Jack and Henry: A Shakespearean Chimera by Rachel Rodman continued...
Act 4
"Naked in bed...and not mean harm!
It is hypocrisy against the devil:
They that mean virtuously, and yet do so,
The devil their virtue tempts, and they tempt heaven."
-Othello
They That Mean Virtuously
One evening, the sisters summoned a high-born person-one whose existence they had not previously suspected. They were excited by this discovery...and yet also deeply hurt.
"You never told me you had a brother," Claudia (or was it Polonia?) accused Henry, one evening at dinner. "And not just a brother," said the second sister. "A twin."
Henry set down his dinner knife very stiffly. For a moment, he was silent. "He died when we were twelve," he said finally. His tone was hollow. Each sister reached out a hand, as if in sympathy, but he shook them away. "The grief of it drove my father to claim this throne...which did not belong to him." At this, he sobbed a little, while covering his face.
He refused to divulge anything else. He refused, above all, to attend a séance, at which the two brothers might again greet one another, after so many years apart. His final words on the subject were a threat: "Stay away from his body."
Secretly-though not expressly against Henry's orders-the two sisters continued to speak with his brother's spirit. His name was Cassio. Over the course of many sessions, they pieced together a story of a special bond. They laughed at Cassio's anecdotes-stories from the boys' youth, when the two had played pranks on their parents and friends, each predicated upon the twins' near-identical appearances.
"The twin bond is very special," all three of them agreed. When these meetings were over, the two living women wiped their eyes-partly from laughter, but mostly from grief.
After Cassio's summoning, Henry regressed quickly. As in his youth, he spent most of his nights at the tavern. Sometimes, he caroused with the whole demon crew, orchestrating pranks with pigs' blood. Often, however, he just sat with Jack, unburdening himself at his shoulder.
One night, while particularly drunk, he confessed that he had killed his twin brother. "It was an accident," he said. "An error with a bow, while we were both hunting." Afterwards-fortuitously, or disastrously-wild boars had attacked Cassio's body. Their damage had covered up the primary wound, and no one had ever suspected Henry.
After that confession, Henry was very vulnerable. With apparent gentleness (which Henry appreciated), Jack worked to comfort him. Over the course of many nights, he attempted to re-frame Henry's crime within a new set of considerations. What Henry had done was, of course, very bad. But it was-said Jack-only one node within a larger network of tragedies. Cassio's death had, in fact, established a framework for additional crimes. For these later misdeeds, Henry could bear no responsibility.
At Jack's instruction, Henry began to perceive two pivotal truths. He saw, first, that a woman like Claudia-of demon blood!-would never respect the distinction between a man and a child, between a living person and a dead person, or between her husband and his twin. He saw, second, that a dead adolescent, like Cassio, would take any opportunity to cuckold his killer...particularly if the wife, like Claudia, were exceptionally beautiful.
There was also physical evidence-letters, handkerchiefs, and perfumes. Each night, Jack laid a new piece on the table, accompanied by an explanation of its place of discovery. Each seemed incontrovertible. Eventually, Henry could no longer bear to evaluate them. Against Jack's shoulder, in rage and sorrow, he simply keened.
Many mornings, after returning from the tavern, Henry watched his wife sleep. On one occasion-the last occasion-he found that he utterly loathed her. As he watched her, explicit images of infidelity pounded through his drunken head. In them, his wife (marked by his ring) and his dead, underage brother (marked by his arrow) engaged in wild, sweaty copulation...all while sniggering about Henry's obtuseness.
He felt that, whatever the consequences, he could not bear her continued existence.
He pushed back her arm, in order examine her inner elbow-just to be sure. As he touched her, she began to rouse. In her eyes, when they fluttered open, there was annoyance...then fear.
"Say your prayers, Claudia," he said. Quickly-not waiting for her answer-he raised a pillow to her face. He pushed it down firmly, persisting through her struggles, until he was certain that she was dead.
When he was finished, he lay back on the bed, at some distance from the body. Soon-without knocking-Polonia (or...was it Claudia?) burst through the door. Her face was wild, and her nightgown's clasps were only partially secured. "Sister!" she cried.
Henry sat up quickly. A fleeting conviction that Polonia was Claudia struck him, at that moment, with a terrible fear...and a dark hope. He was also startled that his smothering-such a quiet affair-had been discovered so quickly.
A deeper part of him, however, understood. He remembered the depth of the bond, linking twin to twin. The moment that Cassio had died, he remembered experiencing an intense spiritual shock-something quite separate from his guilt. Even if-he knew-they had been separated by many miles, he would still have known that Cassio was dead.
He gestured towards the heap beside him, which was mostly hidden by the sheets. "She has paid for her infidelity," he said hoarsely.
Polonia screamed. She flung herself over Claudia's body, feverishly kissing it. Into the dead ears, she murmured desperate incantations, as if she might revive her sister. At last, she seemed to despair of it. With a weird Danish war cry-something like a yodel-she barreled towards Henry. "She was chaste, you fool," she said. "And she even loved you."
At the edge of the bed, she punched Henry repeatedly-face, neck, gut. He did not particularly resist her. She seemed so much like Claudia that he actually took great comfort in it. It was as if-thank God!-his rage had cooled in time, and he had not really killed her.
Finally, Polonia drew back. "I have always wanted to do this..." she said, brandishing a dagger, which she had extracted from some invisible sheath, "...but Claudia would never let me." Muttering a few guttural words-an incantation?-she stabbed Henry in the arm. He drew back, in a delirious sob, "Claudia! Claudia!"
Polonia rolled to the ground. On a bare part of the floor, she sketched a séance circle, using the bloodied knife tip. Inside the circle, she dribbled the remaining blood, forming two arcane symbols. Standing back, she delivered a second set of guttural words.
Soon, in the air above each symbol, a human spirit appeared. Each was intimately connected to Henry's blood.
The first-a thin, bluish flame of a figure, barely more than a boy-was Cassio. He possessed wings now, though he had not on earth. "Claudia was nothing but a friend to me," the spirit said, and started to cry. His sobs were infinitely reproachful.
The second figure (at long, strange last!) was his father. He appeared as he had in the old dream-the same costume, the same stance. His surroundings (a lava bank in Hell, flanked by the damned) were, however, infinitely clearer. The addition of Henry's own blood to the séance circle had sharpened the sound and picture, and Polonia's skill had further refined it.
"I was murdered, Henry..." his father said, just as he had, scores of times before. This time, however, his voice was perfectly steady, and static obscured it. There was, in addition, a second part, which Henry had never heard before.
"...I was murdered by your fat demon friend."
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