Chapter 14 #2
Dominic rather agreed. “Then how did you learn? Is there something inherently good in you? I can see that there might be.”
The boy rolled his eyes. “Don’t be ridiculous. We’re all born the same, we are. It’s Miss Celia and Miss Emilia and their father, Lord Hector. They’re the ones who’ve taught me that I’m worthwhile, that there’s something good in me worth fighting for. And that maybe not everybody is terrible.”
“I see,” he said.
Micheal was silent for a long moment, and he stared off as if lost somewhere. “My little sister died last year. That was hard.”
That tightness in Dominic’s throat only increased. “I’m so sorry.”
Micheal shrugged. “Don’t be. Happens all the time.”
But the way the boy spoke belied his response.
“What did she die of?” Dominic asked gently.
“We don’t know. She got sick one day and she just couldn’t get better.
Miss Celia and Miss Emilia tried to get doctors and medicine, but the air where we live, it’s bad, you see.
We live close to a lot of factories right along the river.
And sometimes people just die, you know?
From poisons. Poisons in water. The air…
Or in the ear, like Hamlet’s father. He just died and Hamlet can’t get over it. ”
Dominic was stunned by the honesty of the conversation and found himself wishing to escape, but he forced himself to listen. “And you’ve gotten over the death of your sister?”
“Don’t be bloody mad. Of course I haven’t.
” The boy’s brow furrowed. “I’ll remember my little sister till the day I die.
And I remember how she died too, the suffering, the look on her face when she struggled for her last breath.
My mama, she carries that with her every day.
And sometimes I worry that she will succumb herself to the sorrow in her heart.
But death is just a part of life. We all die, don’t we?
So we can’t be afraid of it, and we can’t spend what little life we have in total sorrow.
So that’s why I’m here, and that’s why I love Shakespeare, and that’s why I have to do these plays because they give me happiness. And that’s important too, you know?”
How he wanted to agree. But he had not made peace with death as the boy had. If he thought too much on his father’s death, on his mother’s shocking death from consumption, leaving him to face the world alone because his father was so lost in feeling…
Dominic blinked. “What a treatise on the importance of the arts.”
Michael peered at him. “I’m telling you for a reason. You know that, don’t you, Your Grace?”
“I don’t follow,” he said, listening to him carefully, half dreading the explanation.
The boy drew back his shoulders as if he was being very brave when he said factually, “’Cause I see it in you.”
“What?” he gasped.
“You’re not unlike Hamlet. You and me, we understand him, don’t we?”
He sucked in a soft breath. “Yes, I suppose we do.”
“You best be careful,” the boy warned. “You’ll end up like him. Alone.”
“Why would you say that?” he said, shocked at the boy’s summation.
“’Cause you’re afraid of suffering.”
He blinked. “That’s not true. I have suffered a great deal in my life.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean you’re not afraid of it, Your Grace. It’s reasonable to be afraid of suffering. We want to avoid it, don’t we? But you can’t, you know?”
He sucked in a soft breath. “I might try.”
The boy let out a dry laugh. “You can try if you want to. You can’t even stop the suffering for others, but it’s good that you’re trying.”
With that, the young boy turned and ran off. He stood shaken, then looked to Celia, who lifted her gaze from the different fabrics and from the young lady playing Ophelia, and his heart swelled.
Good God, that boy. He’d said things that couldn’t possibly be true.
He wasn’t obsessed with avoiding suffering.
He was obsessed with ending it, and that was a very different thing.
He would somehow prove the young lad wrong.
The young lad just saw himself in everyone, and that was why he had said those things. And it’s what made him a good actor.
But as he crossed over to Celia and smiled at her, and she smiled back at him, he felt his heart spasm.
She was the most important thing in his life after his goal now. How had that happened? He’d wanted her, he couldn’t stop thinking about her, and she was going to be his. He’d gotten everything that he wanted, but now that he had it, there was a terror inside him.
He slipped his hand into hers.
“Are you doing all right?” he asked.
“Very well,” she said. “We’re about to run some scenes. Would you like to watch?”
“Of course I would,” he said.
He looked around the room at all the children there and wondered how many of them had lost a sister or a brother or a parent.
Probably most of them. He was not singular in his suffering for the loss of his father and mother.
No, he was part of a vast, unpleasant club.
And he was very glad the children had Celia.
He wondered if he’d had something like this when he was young if he would be different now.
But he hadn’t. And he was who he was. There was no changing that.