Kaleidoscope ~ The Circle
Cynthia Hatch
Part IV
She pulled back and saw in the clear, untroubled eyes that it was true. "Good," she smiled, unable to drop her eyes from his. To know that she had been able to soothe his doubts, to replace his heartache with a quiet joy, filled her with happiness. How odd that love could contain both pain and joy, that the heart could go from one to the other in the time it took to speak a few brief words. Perhaps, this was the secret of lovers who loved forever - that each remained convinced he couldn't possibly be worthy of the other.
"We must not keep Father waiting, Catherine," he said, but he didn't pull his gaze from hers, even as she took his arm, and they walked into the study. At the top of the steps, they turned to look at the dozens of people waiting below. She hadn't been aware of the cacophony of voices, the excited chatter and laughter of the children, rising from the crowd until it stopped. A sea if faces looked up at them; not a single person spoke. She began to feel uncomfortably self-conscious. “Hello, everyone," she ventured with a nervous smile.
“Ah, there you are.” Father emerged from the group below and approached the steps. Immediately, the conversation resumed.
"What, pray tell, was that about?” Vincent asked him, clearly as puzzled as she was.
“You really don't know, do your?" the older man replied, looking from one of them to the other. "The look on your faces when you came in just now - well, its an extraordinary thing to behold. I believe every candle in this room could have been extinguished, and you two would have illuminated it entirely. You look quite splendid. by the way. "
"Thank you. Father.” Catherine responded. “So do you." He was wearing a richly embroidered tunic; his hair and beard were newly trimmed. It seemed that no one doubted this night was special.
“Alright, everyone.” he called, raising his hand for silence. “I believe we are all accounted for. Please remain close to one another, and Vincent will show us the way to - uh - wherever it is that we're going."
As the crowd filed out along the tunnels, he said to his son, “I don't recall seeing Mouse in the first group. Are you sure that he's already down there?”
“I am certain of it. Father.”
“Is this the long way or the short way?” Catherine asked, as the procession wound through unfamiliar passages, some unusually narrow.
“The short way. This next part is the most dangerous. Hold tight. Catherine, and stay close to the wall.”
They had entered a vast cavern of jagged black rock. The far side was riddled with holes, gaping onto the empty air. Their lanterns picked out no hint of how far below the bottom might lie. The only path was a ledge, perhaps two feet wide, that ran along the near wall.
“You mean the children have been coming this way?” Father spluttered, as everyone joined hands to edge along the rock.
“It's alright, Father,” a small voice that Catherine recognized as Samantha's came loud and clear from somewhere down the line. “They all had to promise they wouldn't come this way unless they had a responsible person with them.”
“Such as whom?” Father prodded.
"Such as Vincent.”
"Mmm.” Catherine, who was the link between Father and Vincent, felt the older man's hand relax, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
“Or Mouse,” Samantha added helpfully.
Father's hand tensed. “Hold fast,” Vincent whispered at her left. “There's a good chance, he'll explode and blow us all into space.”
An unladylike snort escaped her. Already giddy with happiness, she couldn't suppress her laughter. It was clear that they would all survive this journey; the danger was minimal for people who'd long ago developed the sure-footed skills required to move about the underworld in safety.
The trail soon widened to disappear into tunnels of normal height and width, and it wasn't long before they reached the theater. They were greeted by the people who'd come earlier and by Brooke, who stood at the entrance handing out meticulously colored pictures of a forest scene. The room was a half-dome, glowing a soft muted green. Pillows had been strewn from wall to wall, covering the floor two and three deep.
“At least they didn't try to bring chairs down here.” Catherine observed. The only furniture in evidence was a long table made of planks and covered with a white cloth, whose mysterious hills and valleys hinted that William had been hard at work. The focus of the chamber was a long red curtain stretched along one side. It was impossible to see how far back the space behind it extended.
They moved to the center of the room, where Vincent helped Father lower himself into the cushions. He was still rumbling ominously, but Catherine was pleased to see Mary, surely one of the most soothing presence in this world, arrive to sit down beside him. Vincent led her farther back, concerned no doubt, that his size not obstruct anyone's view of the stage.
“Can I sit by you, Vincent?” It was the irrepressible Samantha.
“Me too,” came another voice and another, as the children flocked around him.
“I asked first.”
“No, you didn't. I said I was going to sit with him before we even got here.”
“Well, I said so this morning."
Some things never change from one world to the next, Catherine thought, refusing to release her own proprietary hold on his arm.
“Please." His soft voice brought their squabbling to a halt with an ease that many a shrieking mother might envy. "I would love to sit by each and every one of you. but as you can see, my place is in the back, and it will be hard for you to see past the bigger people. The front row has been reserved especially for you."
Mollified, they moved off to claim this singular honor, all except Samantha. Tonsillitis had caused her to miss the lessons on the play, and now she expressed grave doubts about understanding it, unless she had Vincent to explain it to her. He stacked cushions high enough for her to see over the heads in front and settled Catherine comfortably at his other side.
“For a minute there, I thought I was going to lose you,” she said, snuggling up against his shoulder.
“No you didn't,” he contradicted, and his eyes twinkled down into hers.
“You're right. I didn't” she grinned. This was a night for honesty, and she had not been about to let anything come between them. "These are beautifully drawn,” she commented, glancing at the playbill. "Even the children down here take such care with what they do."
"Perhaps they have fewer distractions than the children in your world."
“I don't think that's it. I think it's because the adults here take the time to help and encourage them. I doubt that there's a child here who feels unloved or unimportant.” She opened the booklet. “Look how professional this is. They have a costume designer, musicians. William gets credit as caterer. Ooh - Mouse: special effects, and your name's here. Vincent: executive in charge of protection. Protection from what?"
“Not what, Catherine, whom.”
"Father or Mouse?"
“Both. I was assigned the task of keeping Mouse contained and Father distracted.”
“That sounds like a full-time job. It's a wonder you have any time for me at all,” she teased. He shot her a look that threatened to make her blush, but just then the room darkened. Somewhere behind the curtain a flute trilled, and the play began.
There were appreciative murmurs as the curtain revealed the set for Theseus' palace, and actual gasps, when the scene shifted to the wood near Athens. Two trees flanked the stage, twinkling with pale green lights, while around and above them sparks of deeper green gave the impression that they'd all been transported to an enchanted forest.
“It's magic.” Catherine whispered delightedly.
“Magic and Mouse and green crystals in the stone.” came the soft reply.
A silver moon careened into sight and rocked ominously, till coming to rest above center stage. So far, so good. The play progressed with a minimum of prompting from discreetly hidden assistants. Catherine recognized some of the costumes as clothes she'd seen worn at Winterfest, but it was a while before she realized that the fairies were dressed in something that she herself had provided.
They all wore togas of filmy white fabric that appeared opalescent in Mouse's ever changing lights. The fabric had come from a very expensive Fifth Avenue shop, where it had beckoned to her from the window. Although it had seemed too lovely for any practical use, she had been unable to resist buying the whole bolt, slipping it in with a box of clearly marked remnants from one of the downtown stores that was perpetually going out of business. Now it had been put to good use, and it warmed her to think she had contributed to the nights festivities.
When Titania summoned the four fairies in Act III, their entrance was punctuated by a ball of light that streaked and fell to earth somewhere off stage, looking for all the world like a shooting star. The younger children squealed, and there was a smattering of applause, accompanied by a hissing sound of fire in water.
"That must have given Father a turn,” she whispered.
"It was a compromise. I thought the whole idea too risky; Mouse wanted a meteor shower.”
She leaned contentedly on his shoulder, pleased when his arm came around and pulled her closer still. On stage the lovers continued their strange pursuits, happy and helpless to break the spell that bound them. It reminded her of a note she'd once received that said simply, "Shakespeare knew everything."
“Vincent,” she whispered, so softly that no one else would be disturbed, so softly that he had to bend his head closer to hear. "I wanted you to know how happy I am right now. Here. With you.”
“Yes?”
“Yes, absolutely and totally happy.” He was so close, she could feel his breath on her face. Even in this dimness, she could drown in those eyes, now just inches from her own. "I love you," she breathed. The rest of the air in her body had been pumped out by her rapidly beating heart. She could sense that his own breath had quickened, and he had no more power to turn away than she did. His hand tightened on her shoulder, and she knew one of them or both of them were moving forward.
“Vincent, is there such a thing as a red-hipped humble-bee? Shouldn't Jason have said bumble-bee? Samantha's stage whisper came to Catherine like an alarm clock's ring through a soft, blurred dream.
“I'm sorry,” Vincent had released her, turned away. “What did you say, Samantha?”
A whispered conversation followed, but Catherine wasn't listening. She took a deep breath and willed her heart to slow down, grateful that no part of him was touching her. There was no way to disguise her trembling. Another moment and the barriers would have come down; she knew it, but was it something he wanted or merely something he couldn't help, a lapse in the iron control he kept on his instincts? Would it serve as a warning, and cause him to put distance between them?
She frowned into the darkness, concentrating on Zach, who as Oberon, was saying something about Cupid's flower. Determinedly, she listened to every word, but somehow they refused to string together into anything that made sense. Her concentration was so intense that she jumped when a hand closed over hers. She turned to look at him, but his attention was directed at the stage, his expression unreadable in the dark. The pressure of his hand increased until it almost hurt, as if he was directing all the intensity of his feelings into this one contact. Was he hoping to defuse the desire that had almost overcome his resolve, or to let her know that he hadn't dismissed it? Perhaps, he was lending her his own strength to fight down a tide of feelings she'd failed to hide from him. Whatever his purpose, she felt a rush of gratitude for a sign that he hadn't retreated from her altogether, and she squeezed his hand in return.
“1 do hear the morning lark,” announced Puck In Kipper's voice, and there came a flapping of wings, as something bright soared from stage left, performed a series of unlikely loops above the audience, and crashed unceremoniously among the mounds of food on the table.
Vincent relaxed his grip. “Mouse's interpretation of Shakespeare is largely visual”
"I see that,” she whispered, matching the casualness of his tone. “Messy too.” And they lapsed into a companionable silence.
As the play neared an end, a persistent - psst drew her attention. Beside her Vincent leaned back, and Samantha reached across him to tug at her skirt. “This is the best part, Catherine - about Pyramus and Thisbe.”
"Okay,” she acknowledged. It was certainly one of the funniest scenes in all of Shakespeare, and the young people performed it with a sure sense of both the satire and buffoonery required to do it justice.
When the comical lion roared at Ninny's tomb, Samantha could be heard to assert loyally. “You could have done that much better, Vincent."
For a split second, Catherine felt a rush of dismay. Don't hurt him, she prayed. Please don't let anything hurt him.
But his tone was solemn and sincere, when he said, “Thank you, Samantha."
She sighed. Of course, it wouldn't bother him. He was sensitive, but never petty or self-serving. His concern would be for the children and their success. He wasn't egocentric enough to relate the antics of a fictional character to himself.
The play within the play was over, and as Puck returned, a second ball of fire arced across the stage. It was followed by another and another. “Oohs” and "ahs" arose from the audience, reminding Catherine of the typical response to firework displays by people who lived above. Beside her Vincent tensed. There was a sound of hurrying feet. as offstage, invisible figures rushed to frantically extinguish each falling star.
One whose trip across the sky had been less spectacular lay on the floor, still glowing faintly. As luck would have it, Puck's bare foot encountered it, as he pranced about the stage. “Now the wasted brands do glow!” he cried with true dramatic fervor, dancing up and down, gamely continuing the speech in the best show business tradition.
Somewhere in front of them, there came a loud groan, and Catherine knew that Father was seeing his worst fears confirmed.
The performance ended to wild applause and cries of "Bravo!” The players took their bows, as did Brooke. and finally, Mouse, who was pushed onto the stage, head bowed, peering shyly up at the audience through a curtain of unruly hair. He gave a stiff nod that served as a bow.
“Wasn't it wonderful, Catherine? Aren't you glad you came?" Samantha enthused.
“I'm very glad,” Catherine grinned at her. Vincent was applauding with the rest of them, but the look he was leveling Mouse's way was not one she would like to see directed at herself. She turned to find Mouse now alternately waving his arms, and bowing with a deep flourish.
"I thought you said he had stage fright."
“He seems to have recovered," Vincent rumbled.