In the Shadow of Shakespeare (10 page)

Yes,
at that exact moment when McGill told me that…it had never been developed…then
I knew. 
Something
so exquisitely rare, never to be seen again. 
That’s what Kit gave me.

Alice
thought of everything she could think of concerning roses.  Of course they
symbolized love, white for purity, red for passion.  And what was it in
Spencer’s
Fairie Queen,
that poem he had wrote for Queen
Elizabeth?  Oh yes, the fairy queen had a bower of bliss symbolizing her
sexual nature, and the central holiest of holies was the Rose of Love. 
And in Britain there was a traditional Mummer’s dance known as The Rose. 
Five dancers would form a five-pointed star of swords over a victim, called the
Fool, who was symbolically slain and then resurrected with a mysterious elixir,
which signified the semen of the God reincarnating himself in the
Goddess.  The Dewdrop in the Rose. 

She
parked the car, noticing Albert’s jeep.  When she entered the apartment he
was talking on the phone.

 “Yes,
yes.  I do know that.  Um, hmm.  Interesting stuff.”  He
nodded and smiled as she walked in.  She sat on the edge of the chair
watching him.

 “Alright. 
Good-by.”

 “Who
was that?”

 “Francesca
Mann.  Thinks she knows everything there is to know about Transpersonal
Psychology.  She is
so
tiresome.  Followed me around the whole
week.  Really, she is very insecure.”  He ran his hand through his
hair.

 “Maybe
she likes you.”

 “Likes
me?”

 “Don’t
be a dummy.” 

 “
Please
. 
I think she likes to attach herself to a male for some reason.  Probably
issues she had with her father, or something like that.  Stunted
animus.  Anyway, darling, it was great,”  his eyes began to shine,
“Stan was there,” Alice took this to mean Stanislov Grof, the founder of
Transpersonal Psychology, “he had all sorts of people from all walks of life
talking about their mystical experiences and how it has affected their lives
and their patients lives.  It really was groundbreaking.  I was glad
the mainstream press was there.”  He began to scribble something in a notebook.

 “Albert?”

 “Yes?”

 “Well,
I…found this rose…and I wondered…didn’t you say that often people had
synchronistic circumstances which lead them to a break through in their
lives?”      

“Yes.” 
He looked at her cautiously. 

“What
are you getting at darling?”

“You
know I have been working on Shakespeare and Marlowe plays.  It’s Marlowe
who is haunting me.  I have dreams about him, and then I found this rose
in the garden…”  She stopped, realizing how Albert was taking this. 
He had a strange look on his face.  Fearful.  “Albert, it’s not
that.  I’m fine.”  She looked out the window, feeling defeated. 

 “Have
you been having your anxiety attacks?”

 “No.”

 “I
don’t understand.”

 “There
is nothing to
understand.
  I need you to hear what I have been
going through!”  She began twisting a curl around her finger.

Alice
told him everything, beginning with man in the slashed doublet opening the door
to the theatre, and ending with the sighting in the garden.  But she
didn’t tell him about the sexual dream, it felt too personal, too
embarrassing.  Albert listened intently.  She knew many years of
listening to patients had effectively turned his face to stone, and she could
not tell what he was thinking.  Though it was part and parcel of the trade
of psychology – do not betray the patient with your feelings – it bothered
her. 

When
she finished she was looking down at her hands.  She looked up at
him.  He avoided her eyes.

 “I
know you told me some of this before…but I thought you were over your
obsession.  Are you are going to tell this all to Selina?”

“Selina
and I finished our work together.”

“Alice….I
think you should talk to someone.”  He let out a long breath, brushed

the
hair off his forehead.

 “You
think I’m crazy.”  She felt the blood rise to her face.

 “No,
I think you’re under pressure.  You remember…the same thing happened
before when you were under pressure.”

 “That
was different!  I had people threatening to fire me…The baby.”

 “Yes,
but you know how your mind works.  You started concocting things, putting
things together that didn’t exist –”

 “Goddamn
it Albert!  I will not live the rest of my life in the shadow of that
breakdown!  It’s not fair.”  Her lungs gave out and she heaved a huge
sob.  She ran towards the bedroom, slammed the door  and quickly locked
it.

Albert
twisted the knob.  “Alice, Alice…please…it doesn’t have to be this way.”

 “Leave
me alone!”  She buried her head in the pillow and cried.

Quite
some time later Albert finally left the door.

Chapter 13

Christopher
sat in front of the window.  He listened to the sounds of his mother and
sisters talking quietly among themselves in the next room. The light was
getting dim and he was having a hard time reading his book, Ovid’s
Amores
. 
He took a candle from the mantle and lit it from the fire.  Placing it on
the table he began to read again.  

The
Latin was difficult but it kept him occupied.  He was absorbed in Ovid
wooing the fair Corinna and finally making love with her. 

Little
Anne stumbled into the room.  She ran over and tried to pry the book from
his hands.  Christopher held his arm out in front of her.

“Get
ye gone – ye saucy imp!”  He smiled.  Anne was his favorite
sister.  She was the most playful and the most daring. 

“No. 
Play with me Christopher.”  She sat on a stool next to him and took off
her shoes.

“Mother
won’t like it when your feet become black.”

She
stuck her tongue out at him.  “Play.”  She tugged on his arm.

“No. 
Do ye have eyes?  I’m readin’.”  He had totally lost his place. 
He couldn’t pick up the thread of the translation again.  “Play with
Margaret.”

“Meg’s
mendin’ with Mother.  Play with me Christopher.”

He
sighed.  Got up and took another candle from the mantle and lit it. 
He set it down on the table.  No use in reading now anyway, the light was
too poor.  He listened to the sound of the rain on the roof.  John’s
hammer echoed along with the lonely sound of the rhythm of the rain
drops.  It was fall – harvest time – and the rain was a constant companion
now.  

“Thou
art stubborn, bootless giglet.”  He ruffled her hair.  “I will tell
ye a story.”

Anne
sat and looked at him expectantly.  He listened to the tapping on the
roof, thinking.

“There
was a knight lookin’ for his faire lady in the rain.  Clink, clink, clink,
on his armor the rain did patter as he rode.  His horse razed up at the
fork he did come to.  There stood one of the wee folk.  Somethin’ of
a fairy or a dwarf.”

Anne’s
eyes were big.  “What say the dwarf?” 

“
‘I give you three wishes faire knight,’ sayeth he, ‘and if ye can guess my
name, you can marry yer faire lady, and be kingdom of this land, and all the
gold in the wide world will be yours.  The knight peereth down at the wee
one.  ‘How do I tell ye are one of the fair folk, and not of a base
sort?  The dwarf doth plucked a hair from his head.  ‘Take this hair,
brave knight, and drop it down on the table at dawn.  Thou will’t see
–” 

John
appeared in the doorway. 

“I
need ye in the shop.”

Christopher
nodded.  Anne jumped off the stool.  “Father, Christopher’s tellin’
me a tale.  He can’t go yet.”  She stood in front of him, eyes
pleading.

“Go
to.  Find yer mother and sisters.”

Frowning,
Anne went into the other room.

Christopher
followed his father to his cobbler’s shop.  The shop and the house were
built together and separated by a thin door.  The family could sometimes
hear John beating the leather for shoes far into the night. 

“The
Tinkler’s have ta’en their harvest in, now they all be in want of shoes. 
I have made the patterns, and ye can sew the leather; fix it to the
sole.”  John handed him a needle and thread, setting the leather and soles
before him.

“The
Tinkler’s have ten?”  Christopher said.

“Aye. 
And one on the way.”

Christopher
began sewing.

They
were silent as the rain kept its constant beat upon the roof.  John
glanced over at Christopher once in a while. 

“What
were ye readin’?”  John said.

“Ovid…
Amores
.” 

“I
see you can read the Latin as good as gold. 
Amores
…the boy’s
thoughts turn to fancy now, eh?” 

Christopher
blushed, stole a quick glance at his father.

“Oh,
I know a wee bit a Latin.” 

John
went back to working the leather.  He obtained it stiff, from the
tanner.  It needed to be worked long and hard to become pliable for
shoes.  Most often it was cow hide, but at times he obtained deer. 
He used this for finer shoes – when the ladies wanted something special. 

Christopher
felt as if the room was getting warmer as the tension between he and his father
started to build.  He knew that he had to say something – he had been
waiting, procrastinating really, all summer.

“Father,
I – ”

“I
need you here for harvest, and then beyond – ”

“Father,
Jonathon Parker got me a scholarship.”

“A
scholarship?”  John looked up, twisted some leather in his hand, set it
down.  “Bess Parker’s son?”

“The
same.”

“Did
Parker give ye the book also?”

“Yea.”

“Hmmph. 
And he himself thinkin’ on such piety.  I suppose you will be a
priest?” 

“Nay…aye,” 
Christopher jabbed himself with the needle, shook his hand hard, trying to
release the pain.  “I don’t know.”  He stuck his finger in his mouth.

“You’ll
break yer mother’s heart.”

“Father…I
want to be a scholar.  I know it has been oft’ said that I would become a
shoemaker.  And ‘tis a most honorable profession, but father – I cannot do
it.  I want…to study.”

John
threw the hammer down.  “And you won’t be eatin’!  That’s for certain
– there’s no money in it.  How will ye marry?”  He stared at him,
accusing, questioning.

Christopher
avoided his eyes.  “I didn’t do it for spite father.  I think…’tis a
gift.”  He looked at him, pleading.

John
picked up the hammer.  “Yer my only son, Christopher.”  He pounded
the leather, then pulled it and stretched.  Taking a sole cutout from the
wall he stared at it. 

“I
cannot make ye what I want.  Can I now?” 

“Father,
I – ”

“There’s
naught to say son.  You do what you want.  What ever ‘tis, you’ll
make me proud.  That I’m sure of.” 

Christopher
stopped stitching and watched his father work.  His father never looked
over at him but he sensed it had passed between them – it was done.  He
had his father’s blessing, and he could study at Cambridge.

Chapter 14

Alice
awoke with the curtain drawn and the shades down.  The bedroom was pitch
black.  She lay a minute thinking – yes, we had a fight, and
Albert
thinks I’m losing my mind
.  She drew the covers over her face. 
Then threw them back down and looked at the clock – eight thirty.  She was
late for school. 

She
ran down the stairs.  Albert had a pot of coffee going and plates on the
table.  The smell of bacon was in the air.  He stood at the counter
beating some eggs.

 “Hello
love.”  He came over and kissed her.

 “This
is horrible, I’m late.”

 “No,
I called in for you.  Don’t worry.”

“Don’t
worry?  You think I’m crazy.”  She plopped down in a chair at the
table.  Albert went back to the eggs.

 “I
never said that.  You know we don’t use that terminology in psychology.”

 “I
am so reassured.  Crazy is crazy.”

Albert
turned from the counter.  “I think you are under stress, and were under
stress before.  It causes you to…invent things.”

 “I
do not
invent
things Albert.”

 “You
need a break.  School will be done soon.  You can rest.  We can
go somewhere.   How’s that?”

He
bread in the toaster and eggs in the pan, then took the orange juice from the
refrigerator and poured two glasses.  She thought how all of it seemed so
mechanical in this sterile apartment.

 “We
need to get out of here Albert.  I hate it here.”