Ritual Reality
10 Raising Power
Wednesday, 30 April 1969
The third arrow struck the target. It was wide of the center, but definitely in the target. Wayne turned to Glenn and smiled.
“It works!”
“Yeah. Congratulations. But why?”
“Because I made it right.”
“I know why it works. Why did you want it to work? It’s just a prop,” Glenn said shaking his head. He could be so dense.
“Nothing is just a prop,” Wayne explained to his friend. “How many of us are guards on the battlements?”
“Two.”
“And how many bows did we have?”
“One.”
“So how can we both carry a bow on the battlements if there is only one bow?”
“So, we need a second bow.”
“Give the man a cigar.”
“So why should it work?”
“Because the other one works. If this one works, then it’s like the other one. Maybe not as accurate—yet—but still a working model.”
“What are you going to be when you grow up, kid?”
“Robin Hood. And you can be Little Glenn,” answered Wayne.
“What I’m going to be when I grow up is alive,” said Glenn. “And that doesn’t include running around playing with sharp sticks.”
“What we’ve got here is a failure to communicate,” said Wayne. “Now look. What if things really go to shit and they scrap our deferments. Nixon talks about peace in the same breath that he starts carpet bombing Cambodia. What’s next? Laos? China? What do we do then?”
“Run.”
“Just like Chicago last summer. The real antiwar pacifists were hiding in the basement of Marshall Field’s. So, we run, jogga, jogga, jogga,” Wayne mimed running in place as they left the archery range. “Hey man! You’ve got to get in shape. So, we get up to Canada. What then?”
“We start a commune and go into farming.”
“That reminds me. I’ve got to ask Lissa how she feels about farming. God, she could be a hawk, can you believe it?”
“She could be married for all you know,” Glenn punctured Wayne’s little balloon.
“Well, on to bigger and better things. It’s a long way to Canada. We’ve got to be ready to live off the land. No one out there to cook doughnuts for us. No McDonald’s. Neither one of us will pick up a gun. What do we do?”
“Become vegetarians.”
“Don’t be dense,” Wayne chimed back. “We tried being vegetarians. Remember, when we were trying to date the vegetarian twins? But no matter what the FDA says, they still put meat in a double cheeseburger.”
“They sure flipped out when they found the hamburger cartons in the back seat.”
“Yeah. ‘Someone threw them through the window.’ Great line, my friend. But if we’re going to live off the land we’ve got to be able to hunt game or we’ll starve.”
“You really think you could point that thing at a bunny rabbit and pull the trigger? Or string?”
“I don’t know,” Wayne confessed. “I nearly passed out when we had to dissect a frog in biology. I suppose it would depend on how hungry I was. It’s a whole new branch of situation ethics.”
“Speaking of which, we just missed lunch.”
“What’s that got to do with situation ethics?”
“Not ethics. Hunger.”
“Hey! That’s why they invented McDonald’s.”
They walked across campus toward the familiar golden arches. It was one of those friendships that had come out of nowhere and which no one, least of all Wayne, would have expected. Glenn was six and a half feet tall. Wayne felt like a dwarf when he stood straight and tall at six feet—well, five-eleven-and-a-half. Glenn easily tipped the scale at two-thirty. Wayne kept his balance at about one-seventy. Both were sharp and intelligent students, but Glenn tended to maintain a slight edge academically.
“What’s the story between you and Dr. Allen, Romeo?” Glenn asked.
“No story. I got her into the department so Jim made it clear that I was responsible for babysitting her. Cheap shot to make me act next to her. She could have played Guildenstern. Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead anyway. You’d think I had enough to worry about with all the props for this bloody show.”
“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” laughed Glenn.
“Well, she’s neat, I won’t deny that,” argued Wayne. “But face it. She’s got to be pushing forty. And you know you can’t trust anyone over thirty.”
“Older. Experienced.”
“Bullshit.”
“How about Judith? You and the WASP don’t seem to be getting along too well lately,” Glenn observed.
“No shit, Sherlock. There’s another story. She’s been PO’d at me ever since Dr. Allen joined the cast. Even before that. I don’t think she’s ever forgiven me for not going to England with her over spring break.”
“It shows.”
“Do you know how many foils she’s gone through in the last month?” Wayne asked. “I’m doing nothing in the shop lately but repair her weapons. Then she’s got this weird thing going with Chuck’s dagger and how his sword has to be cross-hilted for the ghost scene.”
“I keep telling you, they’re only props. You build like the royal army is going to war. You dumb hippie.”
“Gimme a head with hair, long, beautiful hair…” Wayne sang. “Anyway, lately it’s just been slap a handle on it and polish it up. There’s just too much to do.”
“Well,” Glenn said, “if you decide to make your little dispute permanent and drop her for an older woman—or a doughnut lady—I’d appreciate it if you’d drop her on me.”
“Kind of soften her landing?” Wayne chuckled. “Looks to me like she’s the one in the driver’s seat. She hardly lets me near her lately.”
They finished their burgers and shoved the trash into the overfilled basket. Wayne picked up the bow and quiver of arrows.
“I gotta get this stuff back to the shop before class,” he said.
“Yeah. I’m just going to get another shake to take along. See you at rehearsal tonight,” Glenn finished. Wayne turned around and faced his friend.
“Look, Glenn,” he said, “if you think she’s interested, go for it. I mean I know your thing with Gail has been going nowhere. Don’t worry about, like, our friendship or anything. We’re solid.” He turned and went on back toward the scene shop.
Once back at the shop, Wayne found that he was not much in the mood to attend another lecture by Coop on English poets. Too many projects demanded attention to deal with T.S. Eliot. He sat at the workbench and opened his art box. He carefully unfolded the drawing of the next piece on his project list, Hamlet’s dagger. The drawing looked strangely barren when Wayne looked at it. It was the exact size and shape of the knife his uncle had given him at Christmas, but had none of the decorative hieroglyphs on it.
Two identical blade blanks lay in a drawer under the workbench with others for swords and knives. He always bought the blanks in pairs. He pulled one out and felt along the length of it, allowing the touch of the steel to penetrate his senses. This would be a beautiful piece when he was done with it. He had ground both blanks down to the same shape, but of course he would not sharpen it for the show. Pointed would be enough. After the show, though, it would be his to keep. Then he would sharpen it and tool it down to be decorated. His uncle’s journal said that making a tool endowed it with the strengths and characteristics of its maker. If that was true, he hoped Judith never used the sword he made her in a duel. She could get hurt.
Thinking about Judith was another pain. Things had been going so well for them before her trip to England. Even then it looked like they’d get it back together until Dr. Allen joined the Hamlet cast. Alone, they were okay, but there weren’t any alone times lately. They hadn’t had a date with just the two of them in three weeks. There was tech weekend, then two weekends of shows, and now finals were coming next week and they’d have to spend the weekend studying. And at rehearsals, she was cold, especially when Dr. Allen was around.
He balanced the blade on his finger and began adding wood chips to the handle end until the balance point was where he wanted it. He wrapped a piece of duct tape around the shank and woodchips. When it was secure he glanced across the empty shop to a stack of polystyrene beadboard used in construction. Taking careful aim, he threw the knife. It hit and stuck—handle end first with the blade sticking out at him. He sighed. He didn’t know if it was the blade balance or his lousy throwing.
“Why don’t you let a pro handle that part?” Judith asked from the doorway. “You don’t throw a knife like a baseball.”
“Why don’t you teach me the right way?” Wayne said turning to look at her.
“Sure. It would be easier to teach you than Chuck. He’s got a beautiful voice, but his hand-eye coordination sucks. I think he’s a little cross-eyed.” She retrieved the knife from the foam block. “What’s all this junk taped to the end?”
“I was trying to determine how much weight it took to balance it.”
“Balance is only half the battle,” she said, stripping the taped woodchips off the shank. “First find out if it flies right. Then you can adjust your hold to compensate for the balance.” She raised her hand and threw the knife at the polystyrene block. It sank in perfectly, blade first. “See? Nothing wrong with its balance,” she said walking to get the blade again.
“What about when I put a handle on it?”
“Put one on it. I’ll teach him to use it right,” she answered. “Black, I think. It should be a black handle so it blends in with the rest of his costume until he draws it. Not too shiny on the handle. The silver blade comes to life against the black backdrop of his chest.” She sidled up to Wayne with the blade still in her hand and pressed it flat against his chest as she spoke. “Like that idea?” she asked pressing herself against him as well.
“I think you’re dangerous, lady,” he answered wrapping his arms around her, but afraid to squeeze too tightly with the knife still held between them. In spite of himself, he was getting hard.
“Oh, I can be much more dangerous than that,” she whispered, letting the knife hand slide down his torso until he felt it pressing against his cock. “Want to cross swords?” He smiled faintly.
“You should be locked up.”
“Just remember who loves you, boyo,” she said. With a quick twist, she slipped the knife out from between them and threw it behind her back. She never looked, but over her shoulder Wayne could see that it stuck in the block perfectly again. “You wouldn’t want to lose anything near and dear to you, would you?” She muffled his response, pressing her lips to his in a passionate kiss.
“Class,” she said, suddenly breaking away from him. “See you later?”
Wayne watched her swaying hips as she walked down the hall. He went to get the knife and contemplated throwing it one more time, but decided against it. He put it back in the drawer beside its twin and the other blanks he’d ordered at the beginning of the term. T. S. Eliot suddenly sounded a lot better to him and he ran to catch up with Judith.
Rehearsal was another disaster for the struggling cast of Hamlet. Jim spent most of his time with the new cast members. Carol Nygard had stepped up to the challenge of playing Guildenstern and everyone was wondering exactly how they were going to hide her bodacious tits for the man’s role. Wayne ran through the play within the play with Dr. Allen only once. Jim hauled him aside after the choppy run.
“Look, Wayne. It’s your scene. You staged it last fall like an independent little troupe of traveling actors. Now you’ve got a new member of your troupe. You are the player king, not me. Get the scene smoothed out with Dr. Allen and bring me something that’s ready to polish and integrate into the show. You’re falling over each other like it was slapstick. If you need feedback, take Lena along.”
“Okay, I’ll work on it. But she’s terrible, Jim. Her head’s never in the same room with the rest of her.”
“You got her into this; you can get her through it,” Jim said. “When do I see those drawings for the thrones, by the way?”
“Lena’s got them. If you approve them, we can send them off in the morning.”
“Did you revise them for Judith’s specifications?”
“Do I value my life?” Wayne responded. “We’re going to have to re-cover it after every performance.”
“Then make sure we’ve got enough pieces of covering for ten performances.” Wayne assented and turned to walk back toward the stage. Jim called after him. “I want to see that scene ready to polish Friday night. We’re running out of time.”
“No kidding,” Wayne muttered as he walked away. He spotted Rebecca in the wings. “Dr. Allen, if you can spare the time, we need to find a place to work on our scene for a while.”
“It wasn’t very good, was it?” she asked.
“On a scale of one to ten, we didn’t move the needle.”
“Well, I can stay a while to work,” she answered. “Where to?”
“Let’s see if anyone’s using the dressing rooms,” he said. They went down the back stairs from the stage to the two small rooms that served the college theatre as dressing rooms. One was strewn with costumes, actors, and the costumer.
“Wayne! Where the hell have you been? You’ve been called for fitting three times.”
“Sorry, Gail. I’ve been busy making new props. Jim just sent us out to rehearse the dumbshow.”
“For sure. It needs it,” Gail said, not looking up from the hem. “Sign up for another slot when you can be here, would you?”
“Sure,” Wayne answered, looking at the sign-up sheet. “I’ll be back at ten.”
“If I stay in this dump till ten o’clock, you had sure better show up, mister.”
“Have I missed a fitting, too, Miss Bremen?” Dr. Allen asked quietly.
“Oh, Dr. Allen,” said the costumer. “I didn’t see you there. It’s okay. We knew you’d be busy this month with finals and all.”
“Can you see me right after Mr. Hamel tonight?”
“Sure. No trouble. I’m always here till eleven or so.” Rebecca signed the schedule. Gail bared her teeth at Wayne.
The two left and went to the next dressing room. They found it occupied by Hamlet and Ophelia. The line coach shooed them out of the room before they even got a good glimpse of what was happening.
“They sure have their acts together, don’t they?” Rebecca asked as they turned away.
“They should. They’re both headed toward the pros. Where are we going to rehearse this damned thing?” His frustration was cut short as they were backed against a wall to allow two students maneuvering a sheet of plywood past them.
“Wayne,” one of them said. “Can you check out the crate? I don’t think it’s strong enough for what we’re sending.”
“I’ll be down after my fitting tonight, Brian. Just keep building,” he said. “We can reinforce it if necessary.”
“Okay, but I don’t think it’s strong enough.”
“Brian…”
“Come with me,” Dr. Allen cut him off and took him by the arm. “We can rehearse in my living room. It doesn’t look like there is a quiet space anywhere in this building. It’s only a couple of blocks and we’ll be back in time for our fittings.” Wayne followed her out of the building with a minor protest as he watched the sheet of plywood disappear with a noisy scrape into the scene shop. Her voice had left no room for objection.
From the theatre stairway, Judith watched Rebecca take Wayne’s arm and propel him toward the door. She moved her mouth as if to say something at their backs, but bit her lip instead. “If she’s training him, I’m damned well training him. He’s my apprentice!” She went back upstairs.
Rebecca unlocked her front door and they went into the living room. Wayne was surprised she didn’t call out to Serepte.
“Let me plug in the coffee pot,” she said. “I think we’re going to need it.” She finished the preparations while Wayne fidgeted in the living room. “Are you in trouble?” she asked bluntly when she returned.
“No,” he said, taken aback. This sounded strangely reminiscent of her interrogation last semester.
“So, tell me what’s wrong.”
“I guess it’s just another lousy term.”
“With us, Mr. Hamel. Stop discounting. Why are we not doing well?”
“I don’t know,” he started. “It’s just hard to…” He left the sentence hanging.
“Hard to play a love scene with a woman twice your age?” she volunteered.
“God, no! It’s not that much of a love scene.”
“But it is that much of an age difference,” she filled in. He was embarrassed about the question and then about his response. Like he wouldn’t like a love scene with her. If she didn’t scare him quite so much.
“You’re a professor.”
“So?”
“So no one expects you to be a pro. I’m supposed to be a pro. The scene isn’t right, it’s my fault. I miss a fitting, I get dragged over the coals. I’m supposed to be better than this.”
“And if I miss a fitting, ‘We understand, Dr. Allen.’ I see.”
“We all accepted those limitations when you joined the cast,” Wayne scrambled to save the situation. “I’m just not performing the way I should. And I don’t know how to fix it.”
“Mr. Hamel, I believe I have done you a great disservice.” He looked up at her questioningly. If she backed out of the show he would be blamed for that, too. “I should have failed you.”
“What?” he said standing up in disbelief. Fuck! Let her quit!
“Sit down and let me finish.” His knees buckled under him and he collapsed back on the sofa. “If I had failed you, I would have had you back in class with the opportunity to teach you what anthropology is really about. As it was, you left my class believing that you understood. Or thinking me a fool. Or both. But in spite of your passing grade, you don’t know anthropology.”
“What’s that got to do…?”
“Don’t do me the same disservice,” she shot back at him. “I’ve failed my first test as an actress. I slept through your class. I didn’t even audition. Because I’m an influential faculty member, I walked into the Waffle House and was instantly cast. Don’t think I don’t know that. I have eyes and ears. Now I’m ready to endure the show thinking this is a rinky-dink operation where people yell at each other a lot and get applauded on opening night. I don’t have the least idea what goes on in your head as an actor or a props master or a technical director. Don’t let me fail, Mr. Hamel. Now what do I need to do?”
He looked at her with his mouth open as he began to comprehend what she was saying. His throat was dry and his voice squeaked in a very un-actor-like manner when he finally forced the words out.
“Call me Wayne.” She looked at him and smiled. “Every time you call me Mr. Hamel, I’m afraid I’ve been asleep and missed something important.”
“Very well,” she said. “On one condition. As long as we are partners in this, you will call me Rebecca. Now, how about a cup of coffee before we get to work, Wayne? We only have an hour until our fittings.”
“Thank you… Rebecca,” he answered. “I’d like that.”
“I’ll trust in your good judgment to know if it’s not appropriate,” she said. “Why don’t you explain to me a little about our scene? How do you see the context?”
“Sure. You know, there are only three female speaking roles in the play. It’s Ophelia, Gertrude, and you. The player queen was probably a boy’s role too, like they played it in Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are Dead. But then, most of Shakespeare’s women were boys. The players come to Elsinore and Hamlet sees his opportunity to expose the king’s treachery by having the players perform a work called The Murder of Gonzago, in which the king’s brother murders him. Uh… you weren’t here for the staging of the players’ meeting with Hamlet. I’ll have to get you up to speed on that one. The general staging is set up to reflect the king’s and queen’s positions as the players play out the scene. The play’s the thing…”
Thursday, 1 May 1969, very early morning
“There he is. I knew you’d be here eventually.”
“How’d you know that, Lissa?”
“Haroo, hooray, the first of May. Outdoor fucking starts today.”
“Darlin’, we haven’t even fucked indoors, yet.”
“And we never will. Outdoors, though… All rules are suspended when it’s outdoors. Come sit at the counter and tell me all about life in the theatre.” Wayne sat and when Lissa brought his coffee and cream she casually reached across the counter and touched his pentacles. It was like Wayne suddenly woke up from a good night’s sleep.
“Whoa. Man! How do you do that? It’s like I suddenly remember all the dreams I’ve had this spring. I really want to put it all together this summer.”
“You will, Unbound. I’ll be sure you have everything you need when you are in England. Now tell me about things.”
“Things are better. I had a real breakthrough with Rebecca tonight. Uh… that’s Dr. Allen.”
“Really. Sounds like the Wicked Witch of the West is melting.”
“Maybe it’s me that’s melting. She seems more human now. Maybe even vulnerable.”
“You always have to protect her, Unbound. It’s your sacred duty.”
“I will always protect her, Chameleon. I figured that out tonight. She’s as lost in the theatre as I was in anthropology last fall. I have a duty to make her successful and I can do it.”
Lissa listened to Wayne as he talked about his professor and their new understanding. She wasn’t sure, but it sounded like The Huntress was teaching him things he’d need to know. He’d recognized Iäpetus. She just wanted to make sure they were all teaching from the same book.
She knew Wayne was going to play an important role this summer. He needed to understand that his duty to The Huntress was greater than making her successful on stage. She didn’t want him marching into the circle as a vagabond without understanding. And if she was repeating lessons that the other two had already taught, it would simply reinforce it.
“And how about your girlfriend?” Wayne had never offered even a code name for The Huntress and The Swordmaster. They were both locked away so deeply that he referred to them as if they were just pedestrians.
“I don’t know. Chameleon, she confuses me. I really, really like her, you know? I mean, like, maybe I love her. But she runs hot and cold. She’s barely had time to talk to me for the past month and then this afternoon she comes in and makes up, all sultry and lovey. And dangerous. Really dangerous. Sometimes she scares the shit out of me.”
“Think of it this way, Unbound: Her only friends for the past fifteen years have been sharp pointed objects. I bet she didn’t tell you that six years ago she won the British Youth Championship in all three events—Epee, Foil, and Sabre.”
“Shit! I knew she was good, but that’s unbelievable. How’d you know that?”
“I looked her up in the Public Library after you told me about her. I thought I recognized the name from somewhere. She’d have been an Olympic medalist last year if she’d had a better draw. She went up against one of the world’s greatest fencers in her first round in Mexico. I’m sure that by ’72 she could take Ildikò, but now she’s got that Russian, Novikova-Belova, to contend with. They’re the same age, but she hasn’t had the experience that the Russian has, in spite of practicing day and night for the past ten years.”
“God! I love her.”
“You are right, though. She’s dangerous. She trained at a gym in London that is known for unconventional training. Not the London Fencing Club. She trains there, of course, but the Kingsgate Knife and Weapons Club. In addition to various circus acts, they turn out the largest percentage of London’s street fighters. They actually fight with edged instruments.”
“Somebody could get killed.”
“Somebody did. In fact, several somebodies. They always keep it covered up, but Judith Harmon is what she is. Ryan McGuire is said to have started her training when she was just a toddler.”
“Who is Ryan McGuire?”
“His nickname was The Blade. You might hear about him someday. Some say he was burned in a fight and hasn’t been seen or heard from in nearly fifteen years.”
“Lissa, what do I need to do?”
“Tonight? Haroo, hooray…”
“Yeah, and here we are sitting in a doughnut shop.”
Lissa came out from behind the counter and locked the front door, turning the sign to “closed.”
“Did you know there’s a greenbelt behind this shopping strip?” she asked. Wayne shook his head. “Come with me, apprentice. I’m going to show you a mystery.”
He didn’t have tools with him. She told him never to bring them to the doughnut shop—except his ever-present pentacles. She’d said a greenbelt, but instead, she took him up a ladder to the roof. It was the only way the air conditioner could be serviced. She’d put all she needed on the roof at midnight. By the time Wayne got there at two, everything was set for their training. It was a clear night and the nearly full moon had risen at eight o’clock. It was cold, but they danced naked around a candle flame. In his suggestible state, Wayne had no difficulty stripping and when he saw her naked, his erection made the rest of his inhibitions float away. When they’d danced in a circle, raising a cone of power, she lay back and he entered her. They kept building and when they climaxed, the blue-hued dome above them expanded outward.
“Now, Unbound. Do you see it? Look around. The uninitiated cannot see what you see now.”
“There are blue lights all over the city.” Well, she thought, not all over, but the first time an initiate saw them, they seemed more plentiful than they were. There were three near the college campus, two due west, and four could be seen farther south.
“They are the lights of the practitioners conducting their Beltane rituals. They don’t all have sex, but why not? It makes it so much more fun.”
Lissa continued to give him instructions as they lay on the blanket she’d arranged on the roof. When he hardened again, they fucked. That one was for pure lustful satisfaction. It had been such a long time.
She carefully set wards around his memories so he wouldn’t become confused when he was back in the ‘real’ world. It was one thing to have sex when you were connected to the spirit plane, but quite another if you had to deal with all the messy relationship issues on the physical plane. Besides, she didn’t want The Huntress or The Swordmaster to know she was here just yet. Or for The Swordmaster to know she’d just fucked her boyfriend.
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