In the Shadow of Shakespeare (4 page)

 “Will
you look at this.  Wow.  Something intellectual on
Oprah
.  See, you can never tell
with her.”  Alice looked over at Albert.  He glanced at the TV. 

 
“What’s that, love?”

 “Shakespeare
and Marlowe.”

 “Oh? 
Well, that should be old hat to you.”

 “What?”

 “You’ve
heard of the authorship controversy.”

 “Yes,
but I never thought much of it.  Thought it was silly, really.”

 “You
should listen.”  Albert nodded towards the TV.  “The Marlovians are
quite strong in England.”

“Really?”

“As
a matter of fact – well, Bernie, of all people, is a real Shakespeare
buff.  He’s convinced that Marlowe is the author.”

“No
way.  Bernie?” 

“Yes,
Bernie.  It really is fascinating how this Shakespeare thing is kind of
like a religion to some people.  Just fascinating.”  Albert shook his
head in disbelief.

Chapter 7

The
bells had tolled for Mary and they had buried her.  As they turned towards
home in the hot noonday sun, the dusty streets seemed worse than usual. 
More and more people were coming to the city, and the streets were packed with
the filth of animals and humans.  Kate almost tripped over a beggar lying
huddled in the street, realizing that he was probably dying.

John
took Kate’s hand and gave it a squeeze.  Tears streamed down her face and
she wiped them away.

When
they got home, John went straight to his cobbler’s shop and began
working.  Kate sat numbly in a chair in the next room, listening to him
pounding leather with a hammer.  Christopher sat huddled at her feet
sucking his thumb.  She picked him up and sat him on her lap. 

 “Damn
it to hell!” 

Kate
heard John throw the hammer against the wall.  Then, silence.

She
began stroking Christopher’s hair, but her wriggled from her lap and went and
climbed into Mary’s bed.

 “Christopher
– no.”  Kate felt that it was a bad omen for her son to sleep in her dead
daughter’s bed.  He might die too. 

Dear
Jesu, please – make it stop, make it stop…

Kate
picked him up and put him in her bed.  He lay there clutching Mary’s old
poppet.  Staring into space. 

Chapter 8

Alice,
Sonia, and Derrin sat cross legged on the stage, pouring over old
scripts.  Sonia had found a script which she showed Derrin, and they both
began reading it.  Alice stretched and looked towards the audience. 
All those empty seat.  There was a tangible presence out there.  A
collective energy that remained hidden until opening night.

Alice
dug through the pile and finally found what she was looking for.  She
placed it next to the manuscript of
Othello. 

 “Remember
when I had you read from this Derrin?”  Alice tapped the script of
Othello
.

 “How
could I forget?  Then I thought, what
is
this woman going to throw
at me next?” 

Sonia
looked up.  “Yeah Alice, what are you going to throw at us next?”

She
pushed the script towards them.

Sonia
snatched it up. 
“The Jew of Malta?” 

 “Is
it one of those homoerotica Renaissance plays?”  Derrin said.  “Then
I say let’s do it.”  He grinned. 

 “Not
exactly.  The play is by Christopher Marlowe.  And I think your
thinking of
Edward II
, Derrin.  If you are thinking of one
Marlowe’s plays.”   Alice knew Derrin was all for gay empowerment,
having just come out of the closet.  “It’s very similar to Othello. 
In fact, many scholars believe that Shakespeare’s
Othello
is based on
the
Jew of Malta
.” 

Alice
didn’t really want to talk about how she felt about the Marlowe versus
Shakespeare controversy.  After watching Oprah, she was starting to think
that Marlowe could be the author of Shakespeare’s plays.  In essence,
Marlowe
was
Shakespeare.  The idea had captured her imagination,
and she recognized it as one of those artistic obsessions. 

 “What
I propose to do,”  she began,  “is to do a run of
The Jew of Malta
,
then
The Merchant of Venice
.  Back to back.”

 “What
for?  If the plays are very similar it will be too much of one thing.”
Sonia said.

 “You
watched that
Oprah
!”  Derrin laughed.

Alice
smiled, relieved to be off the hook.  Now she wouldn’t have to explain her
obsession. 

 “I
don’t know,” Sonia said, “I really don’t see the reason for this.”

 “Well,
for one thing it would be a good thing for us, artistically, to compare the
plays of Shakespeare and Marlowe.  We could only grow artistically from
doing that.  And for another thing: the audience
 
would be able to compare the talents of
Shakespeare and Marlowe.  And, quite frankly, I don’t think that Marlowe
is given enough air time. Why not give him some?  And, for another thing…” 
She trailed off, unsure how to broach the next topic.

 “Good
enough for me boss.  Did you know Marlowe was gay?”  Derrin lay back
on the floor, arms crossed behind his head.

 “Yeah,
I’ve heard that.  Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t.  Relationships were
different between men back then.”

 “What
one
other thing were you going to add Alice?”  Sonia said.

 “The
other thing…,” Alice looked out towards the audience again.  The empty
audience waiting to be filled. 
Kind of like a womb.
  She
thought of the masks of tragedy and comedy, of Dionysus.  “I think the
theatre is a good medium to present controversy.  The two plays represent
Jews in an unfavorable light, portraying them as greedy, never having enough
wealth.  But they also represent Christians unfavorably, portraying them
as hypocrites.”  She stretched her legs in front of her.  The wooden
floor seemed extremely hard today.

 “Sure,
I’m all for that education and controversy stuff.  Hell, look at my life –
out of the closet and into the fire!”  Derrin grinned.

 “That’s
out of the frying pan and into the fire, dummy.”  Sonia said.  “I can
understand your sentiments Alice, but what about all the negative press from
the first play?”

 “We
can’t please everyone Sonia.”

 “I
understand that.  But why don’t we take a breather?  Why get right
back in people’s faces?  You know people don’t like that.  For the
most part, people don’t like to be challenged.  They would really rather
sleep through life.  Get the paycheck, get the house, la dee da dee
da.  You know what I’m saying.”  She crossed her legs in front of her
and ran a hand through her dark curls. 

Alice
too crossed her legs and felt the blood rush to her face.  “Well that’s
not me, you should know that by now.  I play by the rules when I have too,
but after that – I try to jiggle people a little, wake them up.”  She
picked up the cup next to her, took a sip of coffee. 

 “Jiggle
– a little?  C’mon Alice, it’s more than a little jiggle, it’s like a
serious
push
.”  Let’s do something fun.  How ‘bout
Guys and Dolls
?”  Sonia said.

 “
Guys
and Dolls
?  No.”  Alice rolled her eyes.

Sonia
frowned.  “Look Alice, I’m trying to help.  You know we have a board
meeting coming up.”

 “Girls,
please!”  Derrin threw up his hands in mock exasperation.  “Let’s not
come to blows over this.   We can be friends here, right?”

Alice
did not see anything friendly in Sonia’s eyes.  All she saw was a face
full of triumph and malice. 

She’s
challenging me, Alice thought. 
Challenging me.
 

 ***

Alice
sat for a long time by herself after Sonia and Derrin had left.  She
sipped her coffee and half-heartedly hoped the Renaissance man would make an
appearance, but the theatre was quiet.  She thought of his red slashed
doublet, and the portrait of Marlowe as a young man wearing an identical
doublet.  It is uncanny, she thought, uncanny, the way the past is
intruding on the present.  She knew she would have to tell Albert about
her obsession, about all the things that were coalescing to carry her along on
this path.  She would tell him about her dream.  It would be
uncomfortable…

She
walked behind the curtain picked up her bag and walked down the long aisle to
the door.  Locking the doors she stepped back, admiring the large wooden
structure.  The doors been carefully stripped and varnished.  Sanded
to perfection, Alice thought.  It had all started as a dream a long time
ago.

The
theatre has been built in 1902, and after closing in 1984, had fallen into a
state of disrepair.  The final blow had come when a fire in an office
building next door caused damage to the old theatre.  Abandoned and alone,
the theatre played nothing but its ghosts.

Alice
remembered going to the theatre as a kid sitting through previews of dancing
popcorn and corndogs, then the cartoons.  Before the movie started she
would gaze up to the dark ceiling painted with a million stars.  

It
was magical, enchanting and she had fallen in love with the old theatre. 
She loved to stare in at the marquee posters when she wandered downtown, sister
Pam in tow.  They would both scrutinize the new movie
advertisements: 
Benji, Pippie Longstocking, The Bad New’s Bears.
 Equally
fascinating was the adult entertainment: 
The Exorcist, Carrie, The
Great Gatsby.
 Alice admired Robert Redford dressed all in white as
Gatsby.  Her mother had a crush on Robert Redford.  She carefully
examined his face and wondered what it would be like to be a famous movie
star.  Robert Redford was handsome, clean, and well mannered.  Alice
figured he probably didn’t sit in a lazy boy and guzzle beer like her father
did when he got home from working first shift at Oldsmobile.  He probably
even paid
attention
to his family, Alice thought.  She started
thinking what it would be like to have Robert Redford as a father.  She
imagined him holding her hand and smiling down at her, having a conversation
with her.  She pressed her nose to the glass.  Then Pam would tug at
her hand, rudely disrupting her fantasy. 

That
has always been her way, Alice thought, rudely disrupting my life. 

Alice
told herself to stop.  That it was useless dragging up old memories about
her sister, about her family.  Her shrink had told her to reprogram her
thought processes.  Told her to get the record off the old groove and on
to another one. 

Alice
had met her shrink through Albert.  “A classical Jungian,” he said. 
“You’ll love her.”

Her
shrink, Selina Goldberg, was married to Bernie Heidleman, a fellow professor at
the university and good friend.

Bernie
was fascinated with how the world worked, was always trying to figure it
out.  Bernie’s thing was quantum mechanics – the cutting edge of
physics.  He was also a consummate storyteller, and after a few glasses of
wine after dinner, would entertain them for hours about fantastical stories
about reality.  Because reality for Bernie was not just something you saw
with your eyes, or heard with your ears.  There was far more to it than
that.

“As
a matter of fact,” he said, “We are all probabilities.  It just appears
that we exist.” 

“Then
would you
probably
like another glass of wine?”  Alice had
asked.  “Or just the
illusion
of one?  I can easily fill your
glass with water.”

Bernie
had laughed.  “Alright, smart ass.  I’ll tilt my glass towards he
heavy probability of securing some more vino.  Please.”  He had
flourished his glass before her.

Alice
thought Bernie would be a good actor and often told him so.  She
remembered he had looked pleased when she mentioned it. 

At
first she thought that it would be uncomfortable seeing Selina, because Selina
and Bernie were married, but so far it had been okay. 

Anyway,
it’s just for a little while, she told herself.  Just a little while to
stabilize after the
episode
.  She shivered, pushing the old anxiety
from her mind – that heart numbing, pounding anxiety that had coursed through
her veins and threatened to rule her life.

She
gave the theatre a parting glance – The Lion, she had named it.  It was
safe to her, like home.  The stage has always been like a womb, she
thought. 
Where you can be reborn.
  The outside world was big
and chaotic, nothing could be expected or relied on.  Selina had told her
she was looking for that stabilizing thread running through her life. 

“You
want to weave on your loom, yes?”  Selina peered over her glasses at her.

“Loom?” 
Alice thought a minute.  The session had been dragging on.  She just
wanted to get home and eat a pepperoni pizza with mushrooms.  Selina was
staring at her.  If she didn’t say something to break the never ending
shrink stare it would go on for eternity.  Alice pushed back a cuticle,
thought.