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CHAPTER XIV

Diane found Rosey in the kitchen, a vast room with heavy wooden tables, chopping blocks and two great fireplaces large enough to walk upright in. She had swung a large copper kettle on its hinged crane over an inexpertly built fire.

"What are you doing?" Diane asked.

"I'm boiling water. I want a bath."

"The servants will draw you a bath."

"You know what's the worst thing about this place? Everything's done for you. I haven't got an occupation here." Rosey wiped her forehead. She was perspiring and her sweatshirt showed dark crescents under the armpits. It had been laundered several times since they'd arrived, and would need another washing soon. Diane and Sean were still the only ones who'd ordered period clothes from the servants, but the others were all thinking about it.

"It does get boring, between murders," said Diane.

"Damn!" said Rosey, turning to sit on a stool, her face in her hands. "How could he do that? Kill Peter? I was there in the hallway—I heard the noise and came running. Will—Amlodd—he ran by me. He had blood all over him."

"Peter was a nice man," said Diane. "Yeah, he was a religious fanatic, but he didn't really shove it down anybody's throat. He wanted to help me. You know how long it's been since any man has tried to just give me something, without wanting anything back?"

"He fell off the wagon."

"I think I liked him better for it. He wasn't standing up above me, talking down. But he felt bad about it. I was sorry about that."

"I can't believe Amlodd did it. I mean, I knew he was violent, over-the-top, but that was just sex. That was what made him exciting.

"You know, you fantasize about a barbarian—some kind of Fabio guy from the cover of a romance novel, a noble savage. But I never thought what a barbarian would really be like."

"You can't even say there's other fish in the sea. In this world, there aren't many."

"That's the worst thing. I don't want another fish. I still love Amlodd."

"Even after—"

"Didn't you ever find yourself drawn to a man because he was dangerous?"

"Oh yeah. Been there."

"Somebody once told me that there are only two kinds of men—Jimmy Stewarts and Errol Flynns. The Stewarts are kind and dependable, but they bore you. The Flynns cheat and lie and run around, but every minute with them is an adventure. They make the whole world more vivid, like a drug."

"First Randy and now Amlodd. You must have a thing for Flynns."

"I guess I do. They weren't the first. But there was never anybody like Amlodd." Diane saw tears running down Rosey's cheeks.

"You really care about him."

"Yeah. I know it can't come to any good. I know I'll get my heart broken. I could even end up dead. But I've got to follow my heart, right?"

"Peter once told me that was the biggest lie in the world—that you've always got to follow your heart. He said always doing what your feelings tell you is like saying 'always go north.' That'll get you to some places, but not to a lot of others."

"So what are we supposed to follow?"

"Well, you knew Peter. His idea was to follow the Bible. Hell, I used to laugh at him and now listen to me—I'm his mouthpiece. I suppose somebody's got to do it."

Rosey took Diane by the arms. "Don't go holy on me, Diane. You're the only friend I've got here."

"We're all your friends, honey."

"No, it's not true. All you people have worked together before—you're part of some kind of club. I'm an outsider. I didn't even audition with you guys. You know why Bess cast me, didn't you?"

"She thought you were the best person for the part."

"No. She's got the hots for me. I can tell."

Diane shook her head. "No, no. I'm not saying she isn't drawn to you. But Bess doesn't cast for that reason. She cares about these productions. She doesn't let personal stuff enter into it. Look at Peter. She knew what Peter believed. She knew he thought being a lesbian was a sin. But she cast him anyway, time after time, because he was a good actor."

Rosey said, "She wants me, and she's gonna make a pass. What do you think'll happen when I turn her down? We're all turning into killers here."

Diane gave her another hug. "Don't think that way, honey. What does it say in King Lear? 'That way madness lies'?"

"Madness," said Rosey, sobbing. "That's what's going to happen to me, isn't it? I'll go crazy and then I'll drown. Randy was right. The play's sucking us in. It's like a black hole."

"No, no—" Diane was soothing the girl when Sean entered.

"There you are, my lady," he said, paying no attention to the women's embrace or the tears on Rosey's face. "I missed you at the trial."

"What trial?" asked Diane, letting Rosey go and sitting up straight.

"I had Howie arrested by the servants, and tried him for treason."

"For treason?" said Rosey.

"Of course. He was inciting the rest of you to assassinate me. What's that but treason?"

"You didn't—didn't—" said Diane.

"Have him executed? No. I'm still not comfortable with the idea of having an old friend killed—though that didn't seem to bother Howie. No, I've placed him in durance vile."

"Where?"

"The dungeon."

"We have a dungeon?"

"What's a castle without a dungeon?"

"Where is it?"

"God knows. Somewhere in the cellar, I assume. I just had the servants take him there. I hope it's cold, and full of rats. The bastard."

"This is getting out of control," said Diane.

"On the contrary. It's coming under control. I'm taking control," said Sean.

Diane took his hand. "Be careful, Sean. I say this because I care for you. We're like little kids playing with knives here. We don't understand the danger we're in."

"You're so sexy when you're motherly," said Sean, hugging her and tracing circles on her back with his index finger. "I missed you last night."

"I was upset."

"Then I'll see you tonight?"

Diane turned away. "I'm still upset."

Sean held her. "Don't be upset too long. I might lose interest."

Diane opened her mouth to speak, then just smiled and glided away.

Sean shrugged his shoulders. "We'll see you for lunch," he said, and went out.

When he was gone, both the women said, "We've got to see him," simultaneously. They called for a servant with a torch to lead them to the dungeon.

It lay at the bottom of a series of stepped passages, and looked just like a dungeon in an old movie, complete with cobwebs and rusty hanging manacles. Howie's cell was equally cinematic— it had a heavy oak door with iron hardware and a small barred judas-hole. Bess was already there, looking through the hole. They joined her. They could see Howie's face.

"He can't do this!" said Rosey.

"Of course he can," said Howie. "He's playing his part. It's all in the plan."

"The plan?" asked Diane.

"The plan of my god. I had always wondered why Horatio stayed on in Denmark after Hamlet had gone, supposedly on a long voyage. Why didn't he go with Hamlet? Or if not that, why not just go back to school at Wittenberg?

"Now I know. He stayed to plot against the tyrant. He was a revolutionary."

"Revolution's a dangerous game to play," said Bess.

"Nothing can happen to me. I'm under the protection of my god."

"You mean Eric?"

"Of course. My god has the power to protect me, unlike some other people's—Peter's for instance."

"Don't make fun of Peter," said Diane. "He was a good man."

"Peter was an idiot."

"Howie!"

"He was a Fundamentalist. Q.E.D. He couldn't understand that right and wrong might not always be the same from one situation to another. He couldn't understand that it's okay—no, call it mandatory—to change the rules depending on time and place.

"In our old world, we thought revenge was wrong. That was then. This is now. In this world, revenge is the law. Revenge is the greatest virtue. I will get my revenge on Sean."

"Easy for you to say," said Rosey. "You're the one who doesn't die in this play."

"I've explained that to you before. We'll change the ending."

"If we believe Eric," said Bess.

"A monster who killed a man," said Rosey.

Howie moved back and paced in the cell. He was only visible to each of the women for a moment on each pass. "You're not getting it!" he cried. "Those words—monster, kill—they're just ideas from another world. They don't fit here. New places, new cases—that's the way it is. Eric explained it to me—if we want to survive this thing, to change the ending and go home—we've got to throw all that baggage out."

"What kind of baggage?" asked Diane. "Exactly what ideas are we supposed to drop?"

"Everything! Every preconception we brought here!

"I used to rag on the Peters of our home world, because they held on to old-fashioned ideas that didn't work in the modern world—religion, chastity, nationalism. But I didn't realize that I was as narrow-minded as Peter.

"I had all these assumptions—I thought love was always good. I thought forgiveness was always good. I thought lies and hypocrisy were always bad.

"But who said so? Where is it written? If we have the courage to open our hearts to new ideas—really new ideas—are we so certain things will go bad? What do we mean by 'bad,' anyway?

"We think Ghandhi was good. Who says? We think Hitler was bad. Who says? We've got to rethink everything!"

There was a moment of silence.

"Why?" asked Bess at last.

"For the only reason that's ever mattered. Survival. Survival by whatever means is necessary."

"People don't survive alone," said Bess. "We need to get along in communities, to help each other. That's why we've got to be good to each other. Not because a law came down written in stone, but just so we have somebody around us we can trust and depend on."

"In the old world, maybe. In some times and places. But how can you be sure that's true here and now?"

"How can we survive otherwise?"

"How do we know unless we try?"

"Because it makes no sense! And if it fails—when it fails—there aren't that many of us here. One dead is a lot . . . especially if it's me."

Howie came up close to the hole. "It doesn't matter," he said, smiling. "because I don't need your help. I can do this all on my own."

"You forget, you're in a cell," said Bess. "I was going to say we need to get you out, but now I think you'd better stay right where you are till you remember how to play nicely with the other kids."

"You can't keep me here," said Howie with a smile. "Sean can't keep me here, and these stone walls can't keep me here. My Savior is coming."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Diane.

"Watch," said Howie.

"What the hell—" said Bess.

A golden light turned the blackness of the dungeon to blazing, reflective white. They all shielded their eyes with their hands.

At the center of the light stood a white-robed figure with a golden beard and long golden hair, parted in the center.

"Jesus Christ!" said Diane, not entirely in vain. But in a moment they saw that the face under the beard was a familiar one. "Eric!" Diane corrected herself.

"Peace to you, my children," said Eric, and the light faded to a more comfortable level.

"What's this crap?" asked Bess.

"I thought you people would be more comfortable with a kinder, gentler god," said Eric.

"When did you stop mumbling?" asked Bess.

"It was a way to get attention," said Eric. "I've got better ways to get attention now."

"I don't like this," said Diane. "I don't like you playing Jesus. It's offensive."

"Sorry, Diane. I know how sensitive you are." He reached an arm out and pinched her left breast. She jumped back, red-faced, and Eric grinned.

"You don't know diddly squat about me," said Diane, rubbing the place he'd touched.

"You're wrong. I know everything about everyone. I'm God."

"Some god."

"You think I don't have power? You think I'm all talk? Behold, unbelievers!"

The cell door opened before their eyes and Howie came forth. He held his hands out at his sides like a man transfixed by an epiphany.

He fell on his knees before his son and cried, "My Lord and my God!"

Back | Next
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Framed

Back | Next
Contents

CHAPTER XIV

Diane found Rosey in the kitchen, a vast room with heavy wooden tables, chopping blocks and two great fireplaces large enough to walk upright in. She had swung a large copper kettle on its hinged crane over an inexpertly built fire.

"What are you doing?" Diane asked.

"I'm boiling water. I want a bath."

"The servants will draw you a bath."

"You know what's the worst thing about this place? Everything's done for you. I haven't got an occupation here." Rosey wiped her forehead. She was perspiring and her sweatshirt showed dark crescents under the armpits. It had been laundered several times since they'd arrived, and would need another washing soon. Diane and Sean were still the only ones who'd ordered period clothes from the servants, but the others were all thinking about it.

"It does get boring, between murders," said Diane.

"Damn!" said Rosey, turning to sit on a stool, her face in her hands. "How could he do that? Kill Peter? I was there in the hallway—I heard the noise and came running. Will—Amlodd—he ran by me. He had blood all over him."

"Peter was a nice man," said Diane. "Yeah, he was a religious fanatic, but he didn't really shove it down anybody's throat. He wanted to help me. You know how long it's been since any man has tried to just give me something, without wanting anything back?"

"He fell off the wagon."

"I think I liked him better for it. He wasn't standing up above me, talking down. But he felt bad about it. I was sorry about that."

"I can't believe Amlodd did it. I mean, I knew he was violent, over-the-top, but that was just sex. That was what made him exciting.

"You know, you fantasize about a barbarian—some kind of Fabio guy from the cover of a romance novel, a noble savage. But I never thought what a barbarian would really be like."

"You can't even say there's other fish in the sea. In this world, there aren't many."

"That's the worst thing. I don't want another fish. I still love Amlodd."

"Even after—"

"Didn't you ever find yourself drawn to a man because he was dangerous?"

"Oh yeah. Been there."

"Somebody once told me that there are only two kinds of men—Jimmy Stewarts and Errol Flynns. The Stewarts are kind and dependable, but they bore you. The Flynns cheat and lie and run around, but every minute with them is an adventure. They make the whole world more vivid, like a drug."

"First Randy and now Amlodd. You must have a thing for Flynns."

"I guess I do. They weren't the first. But there was never anybody like Amlodd." Diane saw tears running down Rosey's cheeks.

"You really care about him."

"Yeah. I know it can't come to any good. I know I'll get my heart broken. I could even end up dead. But I've got to follow my heart, right?"

"Peter once told me that was the biggest lie in the world—that you've always got to follow your heart. He said always doing what your feelings tell you is like saying 'always go north.' That'll get you to some places, but not to a lot of others."

"So what are we supposed to follow?"

"Well, you knew Peter. His idea was to follow the Bible. Hell, I used to laugh at him and now listen to me—I'm his mouthpiece. I suppose somebody's got to do it."

Rosey took Diane by the arms. "Don't go holy on me, Diane. You're the only friend I've got here."

"We're all your friends, honey."

"No, it's not true. All you people have worked together before—you're part of some kind of club. I'm an outsider. I didn't even audition with you guys. You know why Bess cast me, didn't you?"

"She thought you were the best person for the part."

"No. She's got the hots for me. I can tell."

Diane shook her head. "No, no. I'm not saying she isn't drawn to you. But Bess doesn't cast for that reason. She cares about these productions. She doesn't let personal stuff enter into it. Look at Peter. She knew what Peter believed. She knew he thought being a lesbian was a sin. But she cast him anyway, time after time, because he was a good actor."

Rosey said, "She wants me, and she's gonna make a pass. What do you think'll happen when I turn her down? We're all turning into killers here."

Diane gave her another hug. "Don't think that way, honey. What does it say in King Lear? 'That way madness lies'?"

"Madness," said Rosey, sobbing. "That's what's going to happen to me, isn't it? I'll go crazy and then I'll drown. Randy was right. The play's sucking us in. It's like a black hole."

"No, no—" Diane was soothing the girl when Sean entered.

"There you are, my lady," he said, paying no attention to the women's embrace or the tears on Rosey's face. "I missed you at the trial."

"What trial?" asked Diane, letting Rosey go and sitting up straight.

"I had Howie arrested by the servants, and tried him for treason."

"For treason?" said Rosey.

"Of course. He was inciting the rest of you to assassinate me. What's that but treason?"

"You didn't—didn't—" said Diane.

"Have him executed? No. I'm still not comfortable with the idea of having an old friend killed—though that didn't seem to bother Howie. No, I've placed him in durance vile."

"Where?"

"The dungeon."

"We have a dungeon?"

"What's a castle without a dungeon?"

"Where is it?"

"God knows. Somewhere in the cellar, I assume. I just had the servants take him there. I hope it's cold, and full of rats. The bastard."

"This is getting out of control," said Diane.

"On the contrary. It's coming under control. I'm taking control," said Sean.

Diane took his hand. "Be careful, Sean. I say this because I care for you. We're like little kids playing with knives here. We don't understand the danger we're in."

"You're so sexy when you're motherly," said Sean, hugging her and tracing circles on her back with his index finger. "I missed you last night."

"I was upset."

"Then I'll see you tonight?"

Diane turned away. "I'm still upset."

Sean held her. "Don't be upset too long. I might lose interest."

Diane opened her mouth to speak, then just smiled and glided away.

Sean shrugged his shoulders. "We'll see you for lunch," he said, and went out.

When he was gone, both the women said, "We've got to see him," simultaneously. They called for a servant with a torch to lead them to the dungeon.

It lay at the bottom of a series of stepped passages, and looked just like a dungeon in an old movie, complete with cobwebs and rusty hanging manacles. Howie's cell was equally cinematic— it had a heavy oak door with iron hardware and a small barred judas-hole. Bess was already there, looking through the hole. They joined her. They could see Howie's face.

"He can't do this!" said Rosey.

"Of course he can," said Howie. "He's playing his part. It's all in the plan."

"The plan?" asked Diane.

"The plan of my god. I had always wondered why Horatio stayed on in Denmark after Hamlet had gone, supposedly on a long voyage. Why didn't he go with Hamlet? Or if not that, why not just go back to school at Wittenberg?

"Now I know. He stayed to plot against the tyrant. He was a revolutionary."

"Revolution's a dangerous game to play," said Bess.

"Nothing can happen to me. I'm under the protection of my god."

"You mean Eric?"

"Of course. My god has the power to protect me, unlike some other people's—Peter's for instance."

"Don't make fun of Peter," said Diane. "He was a good man."

"Peter was an idiot."

"Howie!"

"He was a Fundamentalist. Q.E.D. He couldn't understand that right and wrong might not always be the same from one situation to another. He couldn't understand that it's okay—no, call it mandatory—to change the rules depending on time and place.

"In our old world, we thought revenge was wrong. That was then. This is now. In this world, revenge is the law. Revenge is the greatest virtue. I will get my revenge on Sean."

"Easy for you to say," said Rosey. "You're the one who doesn't die in this play."

"I've explained that to you before. We'll change the ending."

"If we believe Eric," said Bess.

"A monster who killed a man," said Rosey.

Howie moved back and paced in the cell. He was only visible to each of the women for a moment on each pass. "You're not getting it!" he cried. "Those words—monster, kill—they're just ideas from another world. They don't fit here. New places, new cases—that's the way it is. Eric explained it to me—if we want to survive this thing, to change the ending and go home—we've got to throw all that baggage out."

"What kind of baggage?" asked Diane. "Exactly what ideas are we supposed to drop?"

"Everything! Every preconception we brought here!

"I used to rag on the Peters of our home world, because they held on to old-fashioned ideas that didn't work in the modern world—religion, chastity, nationalism. But I didn't realize that I was as narrow-minded as Peter.

"I had all these assumptions—I thought love was always good. I thought forgiveness was always good. I thought lies and hypocrisy were always bad.

"But who said so? Where is it written? If we have the courage to open our hearts to new ideas—really new ideas—are we so certain things will go bad? What do we mean by 'bad,' anyway?

"We think Ghandhi was good. Who says? We think Hitler was bad. Who says? We've got to rethink everything!"

There was a moment of silence.

"Why?" asked Bess at last.

"For the only reason that's ever mattered. Survival. Survival by whatever means is necessary."

"People don't survive alone," said Bess. "We need to get along in communities, to help each other. That's why we've got to be good to each other. Not because a law came down written in stone, but just so we have somebody around us we can trust and depend on."

"In the old world, maybe. In some times and places. But how can you be sure that's true here and now?"

"How can we survive otherwise?"

"How do we know unless we try?"

"Because it makes no sense! And if it fails—when it fails—there aren't that many of us here. One dead is a lot . . . especially if it's me."

Howie came up close to the hole. "It doesn't matter," he said, smiling. "because I don't need your help. I can do this all on my own."

"You forget, you're in a cell," said Bess. "I was going to say we need to get you out, but now I think you'd better stay right where you are till you remember how to play nicely with the other kids."

"You can't keep me here," said Howie with a smile. "Sean can't keep me here, and these stone walls can't keep me here. My Savior is coming."

"What's that supposed to mean?" asked Diane.

"Watch," said Howie.

"What the hell—" said Bess.

A golden light turned the blackness of the dungeon to blazing, reflective white. They all shielded their eyes with their hands.

At the center of the light stood a white-robed figure with a golden beard and long golden hair, parted in the center.

"Jesus Christ!" said Diane, not entirely in vain. But in a moment they saw that the face under the beard was a familiar one. "Eric!" Diane corrected herself.

"Peace to you, my children," said Eric, and the light faded to a more comfortable level.

"What's this crap?" asked Bess.

"I thought you people would be more comfortable with a kinder, gentler god," said Eric.

"When did you stop mumbling?" asked Bess.

"It was a way to get attention," said Eric. "I've got better ways to get attention now."

"I don't like this," said Diane. "I don't like you playing Jesus. It's offensive."

"Sorry, Diane. I know how sensitive you are." He reached an arm out and pinched her left breast. She jumped back, red-faced, and Eric grinned.

"You don't know diddly squat about me," said Diane, rubbing the place he'd touched.

"You're wrong. I know everything about everyone. I'm God."

"Some god."

"You think I don't have power? You think I'm all talk? Behold, unbelievers!"

The cell door opened before their eyes and Howie came forth. He held his hands out at his sides like a man transfixed by an epiphany.

He fell on his knees before his son and cried, "My Lord and my God!"

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Contents
Framed