Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [33]
Two nights later, they did Pagliacci, this time without the women. Shel spent much of the evening glaring at the screen. “Give it a chance,” said Dave. “Relax and enjoy the show.”
Shel tried. “But,” he complained, “I never know what’s going on.”
“That’s the whole point of the exercise. Your Italian’s a bit weak.”
“They could be singing in English, and I don’t think I could follow it. There’s got to be an easier way.” He held up one of the software packages his father had been using: Speak Italian Like a Native.
“Good,” said Dave. “How about the movies I sent over? Have you watched any of those?”
“Amici Miei.”
“Okay. And . . . ?”
“Il Ciclone.”
“Good comedies.”
Shel looked doubtful. “Absolutely.”
“Can you understand them?”
“Some.”
“Okay. Hang in.”
WHEN, several weeks later, Shel had finally gotten a handle on the language, they decided it was time to go find his father. “First, though,” he said, “we’ll need a wardrobe. And it probably wouldn’t be a bad idea to grow a beard.” He’d already started one.
“You’re kidding.”
He frowned at Dave’s jaw. “I think you’ll look out of place like that.”
They drove into Center City and visited Emilio’s Costume and Wardrobe Shop on Walnut Street. The walls were covered with photos of people dressed as sheiks, Roman soldiers, princesses, and Zorro. Some high-school kids, with a teacher, were wandering among the racks, apparently selecting costumes for a play.
Dave was measured for two doublets, both with a calico design. He also got a soft blue huke, which was a kind of cloak, lined in white squirrel fur. When he tried it on, it hung to his thighs. “We’ll have to take this one in a bit,” said the clerk. “And let this one out.” He made notes, then put the garments aside.
Hats were next. They tried several types but wound up with pillboxes. “What is it for?” asked the clerk. “A festival? Or are you in a show?” He was middle-aged, sporting a brown beard with streaks of gray, with gray eyes, full cheeks, and an attitude that Dave could think of only as theatrical pretense. This was a guy who, if he weren’t working at Emilio’s, wanted you to think he’d be directing on Broadway.
“It’s a show,” said Shel.
“Which show?”
Shel glanced toward Dave.
Dave smiled. “Two Gentlemen of Verona.”
“That’s interesting,” said the clerk. “I don’t think we’ve ever had anyone do that locally.” He adjusted the pillbox on Dave’s head, looked satisfied, and announced it was perfect. “Which theater are you gentlemen with?”
“Delaware Township,” said Shel.
The clerk let them see he’d never heard of them, but he said nothing.
Eventually they came to the footwear. Dave found a pair of soft round-toed green sandals that he liked. “These should complete the costume nicely,” said the clerk, handing him a pair of stockings almost as long as his legs. They were also green, but of a darker shade. And they were complete with leather soles. Dave went back into a dressing room, got out of his slacks, pulled the socks on, and slipped his feet into the shoes. They were surprisingly comfortable. He came back out and submitted to inspections by both the clerk and Shel. The clerk pronounced himself pleased, and Shel said he looked the very picture of a Renaissance scholar.
When they’d finished, Shel insisted on paying. The clerk promised to have everything ready within two days, and arrangements were made to ship overnight.
They came out onto Walnut Street and turned west toward the parking lot. “Time travel,” said Dave, “isn’t the way I would have expected it to be.”
“I’M not sure how to go about this,” said Shel, “but I think we might start by trying to reach Galileo in his later years. When he was