The Fundy Vault Page 20

  “But first, let’s make food!” Mark said. “I’m starving.”

  “What did you bring?”

  “I’m making burgers. You have a barbecue, right?”

  “Of course,” I said. “Right over there by the porch steps.”

  “I’ll do the salad,” Ellie said.

  “And I’ll open the wine…right now,” Cym said. “I’ll bring you a glass, Roz.”

  The girls disappeared into the house, while Mark lit the grill.

  I dropped into the Adirondack.

  “Great!” I said. “Looks like you guys have got this.”

  Chapter 28

  Our first day of work in the arts centre studio was painstaking but exhilarating. Regan called early to say she wouldn’t be able to join us until noon, but we jumped right in, looking at Footfalls, a short play, only five pages long.

  “So the cast is two women,” I said. “One of them, May, is visible. The other, Voice, is offstage, as though in another room, or another world. We’ll just start with this image of May horizontally pacing back and forth across the stage. Let’s all try it to see what it feels like…one two three four five six seven, wheel, and back the other way four five six seven, wheel.” The actors continued the pacing and began to find the rhythm. “Voice says, ‘Watch how feat she wheels.’”

  “Is feat a pun on feet?” Ellie asked.

  “It makes us think of feet,” I said, “but it also makes us realize how well-practiced she is—like she’s been doing it forever. Later, Voice tells us that May had the carpet removed, saying, ‘I must hear the feet, however faint they fall.’”

  We went through the first section, with Cym reading May and Ellie reading Voice.

  “Let’s look at the next section,” I said, “which May calls ‘Sequel.’ This is where the ghost story emerges more clearly. Let’s see if we can break it down.”

  “This is my favourite part from Sequel, Roz,” Cym said. “May is speaking, and I’m going to read all the stage directions that Beckett puts in too.”

  “Go for it,” I said, impressed that she had studied it.

  She began: “‘The semblance. (Faint, though by no means invisible, in a certain light.) (Pause.) Grey rather than white, a pale shade of grey. (Pause.) Tattered. (Pause.) A tangle of tatters. (Pause.) A faint tangle of pale grey tatters.’”

  Cym stopped and looked us. “I mean, ‘a faint tangle of pale grey tatters’—she’s a ghost!” She continued reading. “‘(Pause.) Watch it pass—(pause)—watch her pass –before the candelabrum, how its flames, their light….like moon through passing rack.’”

  “That’s ghosty,” Mark said. “First he says, ‘watch it pass,’ and then corrects to ‘her’.”

  “And that line—‘like moon through passing rack.’ What is ‘passing rack’?” Ellie asked.

  I was prepared. “‘Rack’ is an obscure word for a mass of clouds driven before a wind in the upper air. So with that phrase, Beckett is likening the apparition’s pale grey tattered image as she passes in front of the candelabra to clouds as they obscure and reveal the moon.” I looked at my notes. “One of the definitions of ‘semblance’ is ‘apparition,’” I said. “Or ‘an appearance or outward seeming of something which is not actually there.’”

  Mark said, “There are other clues in the text that she’s an apparition, like ‘slipping through the locked door,’ and ‘vanishing the way she came.’”

  “You’re right, this is spooky!” Ellie said. “In fact, I’m getting all creeped out!”

  “I’m actually loving this ghost idea as a theme for which pieces we choose,” I said. “Let’s see what else we can find.”

  “We could call it ‘Ghosty Bits from Beckett,’” Cym said.

  “Can we look at That Time?” Mark said.

  “You’re tuned in, Mark, ” I said. “Beckett wrote That Time in ’76—the same year he wrote Footfalls. He wrote them both for the Royal Court Theatre’s celebration of his seventieth birthday.”

  “Listen to this from That Time.” Mark began to read: “‘Not a living soul in the place only yourself and the odd attendant drowsing around in his felt shufflers not a sound to be heard only every now and then a shuffle of felt drawing near then dying away.’”

  “They’re the footfalls of the attendant,” Cym said.

  “Yes! Great connection,” I said.

  Suddenly the sun broke into the room, startling us as the door opened. It was Corporal Monaghan poking her head in.

  “Riley! Have you got a hankering to read some Beckett?”

  “Sorry to interrupt, Roz. I just need a minute.”

  Riley and I left the room and went into the hallway. Through the closed door, I could hear Cym say, “Wow—who was that? Is she single?”

  “Let’s step outside,” I said. We went into the yard and wandered over towards the barn.

  “The medical examiner’s gotten back to me, Roz. Aurelia was in fact poisoned. An overdose of the date rape drug GHB killed her. It’s an anesthetic—and you have to be really careful with it.”

  “So that story Jacob told us about her being dragged like a rag doll into the SUV makes sense,” I said.

  Riley nodded. “And, there was no water in her lungs so she was dead before she was in the bay.”

  “Awful,” I said.

  “I know. Detective Arbuckle’s on his way here to interview the manager and waiters at the restaurant this afternoon to see if anybody remembers anything. I’m going to join him there.”

  “I’m with you in spirit,” I said. “Let me know if you find anything out.”

  “Tonight Arbuckle and I are heading to the airport to fly to the States. The information from Aurelia’s article should help him track down the CEO of Harness Energy, and he wants to start investigating all that stuff right away.”

  “He doesn’t waste a minute. So you’re going to Boston and he’s going to Pennsylvania?”

  “I’m going to Boston—that’s all I know at this point.”

  A car was coming down the long driveway. It was Regan arriving from the city.

  “Our missing actor has arrived,” I said.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Riley said, as she got into the cruiser.

  Regan was parking and I went over to welcome her and bring her into the rehearsal room.

  After greetings, hugs, and Regan’s rant about the horrors of grant writing, we told her about our ghost theme idea.

  “That fits with Beckett’s Play too,” Regan said. “I mean, three people in urns…they’re definitely ghosts.”

  “Yes,” I said, “and condemned to going over and over the same infidelity forever.”

  “Although, that is kind of what people do in life…” Cym said.

  “You would know, ” Mark said.

  “Okay, you guys,” I said. “Save it for later.”

  Ellie said, “What about Rockabye? The ghosty rocker that won’t stop rocking—‘Dead one night, in the rocker, in her best black, head fallen,…rocking away….’”

  “But the theme and tone of those pieces is very different from Catastrophe, don’t you think?” Regan countered. “I mean, Catastrophe is stylized, but very much in our world today. A world where torture happens. How do we bring all that together with the ghost theme?”

  “Well, a theme is not a rule, and at this stage we’re exploring,” I reminded them. “It’s tempting to include Catastrophe.”

  “We have to,” Mark said. “I really want to do it.”

  “Well then—why not?” I said. “It will be interesting for us to see how it goes.”

  By the end of that first day our brains were addled from trying to absorb so many Beckett pieces.

  “Okay, tomorrow morning we’ll just shake it down and choose, and then work like crazy on them,” I said, wrapping up. “We’ll start with Come
and Go first thing. I mean, it’s perfect for you three.” I looked at the women, who responded by grabbing each other’s hands and reciting the final line together: “I can feel the rings.”

  “So bring your old-lady hats, and we’ll dig around here and hopefully find a bench,” I said.

  “I brought a bench. It’s in the van,” Mark said. “So are the hats.” We all looked at him. “Can’t help it, girls. I’m psychic.”

  “Also,” I said, “a reminder that I’ve asked Sophie to read the final section of Eh Joe in the presentation, so we’ll figure out how that fits into the order of things.”

  We bumped into Heather on our way out. I introduced her, and asked if we could invite the company of actors who had just arrived and were rehearsing for the centre’s summer show. She said she would spread the word. “Friday at seven!” I said.

  “I’ll definitely be there,” said Heather.

  “Come on, guys,” Mark said, “let’s unpack the rest of the stuff, so it will all be in the room if we need it tomorrow.”

  As the company followed Mark out, Heather said, “So you remember Jacob who works with us part-time…did you hear about him being abducted from his house?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m really worried about him,” she said.

  “Me too.”

  The next day, we continued the work and settled on an order by dinnertime. After working through Catastrophe, we decided to include it. I’d brought the chopping block from the cottage to serve as the plinth that The Protagonist stands on. And Mark produced an enormous prop cigar for The Director’s role, being read in drag by Regan sporting a large moustache. We set up the space with a couple of folding black flats on either side of the playing area to create wings. The troupe organized all their props and various costume and set pieces to whichever side would keep the action flowing.

  “This is the problem with minimalism,” I said, looking at everything. “Too much stuff!”

  Friday morning was upon us. The actors headed into Canning to get breakfast at Al’s Diner and I was eating my oatmeal and talking to the cat when McBride and Sophie arrived at the cottage.

  “I wasn’t expecting you until this afternoon,” I said to Sophie.

  She gestured towards McBride. “He’s been commandeered,” she said, and went out to get her things from Ruby Sube.

  “For what?” I said to McBride.

  “I’m off to Kentville, doing a little digging into the recent activities of Regional Superintendent Dudgeon.”

  I looked at him. “So…there’s been a development?”

  “According to Arbuckle, one of the wait staff at The Tempest remembered the three of them, and recognized a photo of Dudgeon.”

  “So Arbuckle contacted you?”

  “He called me Wednesday night from the airport, asked if I’d follow up. I made an appointment with Dudgeon’s secretary to meet with him later today. I was planning to drive Sophie up here anyway.”

  “Be careful, McBride. You know that if you corner him, anything could happen.”

  “You think?” he said, grinning. “I’ll see you tonight—7 p.m!”

  Sophie travelled with me to rehearsal.

  “McBride looks great!” I said to her.

  “Fast recovery eh? He’s way better…and he was happy to get that call from Arbuckle. He’s champing at the bit!” She looked at me. “Don’t worry, Roz, he’ll be careful.”

  We arrived at the centre. The actors’ van pulled in beside us, and we all got out. They welcomed Sophie, and we stood for a moment in the sun and took some deep breaths.

  “Ready to work?” I said to them all.

  “You bet!”

  “Here we go. Let’s put it together.”

  Chapter 29

  People came to the reading. Björn and Grace arrived early, and took a stroll through the fields, Björn stooping over every now and again to pick up a rock. Jeffrey was a surprise. I knew his wife was away visiting their daughter in New Brunswick so he was on his own. I was relieved that he didn’t show up with George. Frida and Genevieve arrived. I greeted them warmly. In the circumstances, I couldn’t tell Genevieve what we now knew about Aurelia, but explained that much had transpired and assured her I would soon come to the library to fill her in. I told Frida I would be returning the book Aurelia had borrowed.

  The actors and designers from the resident company burbled in, and the three rows of seats quickly began to fill.

  “I’m nervous,” I said to Heather. “And it’s just a reading.”

  “Yeah, but it’s never just a reading is it? We’re always on the line—and isn’t that exactly where we want to be?”

  “You’re right,” I said. “On the line. That’s exactly where we want to be.”

  A couple of minutes after seven, when everyone was settled, I went up front to welcome the crowd. I was just about to speak when McBride slipped in and grabbed a seat at the end of the row, nearest the door.

  “Okay. Hello…welcome! We’re thrilled you’re all here. We’re at the beginning of an exploration of Samuel Beckett’s short works, which the company hopes to tour this fall. This is a reading of eight short pieces. We have minimal lights, actors holding books, carrying the odd chair on and off—you know the drill.”

  There were murmurs of recognition from the theatre crowd. “There’ll be no intermission and it’s just a little over an hour. We’d prefer you to hold applause between pieces and allow the whole thing to flow as one. Let’s see…oh, right—we brought refreshments! So if you can stay afterwards, please join us across the hall in the art gallery. We’d like that.”

  At that moment the door pushed open a crack. We could hear whispering from the hallway, but no one came in. “Tell whoever it is that they’re welcome,” I said to Heather. “It’s not too late. It’s fine.”

  Heather went over and opened the door. She gasped and put her hand to her mouth. We all stared as Jacob entered the room, accompanied by Corporal Monaghan, Donald Arbuckle, Jacob’s mother, and his sister.

  “Thank heavens!” Heather said, reaching out to give Jacob a hug. Various people in the audience who knew Jacob from the centre nodded and gave him the thumbs up and things got a bit chaotic and chatty as they found seats. Riley and Arbuckle came over to me. “Sorry for the disruption, Roz,” Riley said. “Didn’t want to miss this. We’ll fill you in afterwards.”

  “I can’t believe you’re here!” I said. “Make yourselves comfortable. We’re just getting ready to start.”

  I looked at Arbuckle. “So you decided to check out my other life?”

  “I’m thinking about a career change,” he said with a wry grin.

  He and Riley took a couple of seats at the end of the second row. Jacob sat in front of them with Heather, and everyone got quiet again. “Great,” I said. “Now, we really are all here.”

  The playing area had been pre-set for the first piece with a simple bench, centre. The three girls had memorized their lines for Come and Go to get things off to a good start.

  “Just for the beginning of the show,” I said to the audience, “close your eyes and imagine the lights going to black. I’ll say ‘okay’ when its time to open them.” The audience, as one, closed their eyes.

  Flo, Vi, and Ru, the three old ladies in their big hats, came out from the wings and got quickly into position on the bench, while I went and took a seat in the first row.

  “Okay,” I said softly to the audience.

  The audience collectively opened their eyes, and the evening began with Ru’s line “When did we three last meet?” The pieces flew by—each like a strange jewel with its own particular light. After Footfalls, Sophie entered, placed her chair, and began to read the last section of Eh Joe. Her voice was so intimate, the audience was mesmerized. Soon she came to the final phrases:

  “Lies down in the end with her face
a few feet from the tide…clawing at the shingle now…Finishes the pills…there’s love for you…Eh Joe? Scoops a little cup for her face in the stones…the green one…The narrow one…always pale…the pale eyes…The look they shed before…The way they opened after…Spirit made light.”

  Then, as Sophie exited, the exquisite strains of Schubert’s “Nacht und Traume” sung by Dietrich Fischer-Dieskau filled the space, underscoring the final piece—a remarkably simple dream of solace—and then “fade to silence.” It was over.

  There was a moment of profound stillness and then the audience burst into applause and wouldn’t stop clapping. When we talked about it later, we were pretty certain that Beckett’s warm ghosty spirit had been right there in the room with us.

  The audience and actors crowded into the art gallery for refreshments, but Jacob remained in his seat. Arbuckle and Riley were there just behind him. Sophie was at the other end of the row talking to McBride.

  I went straight to Jacob. “So no problems crossing the border?” I said.

  “Not in the company of Corporal Monaghan,” he said, glancing back at her. “It all went smooth, though I’m pretty sure most of the passengers thought I was a convict.”

  “I see. And how are you?”

  “Truth is, I was doing okay…until Sophie read. I guess it just…cut a little too close to home.”

  Then, just like that, he began to sob.

  As I watched him, I had an alarming vision.

  I could see what had really happened.

  Why the death-image that Sophie presented had brought it all back for him.

  “Jacob…it was you who tied Aurelia into the tree, wasn’t it?” I said.

  Arbuckle and Riley had become quiet.

  Jacob looked at me. “I did find her in the cave, but it was too late. I tried to revive her—but she was gone.” He looked directly at me. “Her eyes were open—but she was gone. That tree was just there on the beach, right outside that cave, like it was waiting for her. One of the drivers had given me an American flag, and I climbed up through the undergrowth to my house and got it. I took some rope and put it in my boat and dragged it across the beach to the cave.