Merry Sister Mary: Three Can Keep A Secret

6: Sister Mary Stops Production

The show must go on! Eh. Sometimes it should not, and in the case of tonight, there were plenty of warning signs to stop production. The audience had come to witness a murder play. It would be only fair to give them what they paid for. Unfortunately, what one expects in the uncharted game of murder one does not often uncover. This classic drama stood on the precipice of something fair and foul, and as the lights dimmed and the curtain drawn, an aura of dissonance encompassed the theater. The show was on.

"Welcome," said the smooth and tenacious voice of Neil Barker. He paused as the spotlight fell upon the stage and the curtain closed once more. People finished shifting into their seats, including me, until people's noses retracted at the lingering smell of horse dung still clinging to the cloth sides of my shoes. I decided to leave my footwear near the sidewall for that reason. I had heard that blind people have their other senses heightened, so poor Marlene would have had to endure an entire performance with the realistic stench of stables in summertime wafting into her nostrils.

"Sorry for my last minute arrival," I said, plopping myself between Sergeant Leblanc and Marlene Constance. "What an opening, don't you think?"

"That better be all the trouble tonight brings," whispered Leblanc. "I do hate it when you are right."

"You know you say that a lot? I'm flattered."

Leblanc put a finger on his lips and pointed to the stage. He gave me a smirk from his large cute mustache, which of course he has learned catches my undivided attention.

I clocked my head around the back of Marlene's shoulder. A young man joined her fairly late. He immediately whispered into her ear as his fingers delicately caressed her wrist. Not an impressively handsome man, given he was with a woman who cared little for looks, but he possessed an aura of unrest which was made apparent from the tapping of his foot and the nervousness in his eyes as he scanned the stage. The brown suit he wore matched his thin brown mustache, and his long shaggy hair covered most of his face hiding his small neck and large Adam's apple. I only guessed this was her helper.

"Welcome," repeated Neil Barker to the audience. His gaze fell upon me, being the last to comfortably adjust to the theater's stiff seats. "Welcome to Shakespeare's Macbeth. Tonight we have a cast of experienced performers prepared to thrill you, shock you, and leave you gagging. Some of New York's most influential artists have joined us to make the elaborate sets presented before you today. And I hear we also have celebrities here tonight. Welcome all of you. I also want to thank our handsome patrons for funding this production. Thank you to the owners of the Saenger Theater and all their wonderful renovations, and Walter Grace and the owners of La Vie Restaurant for their hefty donations." Mr. Barker paused as a small applause echoed in the theater. I saw the two men I had met in line with the ruby slippers blow kisses and cheer. "Now without further adieu, I present the most murderous Scottish Play."

Neil Barker exited the stage. A deafness stilled the remaining voices in the crowd. A single violin's haunting notes rose in volume commanding all present to focus on whatever force rested beyond the velvet curtains. The sound of pulleys and ropes shifted from the sides as the curtains opened wide revealing a series of large stones and tall grass beneath a gnarled tree. Three shadows moved in the background. Approaching the foreground with the steadiness of old women, these three witches formed into the light. Their faces covered in lesions and boils glared at the audience, and just like in the play it was difficult to determine their true gender. Small wisps of white hair curled on their chins. Their thin lips smacked and sucked in the air now filled with smoke.

"When shall we three meet again," said the first witch, "in thunder, lightning, or in rain?"

"When the hurlyburly's done, when the battle's lost and won," responded the second witch.

"That will be ere the set of sun," said the third witch.

"Where the place?"

"Upon the heath."

"There to meet with Macbeth."

"I come, Graymalkin!"

"Paddock calls."

"Anon."

The three witches circled, chanting together.

"Fair is foul, and foul is fair: hover through the fog and filthy air."

Lightning flashed across the stage along with the thundering cymbals from the orchestra pit. My eyes widened in anticipation. Drumbeats thumped in my chest. Then in a final flash of light followed by darkness, the witches vanished from the stage. Leblanc turned to me.

"Hate to do this, Mary, but I got to run to the restroom. No funny business while I'm gone."

I smiled and slapped his bum as he stood up to leave. The orchestra began playing somber music while the underlying sounds of swords clashing and men yelling echoed from off stage. From the dim light I noticed a couple other people standing up to leave. A shift occurred in the music and multiple men dressed in battle armor entered the stage. One man was covered in blood.

"What bloody man is that?" asked a man wearing a crown. I assumed this was King Duncan. "He can report, as seemeth by his plight, of the revolt the newest state."

Soon the act finished and the men exited the stage. I glanced at Marlene. She was glaring forward. Her hands twisted the playbill into a tight ball. I leaned over.

"You alright, deary?" I whispered into her ear.

"Yes, indeed," she said. "I'm sure the costumes look astounding."

Drums interrupted our talk as another scene appeared on stage. Macbeth and his friend, Banquo, entered followed by the three witches. The two men were instantly taken aback by the three creatures chanting before them.

"All hail, Macbeth!" shrieked the first witch. "Hail to thee, thane of Glamis!"

"All hail, Macbeth!" cried the second witch. "Hail to thee, thane of Cawdor!"

"All hail, Macbeth!" praised the third witch. "Thou shalt be king hereafter!"

Any Shakespearean connoisseur knows his plays are full of symbolism, metaphors, and foreshadowing. Here the witches predicted Macbeth and Banquo's future, a prediction that slowly sways the choices of Macbeth and his wife as parts become true and in seeking this glorified prediction it leads to their demise. Little did I know that the symbolism before me would be more true to life than just a theater production.

As the acts unfolded and Leblanc returned to his seat, the audience arrived at the point in the play where Macbeth and his wife were discussing the murder of King Duncan, an act of violence that would bring Macbeth to rule. Lady Macbeth had gotten the guards to King Duncan's room drunk and planned to frame them for the King's murder by planting the two bloody daggers on their sleeping bodies.

The stage grew dark and quiet. The only light that filtered into the theater came from the orchestra pit below. A hit of Duncan's bed and chambers outlined in the bleakness. A murder was about to happen.

I squinted my eyes to see a faint movement happening in the catwalk above the stage. Soft grunting and the swaying of metal and wood creaked from above. My heart began to race as I realized what was happening. I stood to my feet ready to cry out as a body slipped through the darkness to the stage below. The tightening of rope stretched across the theater as we all held our breath. Having seen this play before, I knew something was wrong.

Disregarding polite behavior I crawled on top of ladies and gents barely making it out to the edge of the stage where I knew a lightswitch was resting. Complaints of unhappy men and women cried out to me, but I ignored it all. My hand landed on the switch and illuminated the entire theater, but I was too late. Women screamed in their seats, men gasped in alarm, and from in between the curtains I observed a man, his face cut beyond recognition and a bloody white shirt full of holes, swaying from a rope as his last breath escaped his crippled body. Limp arms dropped to his sides. Silence filled the theater. There was no denying it this time. This was no act.