The thought gave her such a fit of trembling that both John and Evan turned to look at her. She made herself calm, gave them both smiles, and concentrated on the story unfolding so perfectly in front of her, finally drawing to a close with Frederick's discovery of Kronstein's imposture (it was remarkable, she thought, how closely Wallace Drummond resembled Dennis), the final duel in which Frederick runs Kronstein through, and Frederick's final speech to the people, telling them that if he is killed leading his army against Wohlstein, the people will be his heirs, and democracy reign.
Then came the reprise of the song, 'A Private Empire.' Dennis's voice, expression, movements all blended together to break Ann's heart as he sang of his lost love, and how he would soon be with her again, and the two of them would dwell forever in an empire of their own making, a realm of transcendent love. As the strings faded away on the last line, the trumpets entered, blaring martially, and Dennis straightened, blinked away tears, and marched upstage, his back to the audience, to lead his army into glory and to meet his own dearly sought for death.
The curtain fell, the music ended, and Ann thought she had never before heard such an absolute silence in an occupied theatre. Then the applause began, from the dozens of technicians and costume people who, no longer needed at the show's end, had come into the auditorium to watch the final scene. The curtain opened, the orchestra played the bows music, and the curtain call began, the chorus and dancers entering first, the secondary principals coming out in pairs or alone, and finally Dennis, striding through the great door center stage, sweeping imperially downstage, the company bursting into a tremendous ovation at the miracle they had seen occur over the last week, Dennis bowing low, accepting the applause as his due, but finding Ann's eye and smiling at her, letting her know that the imperiousness was an act, but that he could and was by God acting it.
Then he dropped the character of the Emperor like an old cloak, and beamed at the company, embracing them in turn, causing Steinberg to mutter, 'I hope he remembers that the performance is tomorrow night …”
'It was hard just getting here, John,' Ann said. 'Let him enjoy it, can't you?'
Steinberg nodded grudgingly. 'All right. But I'd rather he waited until tomorrow to congratulate himself.'
Everyone got out of their costumes, then came down into the auditorium for the notes that followed every run-through. Quentin pointed out a few dance errors, and Dex cautioned the chorus about a certain vocal entrance that was less than sharp. Finally Quentin nodded and smiled. 'I think we've got a very nice show here, ladies and gentlemen. But the proof of that will be tomorrow night. We'll have a full house, all paying a pretty penny. And there will be dozens of press people here as well. As we've discussed before, feel free to talk to them, but have no comment about any of the… tragedies that occurred here, or any disquieting feelings you might have about working here. I think your performances tonight proved that there's certainly no curse on this place.
'But don't relax. Stay sharp. I liked what I saw tonight, and I think we'll knock everyone's socks off tomorrow. Go home, get some rest, do something lovely and relaxing tomorrow during the day, think pleasant thoughts, and show up at… Curt?'
'Seven o'clock call,' Curt said.
'Fine. Dennis? Anything you'd like to add?'
Dennis stood up and faced the company. 'I'd just like to thank you all. You've done a wonderful job in a very short time. You've given up some shows that might have advanced your careers in order to do this. ..” He chuckled. “… extremely short run…”
The company laughed, and one wag called out, 'You paid for it, Dennis!' making them laugh again.
'I guess I did,' he said, and the look on his face ended the laughter. 'But thank you all anyway. I appreciate it. I'm sure tomorrow night will be fine. Thank you all, and break a leg.'
On their way to the car, Ann clutched his arm, grateful for the nearness of him, happy for his success. 'You must be tired,' she said.
'No. Surprisingly enough, I'm not. I feel good. I feel so good I'm almost afraid of it.'
'Don't be. You were wonderful tonight, and you'll only be better tomorrow.”
“I'll try,' he said, and suddenly she was afraid, hearing his own fear, and wished the next night had already come and gone.
Scene 8
Abe Kipp had found God again. He had forsaken Him in Europe, after he had seen his friends die, seen what war did to people. After the Big One, he had wanted nothing more to do with God.
But now Abe had changed his mind. He had been raised Roman Catholic, but had never been serious enough about the faith to seriously become a practitioner of the art of guilt. Only the aftermath of Harry Ruhl's death had done that for him, and he went to confession after several weeks of self-condemnation, entering the booth as though it were a euthanasia chamber.
'Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.' He remembered the words, not from experience, but from the movies.
'How long has it been since your last confession, my son?'
That was a toughie. He quickly subtracted in his head. 'Thirty-five… no, make that forty-five years, Father.'
There was a short silence from the other side of the screen. 'Forty-five years, my son?'
Abe thought for a moment, and gave the church the full truth. 'Actually nearer fifty, Father.' A half century of absolution, thought Abe. By the time I'm done, I could be dead of old age.
But Abe didn't let the time element stop him. He told the priest everything he could remember, fifty years worth of sins, ending with the tormenting that had driven Harry Ruhl to his death.
The priest gave him absolution. Though Abe didn't see how a few spoken words on the priest's part and a few more spoken on his own could save his soul from hell, he was quite willing to go along with the deal, and felt much better as he left the church.
He felt better for all of three hours, until he tried to go to sleep, and the guilt came back to torture him again, robbing him of sleep, making his stomach feel cold with a coldness that neither whiskey nor tea could warm.
After he found Cristina dead, he thought that might be the end of it, that it might have been God's way of punishing him, by taking one of the only things that he loved and killing it. But after a while, he didn't think that God would really do that, especially if the priest said that he was forgiven.
Abe enjoyed the time away from the Venetian Theatre, after Mr. Hamilton had decided to close the place up and go back to New York. He watched a lot of television and read some books, since when he did those things he couldn't think about what had happened at the theatre. When Mrs. Deems called and told him when they would be coming back, he discovered that he did not want to return to the theatre, because, as he had learned to believe in God again, so he had also learned to believe in the existence of something else supernatural, the very things with which he had teased Harry Ruhl.
Abe Kipp had learned to believe in ghosts.
It made no difference that he had been working in the Venetian Theatre for decades and had never seen a trace of evidence of the reality of spirits. That was then and this was now, and Abe, his shell of materialism cracked by Harry Ruhl's death and his resultant reacceptance of his childhood faith, felt the same fear at being alone in the theatre as he had forty years before when Billy Potts had told him the ghost stories for the first time…
They'll come ta getcha, Abe, don'tcha turn yer back. They'll getcha sure you don't watch out and be careful and say yer prayers and carry a cross…
And he had carried a cross, in spite of his disbelief after the war, a little gold one that had belonged to his mother. And each time he went into the theatre alone he had said prayers to a god in whom he did not believe, and looked over his shoulder a thousand times a day, looked for the Big Swede…
His head 'n chest's all messed up, crunched by that sandbag 'at kilt 'im. He got jes half a face, I seen it oncet, and the half thet's left smiles at ya when he tries to push ya offa the flies down onta the stage where he died…
… looked for the Blue Darling…
She's so damn pretty you think it's a little girl got lost and is lookin' for her mama, wears a pretty blue dress and got pretty blue eyes, and she reaches out to take yer hand, but don't you let her. She touched me oncet, and her hand was jes's cold as the grave cuz' at's where she's from, come to see aVaudeville ' n fell offa the balcony. ..
… looked, especially, for Mad Mary, the worst of all…
Just lookin' at her makes ya half crazy yerself. She was a actress whose boyfriend left her 'n she found out about it here in this theatre 'n she waited after the show till everyone else left and then she hanged herself offa the
