In the Shadow of Shakespeare (13 page)

Nick
sat down next to him.  He picked up the book Christopher was translating.

“Ovid. 
The Amores
.”

Christopher
held a finger to his lips.

“All
your time spent on this?”  Nick laughed, slapped Christopher on the
back.  “There’s much to be learned about becoming a priest in it? 
Ha!”  He picked up the book and began reading, scratched the back of his
head.  “Where will you find a woman like this?”

Christopher
shrugged, smiled.

“What
about a wench, flesh and blood?  Naught in yer head, but real.”

“Aye
Nick.  I suppose ye have one hidden in yer room?”

“Perchance…yea,
I do.”  Nick raised his eyebrows.

Christopher
looked up from whittling his quill. 

“Ha! 
There’s the rub!”

“As
you will Nick.  Prithee leave me be.”  He waved his hand in
dismissal.

“Ah,
get ye to town lad.  What say you?  Wenching, drinking… enough time
spent on this.”  Nick grabbed the book from him. 

Christopher
grabbed for it back.  The head master walked by and they began conversing
in Latin.  If caught speaking English they would be severely
reprimanded.  Christopher and Nick nodded, waited until the headmaster
passed.

“Surely
yer not studying for the priest hood?”  Nick whispered.

Christopher
smiled again.  “Aye, and what of it?”

“There’s
naught to be gained by becoming a skinny priest.  Always hungry, bowing
and praying.  For what?”  Nick snorted.

“Surely
there’s heaven?  A just reward.”

“Heaven? 
What, that fairytale?”

Christopher
looked at him, astonished.  “Nick, ye better be careful.  What ye say
is blasphemy.  Ye know that.”

“Aye.” 
Nick leaned back, a cocky expression on his face. “I know ye feel the same
Kit.”

Christopher
avoided his eyes.  “A just reward, Nick.  A just reward.”  He
turned toward the parchment and dipped his quill in the ink pot.

Nick
covered his writing hand with his.  “Are ye hungry Kit?  Tell me
that.  Are ye?”  Christopher glanced at him and Nick looked at him
fiercely, fire in his eyes.

“Aye,” 
He admitted, nodding slightly.  “And cold.”

“Then
I pray you meet me on the morrow in my room…after we sup.”

“Nicholas
Faunt!”

Christopher
and Nick jerked their heads up.  The head master stood over them, crooking
his finger towards Nick.

“Ades
dum abo.”  Come with me.

Nick
nodded at Christopher and stood. 
“Valere iubere.”  Goodbye

The
head master cuffed him, then pushed him forwards.  Christopher watched as
they walked down the long hall together.

Chapter 17

They
had barely spoken a word together as they drove through town.  Alice had
gotten the call unexpectedly –
would you like to come to dinner?  Pam
is in town.
 

Pam. 
Who was she anyway?  Alice wondered.  Her mother’s favorite, a
smashing success. 
What about me?  What about my theatre?  My
work with all these kids? 

She
knew, logically, that it didn’t matter.  That her parents held different
values than hers.  Besides, her work with Selina had taught that families
were often illogical, and had hidden agendas of their own.  Agendas that
were seldom acknowledged, and sometimes handed down throughout the ages as a
kind of familial birthright.

 “Who
knows when the dysfunction gets started?”  Selina said.  “It could
have been anything that caused the family stress – maybe a psychotic family
member?”  Selina had looked at her, questioning.  That shrink look
that said: 
fill in the blank please.
  Albert would play this
with her also.  She glanced over at him.  He stared straight ahead,
hands gripping the wheel.

 “Talk
to me.  You know how I hate this.” 

 “Why
are we going?  Why didn’t you beg off?  You know they cause you great
discomfort.”  Albert turned the wheel down the street where her parents
lived. 

Alice
began to feel panicked.  “I don’t know.” 

 “Well,
I can always turn around.”  He patted her hand and parked the car in her
parent’s driveway.

 “Sure
Albert.  Wouldn’t that look strange?  Now that we’re parked here.”

He
shrugged.  “You could say you were sick and had to leave.”

That
wouldn’t be too far from the truth, Alice thought. 
No, I will go
through with this.
  Alice opened the door and got out, vaguely feeling
like she was going to her execution.  Albert followed close behind her.

Jasmine
met them at the door.  “Aunt Alice!”  She flung the door open, and
jumped out onto the porch. 

 “Hey!” 
Alice gave her a hug.  Jasmine jumped from her to Albert.

Albert
gently pried her off, and the three of them went inside.  Alice noticed a
rash on the side of Jasmine’s neck.  “What’s this honey?”

 “Nothing.” 
Jasmine nervously put her hand to her neck and started scratching.

 “Something
under your skin kiddo?”  Albert patted her head as Jasmine ducked under
his arm.

Alice
and Albert walked towards the back of the house where the living room
was.  There sat Pam, as on a throne, in the middle of the room, surrounded
by remnants of wall paper and fabric.  Her mother sat on the ground at
Pam’s feet.  How perfectly worshipful in its design, Alice thought.

Ever
since Pam had become head of
 
My Face, Your Face
, their mother had
absolutely doted on her.  Pam could do no wrong.  Everything she said
had relevance, every word was precious.  There was a grand design to what
Pam said, and Myra basked in its eloquence.  Alice on the other hand, as
always, felt disregarded.  She had felt this way since childhood. 
But the eminence of Pam had taken on royal proportions since her elevation to
corporate executive. 

 “Hi.” 
Alice stood in the doorway with Albert.  Albert took a seat by the window.

 “Oh
hi, Alice.”  Myra barely glanced up. 

Well
forget the fact that you called
me,
wanted
me
to come over, Alice
thought.

Pam’s
eyes scanned her face.  She had a smug expression on her face, secure in
her queenly role.

 “I
only stopped by to say hi,” Alice said, sensing how the trap had been
laid.  She was merely bait to make her mother and sister feel elevated,
good about themselves, while she was made to feel small and worthless. 

But
in the back of her mind she felt that maybe just once…just maybe…it could be
different.  Of course it never was.

 “We’re
redecorating the living room.  Want to help.  Here, see if you could
come up with a color combination for this piece of wall paper.”  Pam threw
the wall paper remnant at her feet and went back to sorting through what she
had arranged in front of her. 

 “No…I
don’t want to be a part of this…task.  I need to talk to dad.”  Alice
backed out of the room.  Behind her she heard Albert make polite
conversation.  The forced sound of Pam’s laugh rang in her ears.

The
door to the family room was open a crack.  Family room, what a quaint
phrase, Alice thought.  The only family here is my father who sits in
front of the TV with a beer in his hand.  Thin light filtered through the
window as she entered the room.  She couldn’t tell if her father was
dozing or actually asleep.  Two cans of Budweiser lay perched on the table
beside him.  A game of baseball flickered on the TV. 

 “Dad?”

Her
father lay there in his recliner, snoring.  The smell of beer hovered
around him like a thick smog that was heavy and filled with the perspiration of
the years.  Alice fought back the urge to cry and picked up the beer
cans.  She walked to the kitchen and placed them on the counter hearing
the sound of her mother, sister, and Albert conversing in the next room. 
Alice marveled at the fact that Albert could so easily talk to them.

She
walked back into the room. 

 “Dad?” 
Alice touched Sam’s shoulder, shook it a little.

 “Huh? 
Whadya want?”  He opened up a bleary eye towards his daughter.

Alice
sat next to him on the couch.  Sam rubbed his eyes. 

 “Is
your sister here?”  He spoke gruffly, eyed the table for his beer. 
“I had a good swallow left in that one, Alice.” 

Alice
said nothing, stared at the baseball game.

 “She
wants to redo the living room.  Like that will change anything.”  He stared
to laugh.

 “What’s
so funny?”

 “Nothing.”

Sam
settled his face into an impenetrable mask.  It reminded her of clay, and
nothing could make her more angry. 

 “Nothing?”

Alice
couldn’t figure him out.  Sometimes he would have little outbursts like this,
as if he was on the verge of saying something real and authentic about their
family.  Then he would shut down again.  Alice kept waiting. 
Always the waiting.  She sighed.  But today she had bigger fish to
fry.

 “Dad,
what can you tell me about Grandma Petrovka?”

He
looked over at her.  “Why do you bring that up?

 “I
heard she was psychic.”

He
snorted.  “She was a nut.   Who’d ya hear that from?”

“Mom.”

 “Another
nut.”

Alice
waited a few minutes, realizing she had to pick the right moment of balance. If
she waited to long her dad would wave her off, and if she didn’t wait long
enough he would probably explode.   She hated walking on
eggshells. 

Alice
knew that her grandmother, Ireni Petrovka, had survived the Russian Revolution
of 1917.  She had managed to come to America soon after.  Apparently
she had suffered a nervous breakdown after the birth of her father.  When
he was barely two she had had to put him in an orphanage until she was able to
recover.    Her grandmother had died when her father was young. 
That was all she knew.

Alice
went to the kitchen and opened the fridge.  She grabbed a Budweiser from a
twelve pack, opened it and set it in front of her father.  He accepted
this gesture as a token of affection and patted her hand. 

 “Bobby
tells me you were down at O’Leary’s the other night with some blond.”

 “Her
name is Joannie.  Yes, I was there.”  And left as soon as I could,
she thought.

 “Funny
I didn’t see you.  I was there that night.”

And
every night, before and after for the past twenty years.
  Alice
felt very small, like she was ten years old, alone in her bed with the window
open and the moon shining down, watching the pattern of light reflect on her
bedcovers, moving from one end to the other, waiting for the sounds of her dad
coming home from the bar. 

“So
what about grandma dad?”

Sam
chugged down half of the beer.  Set the can down and wiped his mouth with
the back of his hand.  He shrugged and glanced over at her.  “I
really can’t remember much.  It was so long ago.”

Bullshit. 
You remember everything, that’s why you drink so much. 

Alice
felt the heat rise to her face.  She snatched the can of beer from the
table.

 “Why
don’t you quit drinking dad?  What are you so afraid of?”  She glared
at him.

Sam’s
mouth dropped open.  “Well, I guess you have her temper.”  They
stared at each other for what seemed like eons ticking away over the
centuries.  Something has got to give, she thought.

 “She
picked your name you know.”

Alice
sat down, grateful the spell had been broken.  She didn’t realize it would
be so hard.  She was shaking.

 “She
knew things. That’s all.”  Sam began to take an active interest in the
game on the television, craning his neck towards it.

 “What
things?

 “She
knew things about people – what would happen to them.  Or if they were
sick she could tell them what was wrong.”

 “And?” 
Alice encouraged her father.

 “They
locked her up for it.”

She
knew she was treading on dangerous ground.  “But why?”

Sam
shifted in his seat.  “It wasn’t like the old country here.  There was
a long tradition of healers over there.  People were suspicious, my mother
could barely speak English.  Some religious…person…claimed she was
psychotic.  I think the person thought she was a witch.  I don’t
know…it was so long ago.”  He waved her off. 

She
realized this was the most Sam had ever told her. 

 “Thanks
dad.”

He
took a swig of beer.  “Don’t mention it.”

 ***

During
the ride home Albert listened to Alice excitedly speak of her
grandmother.  She told him what she could piece together.  She stopped
short when he adopted his shrink face.