JOHN MULBERRY'S FACT AND FICTION by Thomas Lipschultz 9/25/98 "Do it with more feeling, damn it! You believe that he killed your one true love, and you want REVENGE!" John Mulberry raised his sword and began to enact the fight scene against Jerome Tyrana once more. With a clash of beautifully choreographed steel against steel, the drama had a certain Shakespearean charm to it that some directors might have appreciated immensely. But this one didn't. "STOP! John, John, JOHN! You're fluid, you're graceful, you're beautiful, but you're supposed to be MAD AS HELL. If my love were slaughtered viciously, I sure as hell wouldn't prance around like a ballerina when trying to kill her murderer. Robin Williams in Good Will Hunting, man. 'Talk about my wife that way again, and I'll END you. Got that, chief?' That's the sort of crap that makes the critics rave, and that's the sort of crap I'm looking for. Capish?" "Yeah, I got it, but if I'm not graceful, how am I supposed to keep from actually injuring Jerome? If I run at him like a madman, I'll end up REALLY hurting him." "That's why HE has to rehearse HIS part. He's gotta be a better swordsman than you to survive. Now please, the play starts in one hour. Do it right, OK? We've gotta finish this thing up and get ready. So let's move on, and you two can practice backstage until you're cued. Sound like a plan?" John and Jerome nodded, and the show continued, a completely successful dress rehearsal in all but one area. The two exited from the stage just as the crowd began to filter in. "Good work, Jerome. We can practice the swordfighting in a sec, but I gotta go answer nature first, and maybe stop by the auditorium and surprise my girl." "No prob, John. See ya' in a few." Somehow, John had to work up some anger and frustration so he could play his role convincingly. He thought about maybe ignoring nature's call, but that's not quite the kind of anger and frustration he wanted. His mind was working and focusing as he washed his hands, opened the door, walked through the lobby, and found his way into the auditorium. She said she'd be on the balcony, in the middle. Stairs, going up. Left, right, empty seats. THERE! There she sat, alone, head slumped down, perhaps exhausted from a long day at work. Behind him, the play was beginning. He wasn't in it until scene two, but still, she'd be VERY surprised to see him. Tap, tap. Tap, tap. ... "Hello? Janet?" Tap, tap. He shook her. Harder and harder. She wasn't moving. That's when he saw the blood on her blouse. Behind him, he could hear Jerome speak his first line majestically: "Behold, soothsayer, how does my future stand?" "JANET!! WAKE UP!!", and every eye in the theater was on him. The play paused for only a moment, and the peoples' gazes shifted back to the stage after a second or two. "Reap as you sow, sow as you reap, soon thine head shall be dead, asleep, eternity's weep!" The line wasn't delivered with as much gusto as it was in the dress rehearsal, due to John's unsettling outburst from the crowd. It momentarily shook the whole foundation of the production, and everyone's line sounded hollow for a few minutes following. John was still in the auditorium, weeping silently. The blood was hidden by her red blazer, so no one from the audience could see it unless they shook her as John did, or removed her jacket altogether. She was stabbed right above the left hip, and had apparently died quietly, without even a yelp of pain. Scene two was beginning. "Edgar? I know the lass. He lives on the east side of town, in the mansion atop Stoneway Peak. Shall I guide you there?" "Would you, sir? I know you fear leaving this place, especially since your demise has been so humbly foretold, but I MUST meet with Edgar." "Aye, I put no stock in such petty superstitions. Shall we be off, then?" John could easily have backed out of the production -- who would blame him? But no, the show must go on. Wiping away his tears and tucking in his sorrow, he climbed down the stairs and left the auditorium, then took his position backstage. His cue was a knock at the door, and he didn't hesitate to answer it. His co-actors, however, were a bit taken aback by his demeanor. Nonetheless, the show must go on. "Yes, may I help you?" "Edgar Rosenthal, I presume? Allow me to introduce myself. Clive Bain, sole heir to the Bain fortune. And this damsel here is Anna Ingred, Princess of Valhalla, who seeks audience with you." The play continued at a remarkable rate, and John's inner turmoil only increased his character's believability. Intermission came, and the swordfight and finale were to immediately follow. The director was pleased. "John, baby, you're makin' me proud! I've never seen such intense feeling before! The critics are probably so depressed right now, they don't know WHAT to think! The swordfight is next, and it's gonna be somethin' to behold if you keep goin' at THIS rate! Don't stop now, Johnny boy -- the show's just starting!" The final act was about to begin. Jerome grabbed his sword from the prop table, parted the curtain, and walked onto stage. John followed close behind. "Clive, you bastard! You took Anna from me, and now you must pay the ultimate price!" "Edgar, I am not the murderer here! Another man took the life of your love, not I!" "Lies! All lies! You will now die by my blade!" It was then that he saw it. Jerome took one step backward, and there, glimmering in the spotlight, was a thin coating of blood on his sword. Fury and sorrow overtook John's body and mind as he realized what Jerome had done. "DAMN YOU!" John lunged at him furiously with the sword. Jerome could see the pure hatred in his eyes, and knew that this wasn't a play anymore. The battle ensued, and the crowd watched the incredible drama unfold, completely captivated by the hatred and fear on the stage. With one final stab, John nearly impaled Jerome, a wicked smile on his face -- the smirk of vengeance. Jerome screamed in agony and fell to the ground, dead. The audience gave them a standing ovation, and the play went on. Only the cast members could tell that Jerome, in addition to his character Clive, was dead. But they feared John now, and thought it would be safer to continue the production than to draw attention to the corpse in front of them. When the play ended, the audience raved. It wasn't until the cast took their bows above the unmoving body of Jerome that they began to suspect that something had gone wrong. A hush fell through the room, and John dashed for the door. He was quickly apprehended by security guards. Investigators would later notice that Jerome's sword was no longer on the stage. The director grinned. The water in the sink was getting warm. He used some soap and washed the blood from the cold steel. He then noticed a few spots of blood on his sleeve. "I really need to learn how to use blades more effectively," he thought to himself. He then washed his sleeve and returned the sword to the prop table. The play went well. According to the papers, two people were murdered in the Mainline Theater by John Mulberry that day. His mental condition was listed as unstable. The critics, while very disturbed by the unfortunate deaths during the show, had to admit that the performances were all stunning, and the director (who had also WRITTEN the play) was hailed as a genius. Some of the critics were a bit unhappy with the plot, however, and pointed out that the soothsayer told Clive that he would reap what he sows -- yet Clive never DID kill Anna, so why did he die? To this, the director simply replied that Clive was too trusting, and that soothsayers never know the REAL truth. The deaths were soon forgotten, but the play was never performed again. Apparently, the director felt that he had attained perfection the first time, and didn't want to tempt fate. And the critics had to agree: even though two people died, the play definitely went VERY well.