Shakespeare in the Limelight

Limelights are Just Alright With Me

Jessica escorted me downstairs to Father Sky's office; along the way, I got a taste for some of the other "pupils" under his tutelage. They all greeted me with wide eyes, polite smiles, and the same mindless platitude; "May the dawn of time see you through, brother," as they busily went about doing chores, upkeep, and repairs to Father Sky's capacious hacienda.

There seemed to be a hectic corporate-like pace with the employees (or cult members) at the estate as if they were running a factory or in preparation for an impending grand event. It reminded me of a movie set or law office, like when I'd renegotiate my contract with the studio or network. My dad told me he once saw Gavin MacLeod bite a lawyer on the cheek during his contract negotiation for the seventh season of Love Boat. MacLeod's crazed eyes and blood-smeared mouth gave him nightmares for months afterward.

Father Sky was seated at his desk. He stood when I entered the room. Jessica closed the door so we could talk alone. "Please, have a seat."

I took a seat. I weirdly felt like I was back at Beverly Hills High School and had just been sent surreptitiously to the principal's office.

"Can I get you anything, Scooter?"

"My clothes would be nice, and a ginger ale if you have it."

"Sorry, your fellow landscapers apparently took all the refreshments once they departed. And your clothes, unfortunately, are still in the wash. But it is good to see you in one of our vestments. That Atomic Soup really does stain."

"Tell me about it." I suddenly felt edgy and apprehensive and began tapping my foot as if impatient.

"Jessica told me about your PTS involved with your hair. I'm sorry if I had known something like that, I would have never allowed my staff to serve you such noxious fare. I'm truly sorry, Scooter."

"We good. Are you a cult leader?"

Father Sky laughed; it was a bit unsettling. "Cult leader? I'm not a cult leader. No, I am a conduit to something extraordinary, Scooter."

"And those people out there, are they employees or followers?"

"Neither. They're here of their own accord, just like you and me. But they are on my company's payroll, so technically, they are employees."

"But they're engineers and scientists, so why do you have them scrubbing toilets and painting walls?"

"I don't. They do it because they want to do it, just like my lovely assistant that you met, Jessica. They care very much about where they work and want it to look nice. When was the last time you could say that about anyone, and an employee, no less?"

I didn't have an answer, and he had a point.

"While I have you here, may I share something with you, Scooter?"

Please, don't be his penis. "Do I have a choice?"

"Everyone has a choice, Scooter."

"Fine. What is it?"

"It's a story. An ancient story about the land we're on."

"You mean like a story I would have seen on 60 Minutes?"

"It's not quite a sensational story like that—although, perhaps for its time, it might have been. No, this is a historical story. What I'm about to tell you happened long before you or I were even here."

"You mean before we were here in this office?"

"No, I mean before we were here on this planet. Father Sky took something from his desk that looked like a piece from a broken clay pot. "Long before Spanish settlers had arrived, there was a small village on this very spot. For a long time, I thought they were perhaps a branch tribe of the Chumash or Kizh."