In the Shadow of Shakespeare (2 page)

“You
have been working too hard.  You get caught up in all your clients dreams
and you can’t detach.”  Alice smiled and rubbed his scrubby beard. 
She was used to Albert’s ramblings about dreams.  He would take his
clients dreams and analyze them like a Hieronymous Bosch painting – flitting,
glorified images of a divine psyche gone askew.   He had said that he
wanted them to make sense of the imagery, to be able to make a puzzle from the
incoherent pieces.  All people will do this, he had said, given enough
time. 

“Albert,
could you look over here and make sense of my images?  What do you think
is going on.”

He
rolled over and rested his head on his hand, surveying the clippings she had
laid on the bed.  “In what order would you like this response?  From
a psychological point of view, or merely a transcription of events?”

Alice
looked at him.  Sometimes she wondered if he was serious or not.  She
was an American, used to the slang and the informality of the Midwest.  He
was British, a Londoner, and spoke in clipped, proper phrases.  But such
eloquent speech.  Sometimes Alice was jealous of the fluency of his
language, how it trickled like water across stone, flowing from the
source. 

“You
tell me, whatever comes into your head.”

“Okay,
my dearest.”  He lay back on the bed with his hands clasped behind his
head.  “It was night and we were walking across a bridge – ”

“Albert,
look
at my clippings, please.”

“My
dream.”

“Alright. 
Go on.”  Exasperated, Alice lay another picture of Sonia next to
Derrin.  She liked this one, the expression on Sonia’s face was
tremendous, but that was why she had chosen her for her lead actress in most of
the plays she produced.  She had great range of intent and
expression.  “Look at this one of Sonia.”

“Darling,
please.

“Sorry,
sorry, I’m agitated tonight.  There is something else I must tell you that
goes along with the pictures.”

“What?”

“No
you continue.”

“That
isn’t fair.  You tell me.  I need to know what goes on with your
pictures.”

 “No,
really, let’s do this one thing at a time.” she said.

Albert
picked up a picture of Derrin.  Gazing at it a moment he lay it back down
in a different place.  Alice felt like she was watching a detective look
for clues at the scene of a crime. 

 “I
don’t know.  I don’t see anything that precipitated this backlash.”

Startled,
she looked at him. 

 “Of
course I know of the criticism, love.  I read the papers.  You have
been too busy with the play, and I didn’t want to bring it up.  It would
have only added to your stress, and God knows we can’t have that.”  He put
his hand on hers trying to draw her to him.

 “Wait,”
Alice pulled away.  “Now it’s your turn.”

 “Yes,
the dream.”  He lay back, hands interlocked behind his head.  Alice
looked at his nipples, the hair on his chest.  She gently touched a nipple
and he took her hand.  A sudden pain crept up her throat and she began to
get tense. 

 “Wait,
is it bad?  Will it make me cry?”

 “You
broke my heart,” he said.  “We fell off the bridge together, and you flew
away, vanishing into thin air.”

 ***

That
night Alice had a dream.  The moon shone brightly in a sky filled with
clouds littered with light.  The light; silver, gold, and streaked with
blue hit the water.  A man swam there, crossing a large lake bordered by
granite stones.  Trees filled the distance and the moonlight fell upon
their leaves.  He swam sure and strong and she saw his arm lift from the
water and breech into the next stroke.  He swam in the path of the
moonlight, his dark hair shining against his face.  His face was full of
longing, for he was swimming towards his love.

He
began to get tired.  As he moved forward the lake began to grow – it
became larger and larger, and he knew he was caught.  He could no longer
see the shore.  Terrified, he spun around and around in the water, looking
for land, looking for relief from a watery grave. 

 “Alice,”
he whispered. “Alice…please…”  His head bobbed in the water as he
struggled to stay afloat, and his mouth choked with water and he began to go
down. As he sank into the depths his hair floated like seaweed, splayed out
around him.  The moon light filtered down into the green depths as he
sank, darker and darker…

She
awoke and sat bolt upright in bed, gasping for air.  Albert lay silently
beside her.  The moon shone brightly, spilling light unto their bed
through the open window.  The white curtains moved silently, undulating in
the soft breeze.

 She
lay her hand in the slice of light, illuminating it into a ghostly
pale.  

Chapter 4

She
couldn’t concentrate and constantly glanced on the clock on the wall, watching
as the seconds ticked painfully by.  Her students shifted uncomfortably in
their seats, deliberating over their timed essays.  She gave these essays
once a week to improve their writing skills.  They groaned because the
times essays were always on Friday afternoon at one o’clock; right before
school let out.  Heads popped up and eyes began staring out the
window. 

She
drummed her fingers slowly on the table lost in thought.  The real reason
she gave these essays was to give herself a break.  By Friday she was
drained and had precious little energy to think of herself, of her plays. 

After
a production she was always frazzled.  It would take her some time to get
back into the semblance of normality. 

Dion,
always the first one done, slapped his essay on her desk.

 “Done.” 
He glared at her.

She
picked up his essay.  “Looks like it comes pretty easy to you.” 

“Yeah,
it does.”  Dion looked proud in spite of himself.

Alice
recognized sharp and pretty sentences next to the pile of chicken scratch Dion
routinely put forth.  “You want to start editing it?”

“Nope.”

Dion
walked down the aisle and pulled at Charlane’s new hairdo.  She
instinctively put a protective hand to her head.

“Nah.” 
He slouched in his seat, his pants falling below his underwear. 

“Ten
more minutes everyone.” 

More
groans and sighs.  She glanced towards the window which looked out on Main
Street.  A bum was staggering next to the old Goodoff’s Department
store.  He stopped when he found the wall would support him, and easing
himself against it, sat down.  Alice frowned, making a mental note to call
social services about this guy – he had been stumbling around out here in front
of the school for the past week and obviously needed help. 

The
bell rang, jarring her from her thoughts.  The kids all whooped, and
jammed into eachother in their haste to get out of the door. 

“Mother
fucker!”  Dion slammed Roberto Gomez on the floor.

“Hey!” 
Alice grabbed Dion by the back of the collar.  “What is with you
two?  It’s Friday, doesn’t that mean anything?” 

“Yeah,
time to kick some ass!”  Dion lunged for Roberto. 

“Roberto,
go.” said Alice.

Roberto
looked uncertain, ready to pounce if given the chance, but his faced changed
quickly into a mask of neutrality as he eyed the open door of the
classroom.  He sulked out the door. 

 
She waited a few moments as she held onto Dion’s shirt, feeling the blood
pounding in his neck.  She was reminded of a raging beast and thought of
Othello.

“Let
me go.” he strained in his shirt.

“Alright.” 
She let go of his collar, and motioned for him to sit at a desk.  “What’s
this about?”

“The
man trying to home in on my woman.”  Dion looked out the window, watching
the kids pour out of the building.

So
it was like Othello.

“Well,
you two seem pretty tight.  I doubt if Renita is going to switch sides.”

Dion,
still staring out the window, begin to get the beginnings of a smile creeping
around the corners of his mouth.  “Yeah, but she live in
that
neighborhood.”

Alice
took this to mean he was referring to the Hispanic side of town. 

She
hooked her hair behind an ear. “We will be studying what it means to be
betrayed and stabbed in the back on Monday.” 

“What?” 
Dion dragged his eyes from the window and looked at her.

“We
will be reading a play called
Othello
, by William Shakespeare.”

“That
old bald English guy?  That be
boring
Ms. Petrovka.”  Dion
frowned.

“Well
I must admit that the language is a little hard to get used to, but once you
get used to it, you kind of flow along and fall prey to the spell of the
bard.” 

He
snickered, grabbed his books, and headed out of the room. 

“Hey!”

Reaching
the doorway he looked back at her.

“Girls
like poetry, you know.”

“Yeah,
right, Ms Petrovka.  See ya Monday.”  He turned to go.

“Wait!”

“What?” 
Dion turned again, impatience in his eyes.

“You’re
turning into quite a good writer.”

Dion
hesitated for a second, and smiling, headed out the door to freedom. 

Alice
sat on top of the desk and looked out the window and watched as Dion exited the
building.  He immediately lapsed into his long, lopey stride, catching up
with a few of his friends.

The
room seemed big and quiet without all their noise.  She stared out the window
waiting for her interior world to quiet down, waiting for some peace.  She
smiled and hopped off the desk and went over to the window to inspect her
plants. 

She
had deliberately chosen hardy types – philodendrons, and ivy – plants that
could take a beating.  But now they were thriving. 
Hardy like
these kids. 
  
Just a little extra care, that’s all they
need.  A little water, some light – someone to care. 

What
do I need to thrive? 

The
thought surprised her, catching her unaware with her fingers in the dirt,
checking the moisture level of the philodendron.  She thought of
Albert.  They had been married for two years now.  It was going okay,
there was nothing to complain about. 
Then what is this all about?
 
A nagging unease settled itself in the back of her mind.

There
was a quick rap on the door frame and Alice turned her head.  Joannie
stood there, a smirk on her face.

“I
see you can’t get enough of this place.  Time to go, Petrovka.  It’s
time to relax, and we’ve got the beer – Miller beer.”  Joannie swung her
arms around in an exaggerated display of a waitress holding a tray full of
beer. 

“All
you need now is the little skirt to complete the Pauli girl ensemble,” said
Alice.  “Give me a few minutes, will you?  I want some time to think
about Monday’s lesson plan.”

“Oh
wing it.  You always do.  All this English literature
stuff…c’mon.  What do you really need to know anyway?  Reading,
writing – what else is there once you get the basics down?” 

“There
is a thing called thinking, Bryant,”  Alice tapped her head with her index
finger.  “I suppose you math types have forgotten how to put two and two
together?”

“Ha.
Four.  No more riddles for today, I’m consciously forgetting how to put
things together.”

Alice
surveyed Joannie; her earnest face, framed by blond hair and steel blue
eyes.  She thought of how they contrasted each other, yet were very
similar. 

“We
sound like we’re married.”  Alice said.

“Married? 
Never.  Not in the cards for me my sweeting. I’m outta here.  Are you
to follow, or not?”

“In
a few, math mind.”

“Okay,
see ya  at O’Leary’s.”  Joannie said, hitting the door jam twice upon
her exit.

It
is quiet now, so quiet. 

Sweeting.
 
Who
was it that had said that?
Alice shut her eyes and thought of lips kissing
hers.  Warm and moist, a slight dip of a tongue lightly touching hers,
then, a hand caressing the back of her neck.  It felt good, warm, and she
thought of the man in the doublet with red slashes.  The Renaissance
man.  Or was it a woman?  A woman dressed as a man? 

Take
pen to paper and write, scarcely blotting a line…

There
was a poster of Shakespeare that Alice kept on the wall, and she went and stood
before it.  It was a copy of the Droeshout portrait; a picture of the
supposed Will, vacantly staring. 
There is no introspection here, no
feeling.
 Alice tilted her head and examined the picture. 
Who
are you?  Something is missing…something is lacking…

“We
will start with you Monday, Will.  Will you agree?”