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covering up for. She's going to smile the devil-smile and weave those white
twig-fingers at you, all eight of them. And Birnam Wood'll come to Dunsinane
and you'll be burnt at the stake by men in armor or drawn and quartered by
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eight-legged monkeys that talk or torn apart by wild centaurs or whirled
through the roof to the moon without being dressed for it or sent burrowing
into the past to stifle in Iowa 1948 or Egypt 4,008 B.C. The screen won't keep
her out.
Then a head of hair pushed over the screen. But it was
black-bound-with-silver, Brahma bless us, and a moment later Martin was giving
me one of his rare smiles.
I said, "Marty, do something for me. Don't ever use Miss Nefer's footsteps
again. Her voice, okay, if you have to. But not the footsteps. Don't ask me
why, just don't."
Martin came around and sat on the foot of my cot. My legs were already doubled
up. He
[180]straightened out his blue-and-gold skirt and rested a hand on my black
sneakers.
"Feeling a little wonky, Greta?" he asked. "Don't worry about me. Banquo's
dead and so's his ghost.
We've finished the Banquet Scene. I've got lots of time."
I just looked at him, queerly I guess. Then without lifting my head I asked
him, "Martin, tell me the truth.
Does the dressing room move around?"
I was talking so low that he hitched a little closer, not touching me anywhere
else though.
"The Earth's whipping around the sun at 20 miles a second," he replied, "and
the dressing room goes with it."
I shook my head, my cheek scrubbing the pillow, "I mean ... shifting," I said.
"By itself."
"How?" he asked.
"Well," I told him, "I've had this idea it's just a sort of fancy,
remember that if you wanted to time-travel and, well, do things, you could
hardly pick a more practical machine than a dressing room and sort of stage
and half-theater attached, with actors to man it. Actors can fit in anywhere.
They're used to learning new parts and wearing strange costumes. Heck, they're
even used to traveling a lot. And if an actor's a bit strange nobody thinks
anything of [181]it he's almost expected to be foreign, it's an asset to him."
"And a theater, well, a theater can spring up almost anywhere and nobody ask
questions, except the
zoning authorities and such and they can always be squared. Theaters come and
go. It happens all the time. They're transitory. Yet theaters are crossroads,
anonymous meeting places, anybody with a few bucks or sometimes nothing at all
can go. And theaters attract important people, the sort of people you might
want to do something to. Caesar was stabbed in a theater. Lincoln was shot in
one. And...."
My voice trailed off. "A cute idea," he commented.
I reached down to his hand on my shoe and took hold of his middle finger as a
baby might.
"Yeah," I said, "But Martin, is it true?"
He asked me gravely, "What do you think?"
I didn't say anything.
"How would you like to work in a company like that?" he asked speculatively.
"I don't really know," I said.
He sat up straighter and his voice got brisk. "Well, all fantasy aside, how'd
you like to work in this company?" He asked, lightly slapping my ankle. "On
the stage, I mean. Sid thinks [182]you're ready for some of the smaller parts.
In fact, he asked me to put it to you. He thinks you never take him
seriously."
"Pardon me while I gasp and glow," I said. Then, "Oh Marty, I can't really
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imagine myself doing the tiniest part."
"Me neither, eight months ago," he said. "Now, look. Lady Macbeth."
"But Marty," I said, reaching for his finger again, "you haven't answered my
question. About whether it's true."
"Oh that!" he said with a laugh, switching his hand to the other side. "Ask me
something else."
"Okay," I said, "why am I bugged on the number eight? Because I'm permanently
behind a private
8-ball?"
"Eight's a number with many properties," he said, suddenly as intently serious
as he usually is. "The corners of a cube."
"You mean I'm a square?" I said. "Or just a brick? You know, 'She's a brick.'"
"But eight's most curious property," he continued with a frown, "is that lying [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]

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