Time Travelers Never Die - Jack McDevitt [99]
When he’d first looked at conditions in the theater, and saw the crowd bringing in beer and food, he’d expected a noisy, raucous evening. But once the show started, the audience became surprisingly attentive, and when necessary, they policed themselves.
It was hard to get a good look at the playwright. The ghost wore a long dark robe, and his features were hidden within the folds of a black hood.
There were no breaks between the acts. The show simply rolled on. But the audience was involved from the start. They watched breathlessly when the ghost appeared, and waited in expectant silence while Hamlet contemplated killing Claudius at the altar. They seemed relieved when he backed off. They roared with laughter at the idiotic Polonius, who gave everyone endless advice on how to behave. One of the loudest reactions of the night was provoked by his long-winded observation that brevity was the soul of wit.
They cheered when Hamlet stabbed him through the curtains, and groaned when Ophelia turned up dead.
They sat riveted during the mass bloodletting at the finale, and were silent during the closing moments as Horatio expressed his hope that they could learn from the debacle, and Fortinbras paid a final tribute to Hamlet. The bodies were carried off to a dirge. And somewhere a cannon fired.
The actors took their bows to wild, and moderately inebriated, applause. Shakespeare, while onstage, remained hidden within the ghost’s raiment. And finally the crowd began filing out.
STAFF people, or somebody, showed up with brew and food for the cast, and they celebrated backstage. Dave and Shel said good-bye to Ben Jonson and headed for the party. But there were stagehands posted at all approaches. “Nobody allowed back here except the cast,” one of them said. He wasn’t quite as big as Dave, but he looked considerably more willing to do what was necessary.
“We’re friends of Mr. Shakespeare’s,” said Shel.
“Are y’ now?” he said in a Scottish brogue. “And what’s your name?”
“Ben Jonson,” said Shel.
The stagehand laughed. “Yer no more Ben Jonson than I am. Go on, now; y’ must have better things to do than hang around here.”
Shel and Dave backed off but stayed close enough to watch for actors leaving the theater. “I’m a little nervous about this one,” Dave said.
There were several who resembled what Shakespeare was supposed to have looked like. They had two misfires before striking gold. “Yes,” he said. “I’m Will Shakespeare. Hope you enjoyed the show.”
Then he was carried off by his friends. Shel called after him: “It was good, Will. Really good.”
They watched him disappear.
“Well,” said Dave, “that was certainly worth the wait.”
Shel smiled. “At least we got to see him.”
“You know,” Dave said, “I assume eventually we’ll get to see Einstein.”
“Maybe.”
“When we do, are we going to call him ‘Al’?”
“Hey,” said Shel, “it was the way he introduced himself.”
“I know.” Dave smiled. “We could tell him that relativity is good.”
“Okay,” said Shel. “Let it go.”
“Really good, Al.”
CHAPTER 28
Awake, my heart, and sing!
—PAUL GERHARDT (HYMN)
ASPASIA routinely turned her phone off during social events. She arrived home from a party, and had just gotten drinks for herself and her date, when she saw a missed call from Harvey Barnard. She and Harvey had gotten their doctorates together and had remained friends. He was currently on the faculty of the classics department at Wesleyan.
It was after midnight, so she let it go until morning. By then she’d forgotten about it. He called again while she was walking out to get into the car.
“I’ve a question for you, Aspasia. Yesterday Rob Cutler got in touch with me. I think you met him when you were here last year.”
“I might have. Don’t recall, Harv.”
“Okay. It doesn’t matter. He runs the Riverside Theater in Princeton. I’d shown him the plays you sent. He wants to know whether they can do the Achilles . I checked to see whether anybody holds a copyright. Just in case.