The Mercutio Problem

by Carol Anne Douglas

  Without giving Richard the satisfaction of a reply, Beth spun through the mirrors. She tried to land in the one that trapped Bottom, but she only bumped against it.

  She came out of her computer screen and landed in her computer chair. She wondered how she could release Bottom.

  She went to the bathroom and washed her hands. Then she wiped the tears out of her eyes. She told herself that crying about being a killer wouldn’t do her any good. She wondered what kind of person she was. Could she kill again? If she had killed a character, could she kill a living human being? She didn’t want to know.

  Chapter 29

  THE NEXT MORNING WHEN Beth woke, she braced herself. She had to help Bottom.

  Reluctantly, she thought of time traveling. She wasn’t sure where she would go, but she thought of the Midsummer world.

  She spun through a downpour and found herself, dressed as Ben, standing in a sodden clearing. Fairies danced in the rain. It was a brave attempt, but the expressions on their faces were far from happy. They were trying to sing, but the rain almost drowned out their voices.

  King Oberon stood next to Queen Titania under a giant yew tree.

  “This rain is a curse.” His voice was sharper than a fairy’s voice should be, Beth thought. “Why can’t our magic stop it? Can’t you do something?”

  “I’m sorry, dear,” Titania said in a placating tone. She touched his wing. “I believe it will rain until we can find Bottom.”

  Beth stepped forward. “Richard III is holding Bottom in a stage-like box. Bottom can’t escape, but perhaps one of you could go to Richard’s world and free him. We humans tried and failed.”

  “Richard’s world?” Titania shuddered, and all the fairies shuddered with her. “I am afraid to go there, but if I must do that to free Bottom, I will.”

  “You will do no such thing!” Oberon demanded. “Richard might pluck your wings off.”

  Moth, Cobweb, Peaseblossom, and Mustardseed shrieked. “Don’t go!” they cried. “Sweet fairy queen, don’t go!”

  “She won’t go,” Oberon said. “I command it. Titania, you won’t risk your life for that ass. There must be a way to solve this that doesn’t involve my wife.” He stomped off.

  Titania’s eyes teared up. “What can I do?” she moaned. “Oberon is jealous of Bottom.”

  The sight of Titania so sad made Beth want to cry, but she thought the land was already damp enough. “Don’t cry, please. There must be another way to free Bottom,” Beth said. She was annoyed at Oberon’s jealousy, but she didn’t think there was anything she could do about it.

  Chapter 30

  BETH FORCED HERSELF TO go to the final dress rehearsal. It was evening, and the auditorium was lighted as it would be on the night of the real performance. Beth looked around to make sure that Kevin was nowhere near the lights.

  For once, she would rather be home in bed. She didn’t want to see a lot of people. She felt that because she had killed, she should be playing Lady Macbeth instead of Viola.

  “Get that torment out of your eyes.” Sita’s tone was sharp. “You’re acting in a comedy. Your only worry is that Duke Orsino doesn’t know that you’re a woman who loves him. Snap out of it.”

  Beth couldn’t speak, but she nodded. She closed her eyes for a moment. She had landed on the shore of Illyria. She would pretend to be a man. She knew better than ever what it was like to act that part when another woman was attracted to her. She climbed onto the stage.

  At the end of the rehearsal, Ms. Capulet applauded. “Yes!” she exclaimed. “Everyone was just right. You’re a perfect Viola now, Beth.”

  “Thank . . . ” Beth began to say. But her vocal cords were paralyzed. No sound came out. She felt the stage shift under her feet. She tried to move, but her legs were like blocks of wood. Her hands moved. They began washing each other, faster and faster, and wouldn’t stop.

  She tried to cry out, but she couldn’t. She choked for breath. Was she going to die in the real world?

  She could barely see the people she knew who were rushing to help her. They touched her, but she didn’t feel them.

  Merlin, in janitor clothes, leapt onto the stage. He pushed the others aside and shook her.

  Weak as a rag doll, Beth fell on the stage. She was no longer paralyzed, just weak. “I’m all right,” she said. She took Ms. Capulet’s arm and let the teacher help her up.

  “This is serious. Very serious.” Merlin looked grim. He turned his head. “Look backstage!” he exclaimed.

  Arnie rushed backstage. He let out a yell.

  The cast ran backstage, Beth let her teacher help her get there.

  Kevin stood on a stool. He was trying to put a rope around his neck. Arnie reached up and struggled with him.

  Lupe screamed.

  Beth felt as if her heart had stopped.

  “Stop, Connelly!” Arnie cried. He grabbed hold of Kevin’s arm and tugged at it.

  Frank and Sita lunged to help Arnie, and collided with each other.

  “Kevin Connelly, take that rope off this minute! And come down from that stool!” Ms. Capulet demanded in a grade school teacher’s voice.

  Kevin dropped the rope, fell off the stool, and landed on top of Arnie, who wound up holding the rope.

  Everyone rushed to them and tried to pull them up.

  “Why the hell did you stop me? My ankle is broken!” Kevin sobbed.

  Arnie struggled for breath. “Better than your neck, you damn idiot. Are you crazy?”

  Kevin looked at Beth. “Are you all right, Beth?” he choked. “Can’t you see? Can’t everyone see? All my life is now death and destruction. I’m doomed.”

  “No, you aren’t.” Beth threw her arms around him. “We’ll solve this. Please don’t try to kill yourself again.”

  Chaos reigned in the backstage area. Lupe sobbed. Frank kept saying, “Damn!” Amelia looked as if she was going to faint.

  Beth noticed that Merlin had disappeared.

  “Kevin, I’m taking you to get an X-ray,” Ms. Capulet said. “I won’t tell the doctors in the emergency room what you were trying to do, but I have to tell your parents. That is required by the law. You will be referred to a psychiatrist. I can’t be responsible for keeping you alive.”

  “Please don’t tell my parents,” Kevin pleaded. “I won’t do it again. What can I tell a psychiatrist?”

  “You can make up something, but you have to go. Perhaps an anti-depressant will help you get through this difficult time,” Ms. Capulet told him.

  “No, no. I’m a terrible liar.” Kevin rubbed his ankle.

  “You need a rest,” Ms. Capulet said. “We’ll discuss this on the way to the hospital. Arnie, help Kevin to get up. You can come with us.” She turned from Kevin to the group. “As of now, Twelfth Night is postponed until Sir Toby is in better shape.”

  Beth heard a few groans from members of the cast.

  Kevin moaned. “It’s all my fault. I’m ruining things for everyone.”

  “We could all do with some rest,” the teacher said. Arnie put an arm around one side of Kevin while Frank put an arm around the other. They limped away.

  “Take care, Kevin,” Beth called after him.

  “Are you really okay?” Amelia asked Beth in a shaky voice.

  “As okay as I can be,” she said.

  Lupe still sobbed.

  Amelia asked Sita, “What is going on? I think you know what it is.”

  “I can’t tell you. I hope that’s all right.” Sita touched Amelia’s arm.

  “For now.” Amelia turned to Lupe. “Stop crying,” she said. “I’ll go home with you. It looks like we’re the outsiders.”

  “Thanks for your understanding,” Sita said to Amelia.

  “Hey, Beth,” Sita said, putting her hand on Beth’s shoulder. “Bad dress rehearsal, good play. Let’s g
o to Ms. Capulet’s office.”

  Beth staggered off to the office. Then she sat down at her teacher’s desk and put her head on her arms. She shook at the thought that Kevin might have died.

  SITA SAT BESIDE HER patiently. Or maybe not so patiently. Beth raised her head.

  “Maybe you need to go talk to Amelia?” she asked.

  Sita frowned. “You mean you want to time travel without me. Go ahead. Richard was able to make you act manic on our auditorium stage, so who knows what he could do there? But you don’t need my help.” She jumped up from her chair.

  Beth didn’t reply. It was true that she wanted to go alone. If there was danger, she didn’t want to put Sita at risk.

  “Oh, you’re being silent now? All right, I’ll go talk to Amelia. But all I can tell her is that my friends are crazy. Let me know if you hear anything about Kevin.” Sita stalked out.

  Beth closed her eyes. Her chest muscles ached. She felt more despondent than ever. She wondered what would happen to Kevin. What would happen to all of them? And what about the play?

  Twelfth Night! If Richard was preoccupied with the high school production, what might he be doing in the real play?

  She wished herself in Illyria, but hoped that she didn’t have to almost drown to get there.

  She spun through a hail of bottles and mugs. The world smelled like a tavern.

  She stood in Olivia’s hall, dressed as Mercutio, but no one seemed to see her. Sir Toby and Sir Andrew were sloshed, singing a drinking song so incoherently that she couldn’t tell what the words were. Something about being merry. Seeing the real Sir Toby’s red face made her wonder how Kevin was doing.

  King Lear charged into the hall. “I have heard that your play of half-wits opposes changing endings and saving my Cordelia!” he shouted. “You must die!” Flourishing his sword, Lear rushed at skinny Sir Andrew.

  Maria threw an ale pot at Lear’s head. It hit his sword, broke, and doused him. Lear stopped and tried to rub the ale out of his eyes.

  “Curse you, fools,” he choked, ale dripping down his face.

  Sir Toby grabbed the old man from behind and dragged him out of the hall. “Out of our play, you madman,” Sir Toby bellowed.

  Lear must have left, because Sir Toby returned, rubbed his hands, and said, “More ale, Maria.”

  “I would have stopped him if you hadn’t,” Sir Andrew protested. “I am brave.”

  “So you are,” Sir Toby said. “I still think my niece should have married you, but I won’t make a fuss about that as long as we can drink all we want.”

  BETH SPUN THROUGH A torrent of papers and wound up back in Ms. Capulet’s office, where she knocked over one of the stacks of paper and a stack of books. King Lear hadn’t succeeded this time, but he would try to kill her if they met. Who could prevent that? While she restacked her teacher’s books, Beth thought and thought. The answer finally came to her.

  Beth closed her eyes and spun to an England that existed long before Shakespeare’s time. She whirled past Druid stones and crop circles and great forests of yew. She smelled salt air.

  In her Mercutio form, she landed on white cliffs. Maybe they were the cliffs of Dover. She hoped she didn’t have to see Lear’s friend whose eyes had been gouged out. She was tired of bleeding eye sockets. She wondered whether Shakespeare had thought of Marlowe when he wrote that. He must have.

  She heard screeching and saw gulls flying around the cliffs.

  “Cordelia,” Beth whispered. “Cordelia.”

  She did not see the lady.

  Instead, King Lear charged through the brush. He drew his sword and yelled, “Dare to come to my land! Your days are over!” He rushed at her.

  She kept her sword in its scabbard. “I do not want to fight such a venerable old man,” she said. “Please don’t fight, noble king! I do not want to hurt you.” But if she had to die as Mercutio, she might as well do it now.

  “A thousand curses on your head! I don’t want you to spare me!” Lear extended his great sword.

  A slight young woman with a sweet face dashed to the cliffs. “Do not fight, Father,” she said. She threw herself down beside him and clutched his legs.

  “Stay away from the swords, sweeting,” he begged her.

  “Put down your sword,” she said.

  Lear moaned. “I must save you, Cordelia. Shakespeare let you die. I must fight for another ending.”

  “We cannot change endings, Father.” Cordelia rose and kissed his cheek. “I know that you love me and you know that I love you. That is enough.”

  “Cordelia! I saw you dead.” The tears streamed down his withered cheeks.

  “I am sorry you had that sight, but let it be, Father. Please.” She clasped his hand.

  He groaned and dropped his sword.

  Beth looked out over the gray English Channel. One more enemy wooed away from Richard.

  She wished herself back to the drama teacher’s office.

  Chapter 31

  BETH SAT ALONE. SHE took an orange soda out of her teacher’s cooler. The drink refreshed her. Nothing would be solved, she thought, unless she could better understand what had happened between Shakespeare and Marlowe. She had a suspicion that she wanted to confirm.

  She needed to see what had happened when Marlowe was killed. Merlin would never help her revisit that day. She didn’t know whether she had the power to do it herself, but she had to try.

  She had read that days before Marlowe was killed, he had been accused of writing a handbill inciting people to kill Dutch Protestant refugees. The handbill had been signed “Tamburlaine”; that was the evidence. Not much, since Marlowe wasn’t stupid enough to use the name of one of his characters in a pamphlet that could get him arrested. Obviously, someone had tried to implicate him. The government had issued a warrant for his arrest. He had presented himself to the Privy Council on May 20, but the council said he must await their pleasure before they heard the case.

  That was all very peculiar, since many people said that he was a government spy working for the queen’s secretary, Walsingham.

  Beth concentrated on the time and place of Marlowe’s death—Deptford, England, May 30, 1593, the house belonging to Eleanor Bull, a widow. Beth pictured a white house. She thought and thought until she had a headache. She pictured Marlowe’s handsome face, his flowing brown hair, his thin mustache and beard, and his piercing eyes, still intact.

  Beth spun through a May breeze. Flowers bloomed in the English countryside. Daffodils, like those Wordsworth saw centuries later. She landed in a room with a table and chairs. Four men sat there. One of them was Marlowe.

  She hid behind a curtain, mindful of how Polonius ended. This was England, so she could get hurt. Permanently.

  The men were drinking ale.

  “What can you tell me about my case?” Marlowe asked them. “What does Walsingham say I should do? Do you have any word, Poley?

  One of the men shook his head.

  “Or you, Skeres?”

  “No idea,” another man said.

  “Or you, Frizer?” Marlowe demanded.

  “Walsingham says nothing,” the third man said.

  “Nothing, Frizer? Why nothing? Won’t he protect me?” Marlowe raised his voice.

  “Why should he protect you?” another man said.

  “Has he broken yet another promise? Have I been dealing with the devil?” Marlowe bared his teeth. “He won’t find me an easy man to cheat, by God.”

  “How dare you call such a lofty man a devil, you shoemaker’s son!” One of the men sneered at him. “You atheistic papist!”

  “If I find devils, I shall call them out, and you are just the devil’s henchmen!” Marlowe exclaimed. “Do I know too much? Is that Walsingham’s problem.”

  Frizer drew his dagger.

  A knock sounded at the door.
r />   “Murder, is it? I won’t go quietly.” Marlowe seized the dagger and cut Frizer’s head, but Frizer dodged and the wound was minor.

  Someone pounded on the door.

  Skeres grabbed Marlowe.

  Shakespeare burst into the room. He was armed with a sword. “Marlowe!” he cried. “Unhand him, you cur.”

  A dazed Marlowe stared at Shakespeare.

  Shakespeare rushed at Skeres. Skeres ducked, and Shakespeare’s sword pierced Marlowe’s forehead above the eye.

  Marlowe collapsed, blood-covered and dead.

  Shakespeare fell to his knees. “Kit!” he cried, and shook himself as if in a dream. He stared at the three men. “What happened? Why were you holding him? I was coming to challenge him to a duel, but this was no duel.”

  Poley extended his dagger towards Shakespeare. “If it isn’t another playwright. This must be playwrights’ day in hell.”

  Skeres grabbed Poley’s arm. “Don’t be foolish, Poley. How would we explain two of them dying?” He turned to Shakespeare with a toothy grin. “This is the queen’s business, Shakespeare. Forget you ever saw it. Forget you came here. You wanted him dead anyway, so you have your wish. If you talk, you won’t live long enough to see your next play staged.”

  Shakespeare groaned. “Fortune has toyed with me. And you cowards have sullied my soul as well as this day.”

  Poley sneered, but Skeres said, “There’s patronage in this for you. You are a wise man.”

  “Would that I were braver and less wise. Marlowe betrayed my sister, but he would not have betrayed the queen. He had his own sort of honor.” Shakespeare closed Marlowe’s remaining eye. Then, weeping, he rushed out of the room.