Better Deeds Than Words (Words#2) (24 page)

On the other side of me, Daniel sat with his elbow resting on the armrest we shared. I perched my left elbow next to his so that our arms touched. Every now and then, he’d incline his head in my direction, and I was reminded of the night seven weeks before when I’d almost leaned over to give his neck a good sniff.

“The guy playing Benedick is good,” I whispered to Daniel as the actor soliloquized about his love for the fair Beatrice.

“Unfortunately, I think he knows it,” he said quietly. “As someone once told me, there’s a fine line between confidence and arrogance, Miss Price.” He made a point of gently blowing in my ear before reclining in his seat. I shivered and crossed my arms, poking his bicep with my index finger. He cleared his throat, and even though I couldn’t see his expression, I was sure he was smiling.

When the plot came to its crisis and the false allegations against Hero were dealt with, I heard Daniel take a deep breath, and he shifted uncomfortably beside me. I thought about Nicola’s wrongful accusations against Daniel, and I marveled once again at the way Shakespeare’s themes spoke so eloquently to timeless issues. I rubbed his arm softly with my finger. He sighed quietly, and I smiled, pleased that I could comfort him with a simple touch.

When the house lights came up at the end of the performance, my throat ached with sadness. My time with Daniel was coming to an end, another lonely weekend looming. Daniel leaned forward to address our small group.

“Does anyone have any questions or comments now that the play is over?”

Everyone shook their heads, standing and stretching, probably eager to get on with their Friday night festivities.

“Well, you’re free to go. Good luck with your papers.”

Daniel moved to join the crowd leaving the theater. I followed closely and would have met him at the coat check, but Shawn was instantly at my side.

“So, Aubrey, we’re all hitting the Kap party. You wanna come?”

“Um, I think I’ll take a pass. I’m bagged. Up early for work this morning and all that.”

“Are you sure?”

“Tempting as it is, Shawn, I think I’m gonna say no. But thanks. I appreciate the offer.”

“Okay. Well. See ya.”

“Bye, Shawn. Later, guys.”

Shawn made his way to the door, followed by the others, while I hurried to the coat check.

“Where’d everyone go?” Daniel asked.

“Kap party.”

“You’re not going?”

“No. I think I’ll head home.”

He looked around uneasily. “Look, it’s late. I don’t like the idea of you walking back to Jackman alone.”

“Daniel, I’ve been walking alone around campus for four years. I’ll be fine.”

He sighed. “At least let me walk you to the main road so I can see you on your way? I’m sure any decent TA would be concerned about the safety of his best student.”

“Okay.”

“It’s a nice night,” he said, pushing the theater doors open. “Do you suppose spring is finally on the way?”

“I sure as hell hope so.”

We strolled along the sidewalk in front of Hart House, dragging out our time together.

“I’ve been looking forward to tonight all week,” he said. “It was nice sitting beside you for a couple of hours, especially in the exact spot where we had our first date.” He smiled, and I shook my head. He was so adorable. “But it’s never long enough, you know?”

“The couple of hours we spend together in class are always the highlight of my week. The rest of the time just drags.”

“For me too.” He looked at me searchingly. “Did you enjoy the play? Do you have some ideas for your analysis?”

“I did like it. I got to thinking about the way Shakespeare dealt with the false accusation thing—you know, the faking of Hero’s death? It’s such a strange plot device.”

“I think of it metaphorically. To me, it represents the social death that follows a scandal and the loss of reputation. You’d be amazed the stuff that goes through my mind when I read
Much Ado
now. Well, I suppose I see everything through a different lens these days.” He sighed.

Would a part of his psyche be forever damaged by what Nicola had done to him?

“It would be so amazing if I could give you a good-night kiss right now, poppet,” he said as we stopped under the streetlight at the top of the steps.

“You know that’s not possible.”

“I know. So, what’s on the agenda for the weekend?”

“School work. I’m kind of panicking. I have so much to do before the end of term, so I made up a schedule for the next four weeks. The sonnet analysis has me freaked out.”

“Anything I can do to help?”

“I don’t think so. I guess I’m stressed about being alone in that room with you and not being able to focus. I don’t want to screw up.”

“I promise I’ll have my TA hat on. You bring your A-game, and I’ll do whatever I can to make the process work.”

“Thanks. That helps a little.” I stared out at the park, my hands tucked safely in my pockets. “How about you? Big weekend plans?”

“Not really. I need to finish that creative project I told you about,” he said, flashing his dimpled smile.

“Any hints?”

“Nope. You’re going to have to wait.”

“More waiting.” I sighed dramatically. “Always with the waiting.”

“It’s very character building,” he assured me.

“My character is going to be enormous by the end of the semester,” I said dryly.

“Then it’ll be right up there with my cold water bill,” he countered with a cheeky grin.

I yawned as I traipsed up the stairs to the Hart House meeting room Wednesday afternoon. The previous few days had been a whirlwind of writing, proofreading, and preparing for today’s conference. I’d finally completed my term paper for Brown’s class, and once I had this sonnet analysis written, I’d be finished with my work for the course. I wished I could write the damn exam now and get it over with, for more than just the obvious reason.

The glass-paned meeting room door was open. Daniel waved me in and told me to push the door closed. I sat beside him and assembled my notes on the table. It had been six days since we’d been in close proximity to one another. I’d missed him so much, but this was an assessment and I had to keep my cool. There was no way of maintaining anonymity in a conference.

He’d continued to assure me that he’d be completely professional today. I’d even noticed a lessening of the effusive affection in his emails over the last couple of days, like he was getting his head in the game. As soon as he looked up from his notebook, the TA wall was between us, and I breathed a sigh of relief. He started off with some small talk, perhaps sensing my nervousness.

“How are things?”

“I’m doing okay.”

“I’m surprised you picked this time slot,” he said, shuffling some papers off to the side.

“I considered doing it tomorrow, but Thursdays are crazy so I figured I’d do it now, then head to my night class after.”

“So, how did this go for you?” he asked with a Daniel-the-TA expression.

“I think I took an unconventional approach,” I said. “I hope that’s okay?”

“Unconventional?” He flipped to a blank page in his notebook.

“Yes, I decided to take a look at the ‘Palmer’s Sonnet’ from
Romeo and Juliet
.”

He raised his eyebrows and wrote the title in his notebook. “Mind if I ask why?”

“After your discussion of recognition at first sight during tutorial a couple of weeks ago, I went back to re-read Romeo and Juliet’s first exchange, and then I remembered it was set up in the form of a sonnet. I thought I’d give it a whirl.”

“Okay, fair enough. It’s a dialogue, though. Awkward for reading. Want me to speak Romeo’s lines?” He smiled. “Only if that would help, of course.”

Well, that would certainly help me fall off my chair.

“Would I lose marks?”

“I don’t see why. Do you have it committed to memory?”

“I think so,” I said.

“Okay. Let’s begin.” He launched into Romeo’s opening quatrain, completely off the top of his head. “‘
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.’”

I resisted the impulse to swoon, instead delivering Juliet’s quatrain in a calm, steady voice. “‘
Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this. For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.’”

“‘
Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?’”
he asked.

“
‘Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer,’”
I replied.

“‘
O, then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray, grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.’”

“‘
Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.’”

“‘
Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take.’”
Daniel paused after delivering the last line of the sonnet. “Then what happens, Miss Price?” he asked.

“He kisses her.”

“And her reaction?”

“Well, doesn’t she begin what would have been another sonnet if she weren’t interrupted by the nurse?”

“You’re right. What does she tell him?”

“She says,
‘You kiss by the book.’”

“Meaning?”

“Either she’s responding dreamily, telling him that he kisses well, according to the conventions of what makes a good kiss, or she’s being critical, telling him that his kiss was too restrained, too concerned with rules, convention, and propriety.”

“I agree. Okay, back to the sonnet. Let’s hear what you’ve come up with. I’ll take notes. Try not to let that distract you.”

I took a deep breath and launched into my analysis of the passage and how Shakespeare’s use of the sonnet form for their first exchange underscored the power of their chemistry, explaining the traditional themes pursued in classical Petrarchan sonnets.

I reviewed the diction and word-play, then discussed the interplay between religious devotion and Romeo’s worship of Juliet’s beauty along with the underscored erotic undertones. Daniel wrote in his notebook, glancing up from time to time as I spoke. At last, I was talked out, and Daniel put his pencil down.

“Let me ask you this,” he said. “Everything you’ve said suggests a positive connotation to Shakespeare using a sonnet for their first meeting. Is there anything to suggest that it might
not
be a good thing that their first meeting is structured this way?”

Okay, that was a curve ball. How could a love sonnet be anything but good? It was inherently romantic and clearly showed their likeness of mind.

“I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I’m playing devil’s advocate, I suppose, but I think one could argue that their first dialogue being set up this way actually foreshadows ill for them.”

I tried to follow his line of thinking but was stumped. “I’m sorry. I don’t see where you’re going with this.”

“What are the critical underpinnings of the definition of tragedy? See if you can talk your way through it.” He was guiding me, trying to nudge me toward understanding, as any good teacher would do, instead of presenting me with the answer.

“Tragedy? Well, you have a tragic hero with an inherent character flaw—usually hubris, there’s nemesis, um, catharsis, tension, a sense of inevitability—”

“Now you’re getting somewhere,” he said. “Talk to me about inevitability.”

“Usually the course the tragic hero is on can’t be averted. In the case of Romeo and Juliet’s relationship, fate is dictating their course, and they can’t avoid—” Realization struck me. “Oh, I see. You think the sonnet form being rigid and prescribed shows the inevitability of the course of their love—in this case, a doomed one that unfolds within the confines of a predetermined fate?”

His eyes shone proudly. “Well done. There is a critical stance that looks at this fixed dialogue between them, not as utterly romantic, but as terribly tragic. The sonnet form doesn’t allow for any movement or wavering from its ultimate course. If I were you, I’d do some reading about that and include it in your written analysis.”