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the action or the boy."
"Left me."
"Precisely." Doc moved the coins so they caught the light. "What I'd like to
do, my fine, young friend, is further your education somewhat and broaden your
horizons if I may."
"Too many men in building, Doc."
"Nonsense. It's only for a short time. Why, the show's probably halfway over."
Doc gestured toward the sandwich board, where another hand-lettered sign hung
from a hook.
Rome and Juliet was emblazoned on the second sign, in blue letters this time,
but in the same crabbed style. "One of the Bard's most poignant dramas ever
written. How can you miss something like this?"
Jak looked uncomfortable already.
Doc eyed him squarely. "I am not just here on a lark, young Jak. There is a
man inside I
must see if I am able. Mayhap he will be able to help me locate the
descendants of some dear friends. But he is a dangerous man, as well. I would
appreciate your watching my back."
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Jak didn't appear any happier with the situation, but he gave a short nod.
Throwing his arm around the youth's shoulders, Doc headed them in the
direction of the theater. The coins were more than enough to gain entry into
the building. Doc didn't like the lustful glances the greasepainted men gave
him.
The stage area was in the basement of the building. The upper floors were
still pretty much wreckage, filled to overflowing with garbage that looked as
if it had been trucked in from other buildings.
Torches hung on the walls and threw out a weak pallor that barely illuminated
the large room. Most of the three hundred or so seats available were filled,
the audience sounding raucous and bold as its members called out to the
actors.
Doc found five seats together in the back of the room and led Jak that way.
"Sit back, boy," Doc urged. "Let yourself get caught up in this passion play
of unrequited love and familial pathos." In terse sentences he brought Jak up
to speed regarding the story line.
As he did, though, he noticed there were some inconsistencies with
Shakespeare's original drama. The story progressed faster, the philosophical
soliloquies were cut to bare bones and the audience roared with laughter each
time one of the characters stepped to the forefront of the stage and delivered
the lines.
"Women ain't women, Doc," Jak said.
And it was true. Doc had already noticed that, as well. "In the playwright's
day, acting wasn't a respectable profession for a woman. Evidently these
people are conforming to the spirit of those days."
"Mebbe so," Jak replied. "But you look around, you see mostly men in here."
Doc did look and found the albino's observation uncomfortably on the nose.
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Then the play took a very sadistic bent, becoming more and more violent. Romeo
and Mercutio massacred the guards that came at them. Crimson blood spurted
from the swords, covering the actors, victors and victims. The iron-based
smell of the crimson liquid told
Doc that the blood was real. He sat stunned as the play wound down to its
conclusion, which was entirely different from Shakespeare's version.
With flashing moves, Romeo cut the pants from Juliet, then bent the man
roughly over
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nds%2035%20-%20Bitter%20Fruit.html the bed. The actor's pale rear end jutted
up. Using his free hand, Romeo whipped the man's butt in feverish excitement.
"Enough," Jak said, leaning back and looking away from the stage.
Doc couldn't take any more, either. He looked away and saw the man who could
be no other than Long Johnson, the pirate captain. The man stood nearly seven
feet tall, and was broad across the shoulders. His full beard hung to nearly
midchest, balanced by his long, flowing hair that spilled down his shoulders.
The hair and beard were both glazed with oil of some type, adding a shiny
luster to them that was further emphasized by the slow-burning fuses twisted
up in the curls. The fuses spit and sparked from the orange coals at their
centers.
The pirate captain was dressed as a dandy, the suit he wore evidently the work
of an accomplished seamstress. He carried a thick briarwood cane. His face,
even in the gentling of the shadows, was a harsh canvas depicting decades of
hard living. A livid purple scar nearly bisected his left cheek, looking like
a fat worm laid just under the flesh.
"Long Johnson!" Doc bellowed through his cupped hands.
The pirate snapped his head around, tracking the voice. His eyes narrowed in
the gloom.
Around him the half-dozen men and women wearing sailors' loose clothing [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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