The Mercutio Problem

by Carol Anne Douglas

  It wouldn’t matter if one of her other classmates had a girlfriend. But Sita? Was it so wrong to want Sita to like her best? Would Sita tell Amelia everything she knew about Beth? Would Sita have all her sleepovers with Amelia now? Would Sita think sleepovers at Beth’s house were boring because they just talked? Would Sita think Beth was boring if she talked about guys?

  “Why the long face today, Bethster?” Kevin asked. He adjusted the pillow around his waist that he wore to give him the feeling of being Sir Toby. “Viola shouldn’t be moody.”

  “I’m mooning over Duke Orsino,” Beth said. She turned to Arnie, who was tying his shoelace. “Oh, Duke, my Duke, why can’t you see that I am a woman?”

  “Because you’re such a good actor,” Arnie said. “And maybe Orsino needs glasses.” He straightened up and peered around the auditorium as if he couldn’t see what was in front of him. “Who’s the girl around here?” He stared at Kevin. “Is it you?”

  “Yes,” Kevin squeaked in a high voice. “Sir Toby is really a woman in disguise.”

  “It would be fun to have an all-girl performance of Twelfth Night,” Amelia said, walking up to them. “Or an all-male one, like in Shakespeare’s day. I’ve heard there was an all-woman performance of Julius Caesar in New York. I’d love to have seen that.”

  “Me, too,” Beth said. “Hi, Amelia.”

  “That’s Olivia to you,” Amelia said. Her voice didn’t sound any different, but Beth was sure that Amelia knew that Beth knew.

  Sita swaggered over and sang. “But when I came alas! to wive, With hey, ho, the wind and the rain, By swaggering I could never thrive, for the rain it raineth every day.”

  “Better that it raineth than it snoweth,” Kevin said. “Fewer problems getting around.”

  “Pick up your scripts if you still need them, though you shouldn’t need them by now,” Ms. Capulet ordered. “Get on the stage, Feste and Viola. Let’s go through your scene.”

  Beth climbed onto the stage. She didn’t mind the scene with Sita, but the scene with Olivia would come all too soon. She was an actor. She could do this. And she could do it without blushing.

  She also wondered whether there would be any more stage “accidents.” She tried not to appear apprehensive. Don’t look nervously around the stage, she told herself. Viola isn’t worrying whether something might fall on her or the ground might give way under her feet.

  Sita’s eyes sparkled more than usual when she said, “Now Jove, in his next commodity of hair, send thee a beard!”

  Beth enjoyed replying, “By my troth, I am almost sick for the want of one.” And in an aside to the audience, said, “though I would not have it grow on my chin.” Thank goodness Mercutio did not have a beard, she thought. She certainly didn’t want one. Nor did she particularly want to kiss a man who had one.

  All too soon, it was time for Olivia to appear.

  Amelia poured out Olivia’s growing passion. She was good at the part, Beth thought.

  Beth enjoyed telling her, “You do think you are not what you are.”

  And hearing Amelia reply, “If I think so, I think the same of you.”

  Beth replied, “Then you think right. I am not what I am.” Thank goodness that in Bethesda she could be who she was. It was tiring not being who she was. That is, it was nice to be an actor, but not so much fun to have to seem to be a man in a world where people believed it and might seek to fight with her. Men fought too much, she thought, not for the first time.

  “I would you were as I would have you be,” Amelia said.

  Beth couldn’t help wondering whether Amelia was jealous of her friendship with Sita. Would Amelia try to coax Sita to see less of Beth? Beth suppressed her thoughts. She should just live Viola while she was acting, not think about her own life. That was what her art demanded.

  BETH RUSHED FROM CLASS to class, trying to ignore the dull ache in her chest. What upset her most? she wondered. Sita’s caring more about another girl bothered her, but she felt sure that Sita was still a good friend. Something else pressed her spirits down. She decided to talk to her drama teacher.

  She walked to the familiar messy office. It was good knowing she was welcome.

  “Come in, Beth,” Ms. Capulet said. “I’m looking at a book about earlier productions of Twelfth Night. Would you like to see it? There are some wonderful photos. Did you know that Laurence Olivier played Malvolio and Vivien Leigh played Viola in a 1955 production? In 1940, Helen Hayes played Viola.” Ms. Capulet extended the book to Beth.

  “That’s great. Thanks.” Beth glanced at the photos, but she couldn’t keep the tears out of her eyes.

  “Shakespeare doesn’t like me,” Beth said. Her voice broke. “He doesn’t want to see me. I’m trying with all my strength to help him, but he can’t stand the sight of me because I remind him of terrible things in his past.” She couldn’t tell her teacher that Shakespeare had killed Marlowe, because that was Shakespeare’s secret that Beth must never tell.

  “This is so hard for you.” Ms. Capulet gave her a sympathetic look. “You are being taxed almost beyond your strength. But remember that loving great people from the past must always be a one-way love. They loved the world enough to create their works, but they can’t love us individually.”

  “But Shakespeare does know me.” Beth sniffed. “That’s just the trouble.”

  “But he can’t understand all that you are doing for him and his works. Of course that’s hard.” Ms. Capulet’s tone was soothing, as if Beth were a child. “I wish it wasn’t so hard. All I can say is to try not to think about how he reacts to you.”

  “But I need Shakespeare to communicate with Marlowe’s ghost. He doesn’t like the idea. He doesn’t like the supernatural.” Beth handed the book back to her teacher.

  “That’s understandable.” Ms. Capulet paused. “Wouldn’t it make more sense for you to try to summon Shakespeare’s ghost and ask him to communicate with Marlowe’s ghost?”

  “You’re right. Why didn’t I think of that?” Beth dried her tears. “Thanks. I’ll try.” Seeing Shakespeare’s ghost wouldn’t be nearly as satisfying as seeing the living Shakespeare, but the ghost probably couldn’t sadden her as much either.

  Beth closed her eyes. That wasn’t necessary for time traveling, but she was uncomfortable being watched while she disappeared for a minute or two. She usually did it alone. But when she came back from her travels, it might be good to have her teacher there.

  Where would Shakespeare’s ghost be? Beth wondered. The last time she had seen him, he had appeared in a mirror in Richard’s great hall, but she didn’t want to go back there.

  She whirred through dark spaces and thudded onto a hard floor.

  She sat on the stage at the Globe. The theater was empty. It was night, and she could see stars over the place where the groundlings stood during a production.

  Shakespeare’s ghost hovered on the stage in front of her.

  She felt glad that he was in a more comfortable place than Marlowe’s foggy station near the Thames. It was fitting that Shakespeare’s ghost would live on a stage, though she had thought he might be in Stratford. The Globe had burned down before Shakespeare died, but apparently that didn’t matter. This was a Globe in another world.

  “Why did you summon me?” the ghost asked her. His voice was like the living Shakespeare’s, but hollower.

  Beth tried to keep her voice from shaking. Even the most benign ghost was so awesome—truly awesome—that she could hardly speak. “Do you remember when Richard III had Mercutio killed?”

  The ghost sighed. “Ghosts do not forget. We forget nothing.”

  Beth shivered. She wasn’t sure she wanted to forget nothing after she died.

  “Richard III is trying to wreak havoc with your plays. He can’t do it, but he has found a way to speak with Marlowe’s ghost to persuade the ghost to do it.”


  “Marlowe!” The ghost cried. It was a piteous cry, a cross between a moan and a shriek. “His name cuts me like a sword. My own damned, blood-stained sword.”

  “I’m sorry I needed to mention him.” Beth felt as if she had shrunk to leprechaun size. “But he believes that you tampered with his plays, so he wants to tamper with yours.”

  “Madness!” the ghost intoned. “Madness! I never touched his plays.”

  “I wonder whether there’s a way you could tell him that,” Beth ventured.

  “Marlowe!” Shakespeare’s ghost shrieked. “Talk to Marlowe! Torture! No!” He began to fade.

  “I don’t want to torture you, but please just think about it,” Beth said before he vanished.

  She spun away and opened her eyes. She saw the familiar poster of James Dean in her drama teacher’s office.

  “These travels are wearing me down,” she said.

  “I’m sorry.” Ms. Capulet’s brow furrowed. “Is there anything I can do?” She handed Beth an orange soda. “Perhaps the whole experiment was a mistake. I don’t want you to be hurt. Is there any way to discontinue it?”

  “It’s too late now.” Beth took a sip of soda. “I’d never forgive myself if anything happened that I could have prevented.”

  “I’ll never forgive myself if I’ve scarred you.” Ms. Capulet’s face sagged. “And I’ll never forgive myself if my students all wind up with years of tooth decay because I keep giving them soft drinks. I hope you brush your teeth frequently.”

  “Sure.” Beth rolled her eyes. How mundane could you get? It was a good thing that she hadn’t told her teacher that she was going to die as Mercutio.

  She walked out of Ms. Capulet’s office and saw Kevin standing in the hall.

  “Hi, Beth.” His grin was not as broad as it had been. “Isn’t there anything I can do to help you?”

  “Thanks, but I can’t think of any . . .”

  A scream came from Ms. Capulet’s office.

  Beth thrust open the door. The book on Twelfth Night performances had burst into flames, and the piles of papers on her teacher’s desk were catching fire. Ms. Capulet was tearing the tabs off soft drink cans and pouring the drinks on the fire.

  Kevin rushed into the room, tore off his leather jacket and beat the flames on a pile of papers. Beth hurried to knock papers and books that had not yet caught fire off the desk and away from the flames. Ms. Capulet splashed soda on Kevin’s jacket to keep it from burning.

  The school’s fire alarm went off. The sound of students and teachers thudding down the halls to leave the building reached the room, but the three of them kept working. They extinguished the fire, but a pile of ashes sat on Ms. Capulet’s desk.

  “I wasn’t looking for a muse of fire,” the drama teacher said, quoting the chorus at the beginning of Henry V. “We should exit the building along with everyone else. I’ll call the principal and tell her the fire has been put out.”

  She grabbed her cellphone and dialed while they proceeded to the corridor and marched out in an orderly fashion, joining the kids who were moving along nervously and saying, “Where’s the fire?” “I can smell the smoke?”

  Beth could hear Ms. Capulet mumbling into her phone and apologizing profusely.

  “We can go back to my office,” the teacher said.

  Beth and Kevin turned around and followed her.

  Once they were in the office, Kevin threw himself in a chair. “I didn’t do anything. Did the fire happen because of me? Should I go off to a desert island or kill myself? I can’t stand being used for all these attacks. Someone could get hurt.”

  “Be calm,” Ms. Capulet told him. “You know perfectly well that you can’t go to a desert island and shouldn’t hurt yourself. Eventually Richard will stop using you. I just don’t know when.”

  Kevin clenched his fists. “If I ever see him, I’ll knock his . . . .”

  “Stop posturing,” the teacher said. “I hope you never do see him, and it would dangerous to attempt to hurt him. Just try to be calm, and do what you did just now. If you see that you can help put out a fire, do it.”

  “But there was nothing I could do once the light fell or when Frank plunged into a pit,” Kevin objected.

  Ms. Capulet opened her window. “Don’t sit here in the smoke any longer. I’m not going to. Please be calm.”

  “It’s tough, Kevin. But everything will work out,” Beth said, because she thought she had to say something. But she wasn’t at all sure that things would work out. She wasn’t even certain that she trusted Kevin.

  Arnie appeared in the doorway. His face sagged. “Hey, Connelly,” he said. “Let’s go to our next class together, okay?”

  “At least you don’t think I’m some kind of demon, do you?” Kevin demanded.

  “No. But I’m assigned to be your guardian angel.” Arnie grimaced.

  “Just don’t grow wings. I hate birds,” Kevin said, hitting him on the shoulder.

  Beth remembered turning the boys into birds to save them from Richard. Kevin evidently bore a grudge.

  “Could we all go to the movies tonight? A Friday night out? The new movie Teen Misery?” Arnie asked. He looked at Beth while he spoke.

  “Great! How about it, Beth?” Kevin brightened. “Let’s ask Sita, too. And Frank.”

  “Why not ask the whole cast?” Arnie did not sound as if he wanted to ask everyone.

  “Just those of us who know what’s going on,” Kevin said. “We could go out and brainstorm afterwards.”

  “I was thinking of relaxing for the evening,” Arnie said.

  Beth realized that Arnie meant no one would want to share thoughts with Kevin because they didn’t know whether Richard was tapping into his mind. She felt torn. She didn’t want Kevin to guess that what they were thinking, but she also was afraid that Arnie proposed keeping the group small because he wanted to have more time with her.

  She could say that she had more work to do, but a break from time travel sounded like a relief.

  “Sure, let’s ask them,” she said. She was curious about whether Sita would be busy. “You text them.”

  The incident with the burning book was too much smaller than the others, Beth thought. She was afraid that meant the next incident would be much more dramatic.

  They went to their history classroom. Mr. Clarke lectured about Henry VIII. Beth knew a great deal about that king, but it was always interesting to hear about his many wives and his break with the Catholic Church.

  “Was Henry a good king?” Mr. Clarke asked. “England experienced a period of prosperity, with no wars. Yet there was a religious schism that led to future wars. Did he make the right decision when he broke with Rome to ensure that he had a male successor to the throne, if that was his true reason?”

  Beth contemplated writing a paper on that subject. She imagined the points for and against.

  At the end of the class, the teacher said, “Now for the subject of your first papers. All the students on the right side of the classroom will write papers on Richard III. All those on the left side will write about Henry V. You may choose to write about the plays’ historical accuracy or lack of it, or, if you wish, other aspects of the plays.”

  Beth sucked in her breath. She sat on the right side of the classroom. She would have to write about Richard III. A wave of nausea passed through her. She knew that once Mr. Clarke gave out an assignment, he was too rigid to change it. She wished she could write about Henry V, Henry VIII, or any other Henry, rather than Richard.

  More time with Richard. Just what she needed.

  Arnie gave her a look of sympathy.

  Chapter 23

  BETH MET ARNIE AND Kevin at the theater, a Megaplex that showed six movies at a time. There was a crowd of kids, but Arnie had purchased the tickets online.

  “Sita and Frank were both busy,” he announ
ced.

  “Too bad,” Kevin said.

  “Too bad,” Beth echoed. She wondered whether Amelia would monopolize Sita’s weekends.

  They loaded up on popcorn and soft drinks and went into the theater. Kevin had hidden in his backpack a less expensive drink purchased elsewhere, and Beth wished she had done the same. Arnie sat between Beth and Kevin, giving Beth the aisle seat that they knew she preferred.

  They saw Frank with an attractive African American girl whose name Beth didn’t know. He waved to them.

  The movie was about kids who didn’t fit in because they were fat. It had some comic moments, but Beth sometimes felt tears come to her eyes. She wondered whether Frank got discriminated against for being heavy, or whether he had experienced so much racial discrimination that he felt the other kind was not as bad.

  After the movie, Kevin went to the men’s room. Beth was going to go to the women’s room, but Arnie said, “Wait a minute, please?”

  She stood with him just outside the women’s room. There must be a line in there, but it didn’t reach out to the hall.

  “What would be the easiest way to kidnap Bottom?” Arnie asked. “Think about it.”

  “Oh.” Bells rang in her mind. “Persuading him to play the part of a kidnap victim.”

  Arnie nodded. “So he’s cooperating and doesn’t understand what he’s doing. But remember his desire to play all the roles.”

  “I’m following you.” Beth groaned. “He’ll have Stockholm Syndrome, or he’ll pretend to. They’ll tell him to play the part of one of the kidnappers. Good thinking. But we still don’t know what play he’s in.”

  “I’ve looked on the Internet,” Arnie said. “The only plays with kidnapping that came up were Cymbeline and Pericles.”

  “Boring!” Beth shook her head. “I don’t want to have to visit them. I don’t believe he’s in them. I think Richard might be trying to waste my time. Is taking Bottom just a red herring?”

  “Is Kevin a red herring?” Arnie asked.