Arnie gasped.
“You killed him?” Mercutio clenched his fists. “I had no chance to fight him, and he was killed by a girl. I am disgraced.”
Beth shook her head, which felt heavier and heavier. “I killed him as you. So consider yourself avenged.”
“Nooo.” Mercutio’s exclamation was something between a groan and a growl.
“Didn’t you hear Beth say she wants to go home?” Arnie asked. “Worry about your manly pride later.”
The tenderness returned to Mercutio’s face. “You have been through so much for me,” he said, eyeing Beth tenderly. “Of course you must go home.”
“Home,” Arnie said. He grinned wide as a Halloween pumpkin.
She turned to Arnie. “Yes, let’s go home now.”
Chapter 34
WHEN BETH FELL BACK into her computer chair, she shook herself to make sure she was alive. She pinched her arm. Yes, it hurt. That pleased her.
She felt an uncontrollable urge to go downstairs and hug her mother.
She rose with difficulty from her bed and staggered down the staircase. The staircase looked beautiful. The cluttered living room looked beautiful. The faded sofa looked beautiful. It all looked so solid, so real.
Her mother was bent over the dining room table grading papers. Her mother’s back looked beautiful. Beth put her arms around her mother and hugged her.
“How sweet!” her mother exclaimed. “Thank you, honey.” She turned and looked at Beth. “Are you all right? Your face is pale and your eyes are red.”
“I’m fine.” Beth backed off, though she didn’t want to. Too much affection would be too unusual.
“Have you been crying about that boy again? Or are you sick?” Her mother put her hand on Beth’s forehead. “You feel colder than normal.”
“I’m not sick.” Beth forced herself to speak in a petulant tone though she didn’t feel petulant in the least. “I’m not still upset about him. I believe he’s in a better place.”
“Do you, honey?” Her mother smiled. “I’m glad.” She paused. “Would you like some hot chocolate to warm you up?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Beth followed her mother into the beautiful kitchen. The graying linoleum floor was beautiful. All the appliances were beautiful. The hot chocolate smelled and tasted better than anything Beth had ever tasted before.
When Beth went upstairs to go to bed, Merlin was sitting at her computer.
“Well done,” the wizard said, giving her a brief nod. “I hope you’re ready to work against Richard tomorrow.”
Beth shook with anger. “You don’t worry much about life and death, do you? I almost died as Mercutio and brought him back, but Richard is still a problem. What is Mercutio supposed to do stop him?”
Merlin raised his eyebrows. “Nothing. Bringing Mercutio back to life will do nothing to stop Richard. I never said it would. I asked you to live and die as Mercutio because I knew that would persuade you to return to the fight against Richard. You were the one I needed, not Mercutio.”
Beth fought to contain her rage. “So you used my caring about Mercutio against me.”
“What do you mean, you unreasonable girl?” Merlin looked at her as if she had asked him to turn Bethesda into Disney World. “You got what you wanted. You brought Mercutio back to life in your time. You still intend to fight against Richard, don’t you?”
“Do you have any idea how much I’ve suffered?” Beth’s tone was sharper than his. “Of course you don’t. Human pain doesn’t even register with you. Yes, I’ll keep on opposing Richard, but I’m tired of you. Go away.”
“Gladly.” Merlin vanished.
When Beth went to bed, she feared she would slip off to death. She knew the fear was irrational, but closing her eyes was difficult. She pinched herself again. She was alive. She would just sleep, not die.
Finally, she fell asleep.
When she woke in the morning, there were tears in her eyes. She was still alive. It was too early for the sun to come up, but she could see street lights through her window. The world was normal. Her life was pretty good. She didn’t want to leave it. She was safe. Mercutio was safe. But she had killed Tybalt. Had Tybalt felt the same way when he died that she had when she died as Mercutio? Had his life passed before his eyes? Had he felt the blood seep out of him? Did she deserve to live? She wanted to, whether she deserved it or not.
She wondered why her mind had called out to Arnie, not Sita. Was it because she wanted to be saved by a boy? Was she being sexist? Was she fonder of Arnie than she thought she was? Or was it because her jealousy of Sita’s relationship with Amelia was even deeper than she had realized?
BETH THOUGHT SHE HEARD someone calling her. She slipped into Verona and saw Mercutio in an orchard. He glowered. “I will kill Richard.” The lines of Mercutio’s face tightened, showing what he would have been like if he could have lived to be old. It occurred to Beth that he was a slightly older Peter Pan. She should have seen that long ago.
“I swear . . . ”
“Don’t swear,” Beth said. “I’m sure you are an able swordsman, but fighting has only brought you death. Richard couldn’t bear hearing Bottom make fun of him. I think the way to defeat Richard’s plots is by jesting. You excel at that.”
Mercutio sighed. “Moonface, you talk nonsense. Queen Mab has touched you with stardust. Jests cannot stop murderers.”
“But showing how grotesque their villainy is may stop others from joining them. We are contending not just with random violence, but with plotting. Conspirators need other conspirators. I’ve met so many characters whom Richard has beguiled. We need to show them how idiotic it is to try to destroy Shakespeare’s plays.”
He shook his head. “You are young and innocent.”
Beth drew a deep breath. “You forget that I lived as you. The longer I did, the more I felt emotions like yours. I killed Tybalt as you, but also as myself. I nearly died as you. I am neither innocent nor inexperienced.”
Mercutio grabbed her arm. “If I could have prevented you from doing all that for me, I would have. I wouldn’t have wanted you to experience dying, nor killing neither.”
Beth shook her head. “I did what I had to do.”
“You love me.” He clasped her hand. “We should marry.”
The words didn’t sound particularly sweet to her. “I love you, but I wouldn’t want to be your wife, or your sweetheart either.” She tried to make the words gentle. “I belong in a different world. But please listen to me, and jest.”
“I will jest as long as you like.” He ruffled her hair. “I will jest to put a smile on your face. I fear that you are a chaste Diana, not a Venus. So I shall worship Diana, and sing her praises. Di-aanna, Di-aanna.” His voice slid from high notes to low.
Beth smiled. She couldn’t manage a laugh. When she thought of Tybalt, she still longed for a basin of water to wash her hands. Her hands twitched.
He took hold of her hands and rubbed them. “Are your hands cold, Moonface?”
“No.” She didn’t want to say that they were bloodstained.
Mercutio kissed them, one after the other.
“Do I love the left hand most, or the right?” he murmured.
Beth repressed a sigh. This was not the kind of jesting that she meant. It wouldn’t defeat Richard.
“We died for each other, like Romeo and Juliet,” Mercutio said. “Does that mean we are sealed together forever?”
“We are true friends to each other.” She wondered why her heart wasn’t racing. Having nearly stopped once, would her heart always be cold?
Cold. It wasn’t her heart that was frozen, it was a wind that blew around them, sweeping them away.
They landed in a fog.
Rain poured down on them, then turned into pellets of hail. They struck Beth’s cheeks as if pebbles were bei
ng hurled at her.
Mercutio tried to wrap his cloak around her, but the wind whipped it away.
“Hail!” called out three cracked voices. “All hail Beth! All hail Mercutio!”
The witches’ dim figures appeared in the storm. Beth thought their jest of making hail fall was unfunny in the extreme.
“Who are you?” Mercutio drew his sword.
The hail disappeared.
“They are the witches from Macbeth, of course,” Beth said. “They have generally given me good clues. Hail, awesome hags.” She could tell from Mercutio’s breath that he was afraid.
“Fear what is ancient,” the first witch said in a crackling voice.
“Age gives power,” the second witch chanted.
“A life for a life,” the third witch sang.
The fog covered not the witches’ heath, but a battlefield strewn with corpses. Crows pecked at the gore-covered bodies of men in chain mail, and dogs gnawed at them.
Beth shuddered. Mercutio made the sign of the cross.
“Who are these soldiers?” he asked.
“They are the men of Arthur the just, Arthur the good, Arthur the great king,” chanted the first witch.
“Slain by each other, all slain,” chanted the second witch.
“See who remains,” chanted the third witch.
A large man in fine armor bedecked with dragons lay near them. He clutched his chest.
“Still alive,” whispered a slender man who lay near him. Painfully, he moved his sword, apparently to finish off the larger man.
Out of the shadows, a figure covered with a cloak and hood emerged. The hooded man dropped down beside the large man and tried to cover him. The hood fell off, revealing white-bearded Merlin.
“Arthur must not die.” Merlin’s voice cracked. “He must go to the Isle of the Blessed.”
The man with the sword drew himself up. Blood dripped down his body. “Weak though I am, I am stronger than you, Merlin. I will finish killing him.”
“No. I will bargain for his life, Mordred,” the wizard whispered.
Mordred sneered. “What can you give me, now that I am dying? Can you give me immortality, like yours? That is the only thing I want.”
Merlin scowled at him. “You do not deserve that. You will only do more evil.”
Mordred pushed the old wizard away from the king’s body. “Then I will cut his body to ribbons.”
“No!” Merlin cried. “I do not know whether I have the power to give immortality as well as to have it myself, but if I am able, I will let you share mine. As long as I live, you will live . . . .”
“Done!” Mordred exclaimed. He gave out a hideous laugh, and collapsed in death.
“. . . . in words,” Merlin said. “You will live someday as a character in another tale. Ha! He’s dead. I’ve fooled him.”
Arthur’s breath rattled.
“No!” Merlin cried. “Arthur!” He cradled the man in his arms.
Arthur died.
Tears poured down Merlin’s cheeks.
The scene faded.
Beth felt her own tears fall. “Poor Merlin,” she choked.
“Poor Merlin!” the witches chanted. “Poor Merlin.”
“What does this mean?” Mercutio asked. “Why should we care?”
Beth shook her head. She didn’t want to say what she had just realized. Mordred would die if Merlin died. She feared that if Mercutio understood, he might want to hasten Merlin’s death. “Just be glad that you weren’t one of King Arthur’s knights, dying on a battlefield, with no one to bury your body,” she said. “Be glad that you are Mercutio.” This time, she was the one to clasp his hands.
The witches made a maniacal sound that might have been laughter, and disappeared, leaving Beth and Mercutio back in Mercutio’s Verona.
Beth shuddered. Now she realized why Merlin feared Mordred. Merlin loved immortality. How could she want to take that from him?
“I am angry at the witches for showing you that terrible sight,” Mercutio said. He put his arm around her. “Poor little Moonface. Only men should have to see such dreadful things.”
“Why shouldn’t girls and women know what battles look like?” Beth tried to keep from pushing his arm away. “Shouldn’t we know that they are horrible?”
“You should know only sweetness,” Mercutio proclaimed.
“So should you,” Beth told him. “So should everyone.” She wondered how she could keep her new knowledge from Sita, who would want Merlin to die.
“Dear little Moonface.” Mercutio touched her cheek. “Why couldn’t we have been characters together in a comedy?”
Beth summoned a smile. “That would have been nice.” Then she frowned. “But how could I love such a worthless layabout, who lives only to deceive women with honeyed words and to waste his time fighting in brawls?”
“How could I love a girl who is such a prude?” Mercutio shook his head. “She is a common scold. I would rather lie dying on the street than be tied to a girl who is as cold as a March wind.”
Beth put her hands on her hips. “You are the one who is full of wind. I would rather live single all my life than be tied to a braggart who believes that because he is the cousin of a prince he has no need to open a book or do an honest day’s work.”
Mercutio grinned at her. “You see, we are perfect for each other.”
“But we cannot write our own play.” Beth’s voice softened.
Happy that she could see Mercutio, though she thought she no longer was in love with him, she returned home.
BETH LOOKED OUT OF her window to see the dawn, but instead she saw rain drip down. She had been back in her room for only an hour, but she wanted to see Mercutio again.
She moved from Bethesda’s early morning rain to Verona’s sun.
Verona looked less friendly since she had been killed there, but she tried to tell herself that she was safe. She now looked like Ben, an innocuous boy.
She saw little children running and tossing a ball back and forth. A small, barking dog dashed around them. Birds chirped in the trees. And the delicious smells of Italian cooking came from the doors.
Beth stood near the river’s ancient Roman bridge. Mercutio crossed it and she hurried towards him.
But Mercutio didn’t see her. He was looking at another young man who was as well dressed as he.
“Romeo!” he called out, hurrying to his friend.
Romeo stared at him. “Is this the true Mercutio?” he asked, holding back.
“It is me, Prince of Fools,” Mercutio exclaimed. “The one you killed was no evil man, but a friend of mine whom Merlin disguised as me to bring me back to life. When my friend nearly died from your wound, I woke. I am glad to be alive, but I am angry that you were the one who killed my friend. How could you slash my body? How could you look at me and do that?”
Beth remembered the feel of Romeo’s sword entering her body. She could never like Romeo again. The sight of him made her chest ache.
Romeo put his hand on his sword and frowned at Mercutio. “How do I know that you are Mercutio and what you say is true?”
“I remember the prank we played on your tenth birthday,” Mercutio told him. “Your parents were angry when we stole the Capulets’ banner and put it in their garden. We were spanked because our jest could have led to someone’s murder.”
“That was your foolish idea,” Romeo said, moving his hand from his sword. He shook his head. “I should never have let you persuade me to try it. You are Mercutio, and a wild man.” He reached out to clasp Mercutio’s hand. “I am glad to see you again.”
Mercutio did not clasp Romeo’s hand. “Dying twice has sobered me more than I want to be sobered. The friend who chose to take my body made a noble sacrifice and was sorely hurt by your hand. You and I have been friends for all of our sh
ort lives, and always will be, but I am not yet ready to embrace you. It is time that you ask questions, instead of acting as rashly as ever I did. Richard III and those who work with him mean to do evil, and if they can change our play, they will turn it to even more of a bloodbath than it is, with friend striking friend. Do not let them make you their pawn.”
“A plague on them!” Romeo flushed. “I am still fortune’s fool. I should have learned never to kill again.”
“We both died too young to learn wisdom.” Mercutio’s tone was bitter. “May Queen Mab send us dreams of wisdom, but I am not sure I shall know it when I hear it.”
“Drink with me, good friend,” Romeo pleaded, taking out his wine flask. “We have lost too much. We must not lose each other.”
“I shall drink with you anon, just not today.” Mercutio gave Romeo a faint smile.
Beth ached in the places where Romeo had cut her. She hated the thought of Mercutio being friends with him. But after all, Romeo had been Mercutio’s friend since they were children. She could forgive her own friends a great deal. She forgave Kevin. But she didn’t want to see Romeo and Mercutio mend their friendship. She wished herself home.
Back in her bedroom, she cried again. She was tired of crying. She was tired of dying. She was tired of Mercutio.
She realized that saving Mercutio didn’t solve the problems in Shakespeare’s world. She had killed and she had almost died, but she still hadn’t defeated Richard. She buried her head in her pillow. There was still a little time to cry before the inevitability of school.
Chapter 35
AFTER CLASSES HAD ENDED, Arnie asked if he could walk home with Beth. She didn’t want to be rude, but she was worried that he wanted to become her boyfriend. She said yes, but was careful to keep her tone casual and not look into his eyes.
The day was so cold that they could see their breath.
Beth didn’t speak until they were a block away from the school. “Thank you for helping me when I was dying as Mercutio,” she said, though she wondered what thanks could possibly be adequate.
“I was glad to. What a terrible experience for you. Seeing you like that was terrifying.” His voice trembled.
The Mercutio Problem Page 25