THEY REHEARSED FOR the remainder of the day. As soon as Pastor Simon had finished his service, the choir their last song and the gamblers had started rolling dice, Ned and Sam tabled off a corner of the room. The two copies of Romeo and Juliet were set on two wooden barrels and the players stood or sat, depending on who was speaking. If anyone dared to watch, one glance from the King sent them away.
Habs had a problem. ‘So I’m a Montague. I am a coloured man. My father is played by King Dick; Benvolio and Mercutio are my relatives, played by Sam and Ned. We are all coloured men. Not the same colour, it’s true – why Sam is lighter skinned than the rest of us, we’ll never know.’
Everyone laughed and Sam took a bow. ‘But Joe here is a Capulet,’ continued Habs. ‘And he is a white man, a rival, an ofay. There are many Capulets in the play – his parents, for example – so they got to be white, too. But Tommy here is the only other white-skinned actor we got.’ The crier flushed slightly at being called an actor but all eyes were still on Habs. ‘Now the French have gone, don’t we need to find us some new Capulets?’
Instinctively, everyone waited for the King to pronounce on this. Hunched on his box, hat folded across his lap, he chewed on the unlit pipe between his teeth.
‘We don’t have to do the full play, Mr Snow. You know how everyone gets … restless after a certain amount of time has passed. We gotta keep this one fast. So all them servants, fiddlers and musicians, they can go. Also, as I explained to Mr Hill here, we don’t need anyone. We can do this play with these players here right now.’ He stood and pointed the pipe stem at each of them in turn. ‘If Mr Hill can be playin’ a fourteen-year-old girl, you can all sure as hell play some white folks. It’s actin’, Mr Snow.’ The King was starting to uncoil now, expanding as he spoke, each word inflating him further. ‘But you do have a point so, yes, a couple o’ new actors might help tell our story. Mr Jackson, you know all the blocks better’n most. What d’you say?’
Tommy had only just stopped blushing after being referred to as an actor; now, being asked his opinion by King Dick sent his cheeks reddening furiously again.
‘Well. There was a – erm …’ He swallowed before continuing. ‘There was another theatre company in Five for a while but no one really went to their shows.’
Ned snorted. ‘They tried to charge a shillin’ for lettin’ folk in,’ he said. ‘That was their problem – well, one o’ many, if truth be told. The Heiress at Law they put on last, and it was so goddamn feeble. Every scene had goddamn sugar bowls and goddamn speeches like they all shitted soap. And I know for certain some of those players was intoxicated before they started. Two of ’em was sick all on each other, jus’ ’fore the interval. Biggest applause o’ the whole goddamn night. Soon after, their main man – Wells, I think it was – he caught the flu and died. Best thing for him, too. They ain’t done a goddamn show since.’
The King looked around and, catching Alex Daniels’s eye, summoned him over. ‘We need coffee an’ black fritters. Some freco stew, too. Here.’ He produced a handful of coins and slapped them into Alex’s outstretched hand. ‘Mr Mason outside o’ Two usually has the best, try him first. Tell him who it’s for.’
‘Yes, King Dick.’
As he and Jonathan scampered away, the King turned to Joe.
‘Mr Hill, did you bring any players in with you from the crew o’ the Eagle? It’s jus’ that, what no one has said jus’ yet, is that many here in this fine prison don’t wanna act with Negroes. They’ll shoot cannon with us, sink ships with us, but bein’ on a stage with us?’ The King feigned a shiver. ‘It’s not natural, you see.’
Joe considered the question. ‘No players that I could rightly say, King Dick,’ he answered. ‘There were no shows on the Eagle; we never had time to do much else than fight. We had five coloured sailors in all, but we never talked about … such matters. They all passed bravely when we lost the ship. I could ask Mr Goffe and Mr Lord if they’d be interested. They’re good men, sir.’
The King nodded slowly. ‘Ask ’em tonight. If they agree, bring ’em tomorrow; we have enough here for now. Sam, Habs: Act One. Benvolio and Romeo are talkin’ ’bout love and Benvolio is unimpressed with his cousin.’
‘Uh-huh, tha’s about right,’ said Sam.
They traded lines for thirty minutes more before Alex and Jonathan returned with food and drink. They all ate where they sat, the conversation, between mouthfuls, only of the theatre. ‘On my first ship,’ said the King, ‘there were two stewards. Both men outta Washington, both blacker than me and both had travelled to England many times. They seen so many plays, gone to so many theatres, it was all they spoke about. So they put on shows, right there on the ship. They shortened the plays, added a whole lot of singin’ and dancin’ to some Shakespeare, and I was hooked. Like a whale on a harpoon line. I’d never heard such words before, but it seemed to me, this boy outta Guinea, that this William Shakespeare, whoever he was, he knew ’bout my life. Knew ’bout my sadness, ’bout my trials, ’bout my joys. And that is why, Mr Hill, despite what some paintin’s might show, I know this man was coloured like me. I’ll hear no other view.’
Joe, with a mouthful of stew, mumbled quickly, ‘And I’ll not offer one.’ When his mouth was clear, he had a question. ‘What scenes might you cut, King Dick? The chorus at the start of the show says it’ll last two hours. How much shorter will it be?’
The King narrowed his eyes and Joe wasn’t sure if he was being squinted at or appraised further. ‘We need to lose some o’ the longer speechifyin’, for certain. Keep it movin’, Mr Hill, keep it fast. Your Juliet has a speech – Act Three, if I recall: “Gallop apace, you fiery-footed steeds …”’
Joe picked it up: ‘“… Towards Phoebus’ lodging …”’
The King raised an eyebrow. ‘Uh-huh. That’s fast, Mr Hill, you’re ahead of me. Well, I sure hope you didn’t spend too long learnin’ that speech. It has thirty-one lines. Thirty-one! The audience’d rather hear Pastor Simon preach once more on sin and damnation than hear Juliet speak so long. No one dies, no one fights, no one does nothin’ – jus’ you and your speech for thirty-one lines. So I cut it to four.’ To Joe’s shocked expression, he responded, ‘Ain’t no time for poetry here, Mr Hill. You’ll thank me once you’re on that stage and your audience has taken to yellin’. You see if you don’t.’ The King swallowed the last of his coffee. ‘But here’s one scene we play in full. Act One, Scene Five. It all starts here. Romeo meets Juliet, they fall in love, they kiss …’
‘Everything so soon?’ asked Tommy, incredulous. The King laughed.
‘Everything so soon indeed, Master Crier. They meet, fall in love, kiss, marry, shake the sheets and die, all in four days.’
Tommy blushed once more and looked to the ground.
‘So, page fifteen,’ said the King. ‘Tybalt has jus’ left.’
‘So we need a Tybalt,’ said Habs.
‘Patience, Mr Snow,’ said the King, annoyed. ‘We are attendin’ to that. Your speech, I think.’ Habs moved to one barrel, Joe to the other. Habs looked across, smiling, but Joe had his head in the script. Habs drained some cold coffee and began.
‘If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle sin is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.’
Joe, following the script, mouthed Romeo’s words. Now it was Juliet’s turn.
‘Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much,
Which mannerly devotion shows in this—’
The King interrupted.
‘Can’t hear you, Mr Hill. Louder. Assume we’re all drunk, we’re growin’ bored and wanna go home.’
Joe snatched a nervous glance at the King, then at Habs, and was back to the book.
‘For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch
[He was louder this time.]
‘And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.’
Tommy looked puzzled but said nothing. Sam asked the question for him.
‘What’s that mean?’ he said, looking in turn at the King, Joe and Habs.
‘We should be holdin’ hands,’ said Habs, ‘and Juliet’s sayin’ that when a pilgrim holds a statue’s hand, it’s somethin’ like a kiss, I guess.’
Sam looked unimpressed. ‘You both sound mighty annoyin’ to my way of thinkin’. I know this was a long time ago, but ain’t that a strange way o’ courtin’?’
King Dick ignored the exchange. ‘So Romeo says, “Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take” and kisses Juliet.’ He looked at Habs then Joe. ‘Well, then?’
Now it was Joe’s turn to blush. ‘You mean here? We probably shouldn’t.’
‘Because …?’ probed the King quietly.
Now Joe looked directly at him. ‘With respect, King Dick, you know very well why.’
‘Tell me …’ Even quieter.
‘Because,’ said Joe, a hint of steel in his voice, ‘a coloured boy kissing a white boy would be considered an abomination. And if that happens on a stage, well, we’d most likely be locked up. And if it’s that stage there’ – he pointed to the other end of the cockloft – ‘we’ll all be in the cachot. For ever.’
King Dick found his bearskin hat and placed it on his head. He was seven feet tall again. ‘Let me guess, Mr Hill. You gotta small little Baptist church round the corner from your mamma’s house? ’Cos that sounded mighty like somethin’ you’d hear in a sermon, and not from the lips of a smart boy like you. This here is a play. A fiction. Romeo can’t marry Juliet if they don’t kiss. This isn’t pully-hauly, it’s jus’ a kiss.’
Ned and Sam were mute, Tommy reddened again, while Habs twirled some hair between his fingers, eyes to the floor.
‘Maybe you an’ I should work somethin’ out, Joe,’ he said. ‘Maybe when there’s no one else lookin’ at us and watchin’ everythin’ we do.’
‘Yeah, maybe,’ said Joe. ‘Is there anywhere in this prison where no one else is watching you?’
‘Few places,’ said Habs.
The King picked up his club and rose from his box. When he stretched, the club hit the ceiling. ‘So, we rehearse again tomorrow. Mr Hill, please talk to your shipmates, to see if we can find us some white players. Then see if you can work out a way of kissin’ Mr Snow here without it bein’ some kinda a-bom-in-a-tion.’ He swept out of the cockloft, Alex and Jonathan darting in his wake.