signs of moving back into the past.  She gripped the seat in
front of her and waited.  The man looked behind him and a group of dwarves
appeared from behind the building.  They were all dressed in the same
spandex jumpsuit in various bright colors.  Alice realized it was for some
type of show or celebration, one of the
comedie de arte
theatre
spectacles commonly staged in Venice. She breathed a sigh of relief, familiar
pain that it was. 

But
perhaps it was a sign.  A sign that she would see Kit again. 

The
dwarves clasped arms and circled around, doing a ring-around-the-rosy. 
People laughed and pointed, and camera clicks filled the air.  Alice was
reminded of Caravaggio, the Renaissance artist skilled in the arts of light and
dark, of the shadows, and of rendering his subjects mysteriously
life-like. 

She
began walking towards her hotel, out of the busy parking lot.  Slowing
down outside of the concrete confines of the parking lot, she thought of the
last time she had been in Venice.  It had been many years ago at the film
festival at the Lido.  Tickets had been hard to get, although the hotel
had been easy enough to procure at the expensive and renovated gothic
cathedral.   The cathedral had sparkled on the water of the grand canal,
near the Rialto.  The open water way had flooded the rooms with light, and
shimmered on the ceiling. 

They
had adopted a routine of eating, film watching, and love making, with most of
the day centered on love making.  Everything was foreplay: the films, the
food, the strolls along the waterways into secluded narrow passageways that
left the tourists far behind eating their spaghetti and gnocchi along the route
to San Marco Square. 

Even
the pigeons flying in the square had added to the amorous effect of their
Venetian visitation.  A flock had flown next to them after a small girl
surprised them in the square. A little girl had run into a flock of pigeons,
and a burst and shower of feathers had flooded them and a lone feather came
slowly drifting down, landing on Alice’s head.  Albert had laughed and
picking it off her head had tickled her nose with it.

She
wondered if it had all been a fantasy, that she was on a wild goose chase that
had no substance, and that Albert was completely right about her wild
fantasy.  Her psychosis.  After all, she had ended her marriage for
this, this idea that she had clung to.  And could she say for sure that
Christopher Marlowe was, in fact, Shakespeare? 

These
thoughts overwhelmed her as she made her way along the narrow street. 
Perhaps she had been to quick to end her marriage.  She passed the fresh
fruit and seafood market and a clerk nodded in her direction.  She nodded
back, and stopped admiring the firm, ripe fruit in his stall.  She picked
up an orange and was once again flooded with memories of a four
hundred-year-old-romance that was contained like this round fruit in her palm,
a small crystal ball she could use to see into the past.

 “
Bella.
”  
The clerk spoke, and she was jarred from the memory, knowing that Kit was all
around her. 

She
quickly placed the orange back. “
Grazzi
.”  She blushed, imagining
the man could read her thoughts. 

Happier
then, Alice slowed her pace.  She could feel him here.  He was all
around waiting to be found.  She was sure this was a good omen of things
to come with Luisa Vernetti.  Surely things will come to fruition.

Alice
laughed then, realizing that the inspiration of fruit had at once led to
thoughts of lovemaking, productivity, and puns.  The stuff that Kit was
made of and she was sensing here in this place.  The place where he surely
had sunk some roots. 

Her
feet felt light and she barely felt the pull of the suitcase behind her. 
Turning the corner, she came across the open air markets stood along the
street.  Brightly colored carnival masks delighted her eyes.  She
stopped and gazed at a particular colorful mask of pink, red and orange. 
She picked up the it up, knowing that this was one of the signs.  Handing
it to the shop keeper, she paid for the mask.  The shop keeper began
wrapping her purchase.

 “For
carnival?”  He said.

 “Carnival?
Oh, no.  I’m only here for a few days.”

 “
Ostreghèta
! 
You do not know?  Tomorrow, tomorrow!”  He threw up his hands
indicating the city was now alive with pre-carnival festivities.