The Mercutio Problem

by Carol Anne Douglas

  She headed out of the courtyard and through the wall to the orchards and town outside Richard’s castle. The wattle houses looked in good shape. People, pigs, and cows walked through the streets. Carts carried barrels towards the castle. Women scolded children for running through the mud.

  Beth had a memory that must have been Mercutio’s, of being a child tripping a woman carrying a cheese so that she fell in the mud. Then he had given her the money to buy a new cheese.

  “You again!” A harsh voice assaulted her. “Haven’t I killed you enough times already?”

  It was Tybalt, Juliet’s hot-blooded cousin who had killed Mercutio in the play and had killed him again, in Richard’s hall, in front of Beth. But then Romeo had run into the hall and slain Tybalt again.

  How dare Tybalt be alive while Mercutio was still dead! Rage heated Beth’s whole body.

  “The outcome will be different this time, Prince of Cats,” she snarled, drawing her sword. “Last time you slew me from behind, Prince of Cowards.”

  Tybalt sneered. “I can kill you any way I want.”

  Beth felt her blood sing with anger. As she rushed at him, she hated the very smell of Tybalt. He was perfumed, but it was a stale perfume. He had killed Mercutio. She didn’t care about swordsmanship. She bent low and ran as if she were playing football. His sword grazed her shoulder. She rammed hers into his groin. He yowled, and fell backwards, hands grabbing his bloody crotch. She pulled out her sword and thrust it into his neck.

  He was dead. Tybalt was finally dead.

  She pulled out her sword and looked at the bloody wreck of a body. The smell of blood filled the air and choked her.

  She vomited. She, Beth Owens, had killed someone. She was Mercutio, but she had killed Tybalt partly as Beth, not just as Mercutio. She was a killer. Her head spun. She wanted to die.

  People crowded around.

  “That was no fair fight,” a working man cried.

  “Stay away from the brute,” a young woman said, pulling back her little boy, who tried to get nearer to see the body.

  I am the brute, Beth thought.

  Tybalt’s body disappeared. But she still gagged. She wished herself home.

  She landed on her bed and began to sob. She had killed a man. She was a killer. Yes, he had only been a character, but it was still a killing.

  Her mother knocked on her door.

  “What’s the matter, honey? May I come in?”

  Beth said nothing. But her mother opened the door.

  “What is it?” Her mother walked over and put her hand on Beth’s shoulder.

  Beth tried to stop crying, but she still choked out little sobs. She couldn’t tell her mother what she had done. That would sound insane.

  “Is it still grief over that boy who died? Don’t you think you need to see a grief counselor?”

  “No.” Beth wiped her eyes with her pajama sleeve. “I had a terrible nightmare. I dreamed that I killed someone. I hadn’t thought I could ever do that, even in a dream.”

  “You aren’t to blame for your dreams.” Her mother patted her. “It sounds awful, but we don’t know what dreams mean, Freud notwithstanding. Everything is all right. You wouldn’t really kill anyone.”

  Beth sniffled. “Thanks, Mom,” she choked out.

  “There’s time for me to make you pancakes before school. Would you like that?”

  Beth nodded. “That would be great, thank you.”

  “I’ll do that right now. Don’t worry. Don’t let the dream ruin your day.” Her mother left.

  Beth held her head. I don’t deserve such a nice mother, she thought. She doesn’t know that I really am a killer. And a brutal one. I can’t let myself keep on acting like a nobleman who lived in an age where swords solved things.

  No, she thought. I can’t use that as an excuse. Mercutio didn’t do this killing. I did. I killed a man.

  Beth went to the bathroom. She scrubbed her hands.

  She got dressed. The smell of pancakes wafted up from the kitchen. She had to go downstairs and smile. Her mother would never know what Beth was capable of doing.

  Chapter 27

  BETH CUT THROUGH THE high school parking lot on her way to her first class. She longed for play practice. She wanted to be another character. Not herself. And not Mercutio. Just a simple character in a play that was really a play, not another world. Just the world of the stage. She didn’t deserve to have such a good life. She was a killer. Maybe she deserved to die.

  She heard the screech of brakes. A guy yelled. She saw that an old VW had come within inches of her. She jumped back.

  “Beth! Are you okay?” Frank leapt out of the driver’s seat. “Did I hurt you?” His face looked the way she felt when she remembered killing Tybalt.

  He put his arm on her shoulder.

  “No, I’m all right. Your car didn’t touch me. You stopped in time,” she reassured him. “Don’t worry.” She remembered that Frank was the only guy she knew who was old enough to drive.

  “Thank goodness.” Frank exhaled. “I don’t know what happened.” His tone was a cross between astonishment and apology. “All of a sudden, I couldn’t control the car. It seemed to move straight towards you, and the brakes wouldn’t work until the last second.”

  “That is strange.” Beth looked at the car and saw Kevin getting out of the passenger’s seat. His face was even more distraught than Frank’s. Kevin looked as he might if she had actually been hit.

  “Beth!” Kevin almost wailed. “I hope this wasn’t my fault.”

  Frank looked at him coldly. “Oh, really? I hope it wasn’t too. We need to talk about this, but I’ve got to get my car parked. You stay out here, Connelly. I’ll bring you your books.”

  Kevin paled. He held his stomach. “Beth,” he gasped again.

  “Let’s get out of the parking lot,” Beth said. Her head spun. Was even being near Kevin dangerous for her? A guy she had known since first grade? Did he cause Frank’s car to swerve? Kevin must be responsible. She couldn’t imagine that Frank would want to kill her or that Frank would be dumb enough to let Richard use him. Not after he had seen how Kevin had been used.

  “You’re shaking,” she said, as they walked towards the side of the next building, which was the auditorium.

  “You are too,” Kevin said. “Frank’s a good driver. He wasn’t pulling the car over. He didn’t turn the wheel. This has to be my fault. It’s horrible. I’m ready for an exorcist.”

  “It’s okay. Don’t blame yourself,” she said, wondering whether she meant it.

  Frank charged over to them. “This is too much.” He glared at Kevin. “You’re never riding in my car again. I don’t want to kill my friends because you’re sitting beside me.”

  Kevin put his hands over his eyes. “I didn’t mean to do it.”

  “Yeah, the devil made you do it.” Frank shook with anger. “I don’t care why you did it.”

  Other kids were staring at them.

  “We’re making a scene,” Beth told her friends. “Why don’t we go to Ms. Capulet’s office to talk?”

  She wasn’t eager to see Ms. Capulet after their last discussion, but who else could deal with Kevin? Ms. Capulet didn’t know what Beth had just done in the other world. She was a killer there, and she thought she might deserve to die there. But she didn’t want to die at home, too.

  They marched to the drama teacher’s office. Other students still turned to stare at them, so there must be something odd about their grim faces.

  Beth didn’t know whether she felt sorry for Kevin or just angry. She was glad for him that he hadn’t killed her, even by accident. She didn’t want him to feel the misery she felt at having killed. But her killing Tybalt was no accident.

  They knocked on Ms. Capulet’s door, and she told them to come in.

  Frank entered last and slamm
ed the door.

  “I’ve had it!” He was shaking with anger. “Connelly has to be shut up or something. I drove him to school this morning. In the parking lot, my car swerved out of my control and almost hit Beth. I’m not going to kill a friend and go to prison for manslaughter because Kevin has this little problem of making a deal with a centuries-old homicidal maniac.”

  Kevin’s face reddened. “I’m sorry,” he stammered.

  “Beth!” Ms. Capulet grabbed Beth’s hand, as if to reassure herself that Beth was alive. “I’m sorry I started this whole business of encountering Merlin and time traveling. I had no idea it could lead to this. We can’t jeopardize your life.”

  “I don’t much want to die in any world, but I sure don’t want to die in this one.” Beth shook.

  “I should just go kill myself.” Kevin’s voice broke.

  “Stop it,” the drama teacher told him. “Don’t make everyone feel guilty for being angry at you. Of course you shouldn’t kill yourself. If you keep saying that, I have to send you to a counselor. I don’t know what to do. I don’t think canceling the play would do any good, especially since this accident happened outside the theater.”

  “You could throw Kevin out of the cast,” Frank said. “We don’t even know whether he’s partly willing these things to happen.”

  “I’m not!” Kevin’s voice was shrill. “But I’ll leave the play if that would do any good.”

  “No, that’s not the solution.” Beth was surprised at how firm her voice sounded. “As Ms. Capulet said, this accident happened outside the theater. Were you feeling anything out of the ordinary before it happened?”

  “A little giddy,” Kevin said. “What should I have done? Asked Frank to let me out of the car because I felt dizzy?”

  “Apparently that is what you needed to do,” the teacher said. “Whenever you feel that way, stop whatever you are doing and tell one of us about your feeling. Perhaps that can prevent another accident.”

  “Do you want to take that chance?” Frank asked Beth.

  “I do,” Beth said. “It’s my life.”

  “We don’t even know that it’s just your life,” Frank reminded her. “I was cast into a pit. And I’m the one who might have gone to prison if anything had happened to you.”

  “I know how terrible you would have felt,” Beth said, remembering how she felt about killing Tybalt, though it had been done of her own will and she had faced no consequences. “But I promise that I’ll do everything I can in Shakespeare’s world to stop Richard. All any of us can do is do our best.” She tried to smile at Kevin. “I believe that Kevin will try, too.”

  “I will. Thanks for giving me another chance, Beth.” Kevin didn’t look any of them in the eye.

  Beth knew the misery would spread. Arnie would blame himself for not spending every minute keeping an eye on Kevin. Sita would be angry. She would probably bawl Beth out for not watching what was happening around her every minute.

  Beth realized that she looked forward to that bawling out. She loved her friends. She wanted to stay in her world. The bloom had definitely worn off time traveling.

  She went to the girls’ room and scrubbed her hands.

  Chapter 28

  BETH RAGED MORE THAN ever at Richard’s interference with her life. That evening she did her homework because she was afraid that she would be too tired to do it after time traveling. When she had finished her last assignment, she thought of the place she needed to be. The last place she wanted to be. Richard’s great hall. She willed herself not to appear as Mercutio, not because she might kill Richard but because she might hurt some innocent bystander.

  She spun through incense and choked on it. When she landed in his great hall, she coughed. She appeared in Ben’s clothes.

  “Have you caught a cold, dear Beth?” Richard asked with mock tenderness. “You should wear warm clothes in the winter.”

  She sneezed. “I don’t have a cold. Your ridiculous incense is making me sneeze.” She strode closer to his throne than usual. “Stop tormenting Kevin,” she demanded. “He doesn’t want you to use him. Stop it.”

  Richard arched his eyebrows. “You refused to help me, so I am using your weaker friend. That is your fault.”

  “He can’t do anything for you but upset me,” she said.

  “That is the point, of course.” Richard sipped from his golden goblet. “What is your breaking point? I have long known that hurting your friends is the best way to break you.”

  Beth felt her blood surge. “I’m not breaking; I’m angry.”

  “I’m touched. If the only thing you can do is come here and rail at me, you are powerless.” He smiled as if her anger delighted him.

  Beth thought how he resembled a hyena. How had she ever compared him to a wolf?

  “I will give you a boon,” Richard said, in his tone that was supposed to indicate magnanimity. “I will show you where that idiot Bottom is.”

  Richard gestured towards one of his mirrors.

  Beth stared at it, and she saw Bottom alone on a stage. He was dressed in clothes like those she had seen Hamlet wear.

  “To be or not to be,” Bottom boomed. “That is the question. But why am I asking this question? I am.”

  Bottom grabbed a long-haired blonde wig and put it on his head. He sang, falsetto, “Tomorrow is St. Valentine’s Day, and in the morn betime, I’ll be a maid at your window and be your Valentine.” He picked up a bouquet of flowers and dropped them on the stage. He staggered around the stage as if he didn’t know where he was. “I’m mad. Good people, do you see that I am mad? But do not worry. I am not really mad. The girl who I am playing kills herself, but I won’t kill myself, I promise.

  “But there are no good people,” Bottom moaned, looking all around him. “There is no audience.” He tore off the wig and threw it down. “I am all alone. Maybe I will go mad. Quince? Snug? Where are you? Where are my friends?” He kept looking around the stage. His voice became more and more distressed. “What good is it playing all the parts if I am alone? Where is the forest? Where is my home?”

  “Free him!” Beth cried. “Don’t leave him trapped alone on the stage.”

  “What will you give me for his release?” Richard asked. “He could be released at any time, if you would summon Shakespeare for me. If not, worse things could happen to your beloved clown. Far worse.”

  “Bottom! Hold on!” Beth called.

  “He can’t hear you, and he couldn’t hear your Indian friend, either,” Richard said with a smirk. “You can bring her here and see. He’s on a soundproof stage, utterly isolated. Which is the worst punishment for an actor.”

  “Let me play the part of the queen,” Bottom said. “Unsex me! I will be the cruelest queen who ever lived. I will order my husband to kill and kill again! Let me be the murderer! I will be a fearsome murderer. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow I will kill! But do not worry, good people. I am Bottom the weaver, and I will not kill anyone. Why is this blood on my hands? I did not kill anyone. Why won’t it come off? I am afraid of blood.” He washed his hands again and again. Tears formed in his eyes. “Where is the lady with wings and all her fairies?” The witches appeared before him. He shuddered and covered his face. “No, you are not fairies. You are not Moth. You are not Peaseblossom. Your cauldron is nasty. I can’t wash my hands in it. Why are my hands blood-stained? I am a weaver, not a butcher. This isn’t human blood, is it?”

  Beth knew that all she could do was bring Sita. She wondered whether Sita could come if she wished for that. She concentrated on Sita.

  Sita stood there before them.

  “Ah, a voice from the East,” Richard said in a mocking tone. “Apparently you have mystical powers. Swami Sita, are you?”

  “Don’t talk to my friend that way,” Beth demanded.

  “How touchy you are,” Richard replied. He turned to Sita. “B
ottom the weaver is trapped on a stage. Your good friend Beth believes that you have the power to release him. But you won’t be able to do that this time. I have built a special soundproof stage that will keep him from hearing you.”

  “We’ll see,” Sita said. She called out to Bottom in Titania’s voice.

  Beth thought Sita’s call was haunting enough to wake the dead.

  But Bottom continued to rush around the stage. “I’m so alone,” he cried. “Is it nobler to endure the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles and by opposing end them? Quince? Where are you? Don’t leave me here alone!”

  Sita stopped calling. Her shoulders sagged.

  “One girl with magical powers isn’t enough to stop me,” Richard proclaimed, “and neither are two.”

  “We know where Bottom is,” Beth said. “We’ll find a way to get him out.”

  Richard responded with mock applause.

  “Go home, Sita,” Beth said. She wanted to make sure that Sita got home.

  Sita vanished.

  “You won’t leave your friend with me?” Richard laughed. “She would be perfectly safe, but your concern is touching. I fear that you will leave too.”

  “You kidnapped Bottom for the same reason that you killed Mercutio,” Beth declared. “Yes, to try to crush me, but also because you hate comedy. You want to take the joy out of everything.”

  “How perceptive of you, dear Beth.” Richard chortled. “Yes, I hate comedy.”

  A thought hit Beth. Merlin also hated comedy. He wouldn’t bother to help save Bottom.

  But why did Merlin hate comedy? Did he have an ancient fear of ridicule? And was Mordred the part of Richard who hated comedy? Merlin and Mordred both came from a legend of heroism in which comedy played little part. What else did Merlin and Mordred have in common? If Merlin hated and feared Mordred, did Mordred fear Merlin as well as hating him? Why couldn’t Merlin defeat Mordred?