Chapter 59: Chapter 59 – The show must go on

It was around midmorning when a mountain of papers, fresh off the press, was deposited a couple of tables away. This fact, by itself, should not attract too much attention from any newspaper employee. After all, the shop where the pages of that local newspaper were printed was located in that same building, in the basement, to be specific. For it was there that these people had set up a small printing press that, although it did not have as much machinery as there might be in the big cities, it was enough to supply all of Snodland with the press.

It was no surprise that every week there were a pile of pre-printed papers, on top of some furniture or on the piece of floor that was located next to the entrance, ready to be collected and distributed around town.

What in this case caught Oscar's attention was that what remained on that desk were not newspapers. They weren't the size or the girth to be. Rather, they looked like brochures of some kind, but from where he sat he couldn't quite read what the advertisement was about.

What could he do but stand up for a moment to take a look? Up to that point he had been calm, continuing his writing and secretly rejoicing that, with the start of his new job and the reduction in time spent on it, he no longer had to help with the printing work as well. But now that curiosity had piqued him, he didn´t want to continue with the manuscript until he had found out what it was about.

It didn't take him more than five seconds to discover this damned advertisement was exactly what he thought it was. And, at such revelation, he sank back into his seat with a mixture of regret and apathy that, inevitably, managed to reflect on his face.

"What was that reaction for?" Asked Avery, one of his colleagues who ran the local newsletter, as he had watched him looking at it.

"It's nothing," Oscar lied, "it's just that I thought it was an exaggerated pile of brochures. Usually not as many are printed when a performance is about to be released in the theater.”

"You're right, there are many. Double or even triple what we usually get! But the situation requires it. Being a charity, it will bring prestige to the business not sparing expenses and amounts when it comes to carrying out the necessary publicity” Perhaps noticing that his coworker did not seem convinced, he added. “The actors may not be professionals either, but that's the least of it. The parish association will guarantee the minimum required quality, since the selection of the interpreters was carried out in communion both by themselves and by the same people who adapted the Shakespearean text to be interpreted.”

"I've already heard about the amateur show and no, I have no problem with it."

If he had to be frank, Oscar was not interested in the play even if it was done by professionals. And it was not a matter of quality or cash that such a thing worried him, since the women of the association had long since concluded their insane collection.

"All I wanted to know was, who got the lead roles?"

"Check it out for yourself." As he said this, Avery took one of the papers from the stack and handed it to Oscar saying, "In the same advertisement there´s a list of names."

In the ad he said to present, in large letters too much for his liking, a new version of Romeo and Juliet. It was, as Avery had come to explain, the crappy edition of the play. And yes, with the people that had being casted, how not to destroy a classic? Oscar had not yet come to read who the actors were, but among the people who were in charge of the script, he had already found the name of Dianne.

That simple fact was, in itself, bullshit. In the original novel yes, there was a benefit performance where the cliche of cliches was performed, a play by the usual playwright. But Dianne was never in charge of the script. The reason? Well, it was as simple as that the real Dianne never had any interest in writing and therefore she did not want to be included as a writer in this mess.

Which, by the way, here is the dilemma. The actors had to pass a kind of casting but, as it was a charity work, the rest of the staff members were not tested of any kind. If someone volunteered to do such a thing, they were accepted immediately. Hence, as incredible as it seemed after all her skirmishes with erotic stories, Dianne could proclaim herself as the proud co-author of the show that would be performed in a couple of weeks.

Then, back to the cast issue, it was no surprise to Oscar to discover that Madeleine would be playing Juliet.

In the original novel, at this point his character was still running after Madeleine like a lapdog. And so when she said that she wanted to get the title role in the show, it was the original Oscar who helped her cheat the results, conspiring to cause the other applicants to have accidents that prevent them from passing the test. Now, on the other hand, he hadn't helped her. He was so detached from her that he had not even been told that she planned to participate in this thing! But, of course, with Dianne as the scriptwriter and since it was her who wrote the play and chose the cast, it was obvious that Madeleine could not fail no matter how badly she did.

It wasn't just Madeleine who was in the main cast: Patrick had also landed on the role of Romeo. It seemed like the guy had come back from London just in time to take the test, or it could also be that the bloody author of his had reserved the character for him anyway. Whatever! The fact is that this had not changed with respect to what was written in principle by Dianne.

Oscar returned the paper with a grim air as if, instead of rejoicing in his existence to learn that this information, what he had done was to cause the opposite effect.

"You don't like the theater? I thought you would be excited.”

“It's not that”.

"Shakespeare, perhaps?"

"I have nothing against him either," Oscar replied with a half smile, cursing his bad luck once more.

Although it was clear that the function would be a trick, that was not the reason why his mood had been diminished. The real drawback that he had, and for which he was so reluctant to have anything to do with everything related to the play, was that it was precisely there that his character had the misfortune to pass away.

Of course, this time it didn't have to be the same: No one except himself knew, but he was in a romantic relationship with his supposed murderer. Oscar was certain that he would not be killed by him, not in the theater or in Thornfield, not anywhere. He had been most calm since he knew the play would take place. However, now, seeing that the main cast of the work had not changed, and adding that the writer herself was also involved, it only raised a multitude of bad feelings.

He knew that he would not die but, even so, he did not want to go near the theater at all!

"I see the brochures are ready," Mr. Simmons had said, entering the room.

He had come, not from his office, but from outside. And with him came Sayer and Father Gilmore, eager to see how the design he had designed turned out. The postman, no doubt, having been hired for the task of delivering the brochures throughout Snodland and the surrounding towns.

"Good work everyone, this will definitely be a success!"

Avery affirmed so, while Oscar returned to sink into his own documents, showing zero interest in everything that happened around him. The parish priest observed and, for the second time, gave the thumbs up to the posters, praising the excellent design results and the speed with which Simmons´ employees had gotten to work.

"We're still looking for people willing to help with our humble project," Father Gilmore said in that gentle tone he always used when he wanted to scratch something. “Of course, we already have the full cast and authors ready to help out with the lyrics and rehearsals. As well as a small team that is in charge of setting up the sets and organizing both the event, costumes and makeup. But, as I said, a little more help behind the scenes could never hurt.”

"You don't pay for help, do you?" Avery asked.

“No. It's all charity, we couldn't afford to spend on anyone's salary, I'm afraid!” Perhaps noticing the disappointment on that journalist's face, the priest added. “But for those who help with the show, you will not be charged for admission. And, of course, you´ll be able to access the appetizer that will be offered at the break for free.”

This seemed to excite Avery, while Oscar dismissed it in his mind as the most basic offer in the world. The entrance were not expensive. The extra that the spectators had to pay to access the room where they had access to a small free buffet was not either. No one except stingy Patrick would consider working for the priest as a viable option in exchange for saving that money.

"I'd like to help, but I don't know if I could do it properly, as I have a lot of work to do here."

“It´s okay, schedules can be adapted. And if not, nothing happens! In a town like this, full of such altruistic parishioners, I´m convinced that it won´t take long for new people willing to volunteer for such a task.” As for the people in the room, apart from the three people around him, they could hear him raise his voice a bit. “That would be a true act of charity.”

"I know of one who would like to participate," said Sayer suddenly.

Oscar hadn't lifted his pen from the paper, but he could have sworn his dear friend Willie was pointing at him.

“But with the talent for the arts that he must have,” he continued, “they should have called him to write the script and not have to deal with setting up the sets and lights.”

In truth, Sayer could not be blamed for drawing the attention of the gentlemen to Oscar. In the last months he had been grateful to him for having listened to all the complaints and dramas caused by Madeleine, supporting him to start over looking for someone better. Sayer knew that Oscar wrote stories for the newspaper, having ended up confessing it to him during one of their midnight talks. The postman had read some of it and, despite not being very clever about literature, even he had to admit that his friend was talented in that trade.

Hence, as if it were an inspiration, he offered Oscar as an author. Obviously, without having any idea of ​​the risk that this entailed for the aforementioned.

Oscar believed that the priest would refuse, claiming that they had already finished the script for weeks and therefore did not need another writer for the set. But, contrary to what he thought, Gilmore said:

“He could participate if he wanted, it never hurts to give the script another turn.”

That's when Oscar finally raised his face from his papers, looking at the priest with a face of few friends.

"Although, if you don't want to take a look at the text or help with the props, you should know that we are also short of ushers and friendly waiters who are willing to carry trays to and from the dressing room area when it's break time."

"I'm not even dead as a servant to Madeleine!" Was the first thing Oscar thought when he heard that. But he had to translate it into something gentler:

"I'm sorry, but I'm not interested in helping you in any way." Without letting Father or Mr. Simmons insist on it, he added. “Right now I have my hands full with my novel and the work that I am doing for the Northrops, so I would prefer not to put any of my responsibilities aside for this.”

"Well, the Northrops are just one of the families hosting the show. I don´t think they put obstacles if it is a matter of reducing your workday for the same salary.”

"The Northrops have certainly always been reasonable people when it comes to service," Mr. Simmons agreed. “Both father and son.”

"I know it is so," Oscar declared, without changing his implacable tone that he did not accept replies contrary to his way of thinking. “But despite this, I would choose not to participate. If you are concerned that you don´t have enough donations to support the parish or to offer to the poor, don´t worry, even if I don´t attend the function I could offer you some money.”

"It's not a question of being so extreme either," laughed the priest, nervously. “If you don't want to cooperate, you don't have to... But it's also not about us taking your money when you don't plan on coming to the show.”

"So you don't want it? I was thinking of offering… I don't know, double the cost of a ticket.”

With this, Gilmore found himself in a bind. Ethics told him that he should not accept such a treatment, but greed screamed at him that it was fine, that if that poor devil offered it to him of his own free will, then there should be no regrets.

In the end, he didn't win either. The priest limited himself to specifying that they would talk about it at another time, if they saw each other before the day of the performance, and they would decide then. Without taking Oscar's words totally seriously, then, he did not continue to insist that he lend a hand. Ignoring him, he only asked Sayer to collect the pamphlets and distribute them. He then said goodbye to all the people in the premises before leaving.

"What was that? I was absolutely sure that you would accept!” Sayer exclaimed, turning to Oscar, once the priest and the others had dispersed.

"It's just not a good time, although I appreciate you thinking of me for it."

It was likely that Sayer wanted to delve further into why it was not a good time, but he knew that if Oscar had apologized in that way to him it was because he did not want to continue talking about it. And for that, he let it go.

No, in the original play, Oscar's character had not only helped Madeleine with the casting audition. But, in addition, he had always stayed around her, helping behind the scenes, acting as a silent slave until opening night. Night in which, as expected, his fateful death occurred. It was elementary that this Oscar did not want such a tragedy to be repeated! Although the killer was no longer willing to break his head, the fact that everything else was happening exactly as dictated in the manuscript was enough to misthink things.

Now, he had refused both to participate in the performance and to go to see it. He was not lying when he offered the priest money: he would be willing to give up to four times the original value of a ticket to avoid going to the theater that day. And since no one had ever objected to him for helping or performing on opening night, he hoped he would never have to go to the theater.

At least he was confident until a few hours later when he showed up at Thornfield and there Albert informed of the following:

"It seems that for this charity performance they need someone to give a keynote speech. To be specific, someone who belongs to the group of sponsors of the program, so that whatever he says makes an impact and people are encouraged to make more donations at future events” Perhaps when he got here, Albert realized that Oscar did not know where he wanted to go, so he added. “My father was supposed to give that speech, but an urgent matter has arisen in the capital and he may not be able to return in time to do so.”

"Well, there are a lot of other sponsors, right?" Oscar pointed out. “People in villages are like that, especially those who own the rooms to help. If they can stand out in some way, so that the rest of the neighbors see how charitable they are, they will.”

In fact, Oscar was convinced that this was the main reason why the cast of the play was full of young people from the wealthy families of Snodland. Their parents had paid good money to put them in the cast. Even if they failed the test for a leading role, landing a supporting role was practically assured. And while they got this favorable treatment, the children of humble families were relegated to helping behind the scenes or acting as tree number three. Typical.

"The point is that the organizers would prefer that whoever gave the speech was not, or had any relatives, participating in the play as an actor," continued the villain, now, getting the other to begin to see where the shots were going. “They want to do it this way for impartiality reasons, since it has already been another year for someone to go on stage just to show off relatives.”

"In short, they've thrown the problem on you."

Albert was silent for a few moments. Not that he was surprised that Oscar had grasped what was happening so quickly, but neither should he be expected to drop the bomb in such a way.

"You could say that's how it was," he murmured at last.

"And you want to make that speech?"

Although Albert didn't say it, the answer to that question was obvious. No, he didn't want to; he had only accepted by compromise. Because his father had accepted before him and, not being able to keep his word, had told the parish priest that it would be his son who would take care of the matter in his absence. So how could Albert refuse to comply with the mandate of his father? If he had still volunteered himself, turning back two weeks before the performance would not have been a major inconvenience. But like this, the way things were, he would make his father look very bad if he quit.

Ultimately, it was not a matter of preference at all.

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“I… I have to confess that I have stage fright. By the time I got to town, I wouldn't have had time to audition to join the cast, but even if I'd had a chance to do it, I wouldn't have wanted to. Let's not even talk about a speech anymore! I could endure being a secondary character, with little dialogue, in front of all those people. But a leading role, or what my father wants me to do...”

Albert let his sentence die, ashamed. All the sons of nobles had been fighting in recent weeks to get a part in Romeo and Juliet, eager to show humanity their talent. While the oldest of the Northrop was the opposite; he was grateful to have returned to Snodland so late that he hadn't even had to put up with the neighbors encouraging him to attend the casting.

"I wasn't expecting this," Oscar said, more to himself than to Albert. “But on second thought, it does make sense.”

In the original manuscript, the villain also did not act in the play. Narrating from Madeleine's perspective, it hinted that the reason was a growing pride that kept him from stepping on a stage where he had to share oxygen with lesser beings. An impression that, incidentally, was aggravated by the fact that Albert was a person of few words and it was impossible, for those who did not know him well, to discern what he was thinking.

At that time he too had to give a speech to the crowd. Speech that went well or, at least, without any contingency involved that was worth mentioning. Madeleine had tried to talk to him then, making him ignore her more eagerly than usual. She attributed it, again, to a matter of pride, but what if it turned out that the aforementioned was only trying to calm himself and, therefore, did not have time to endure some bland words of encouragement from the female protagonist?

Either way, Oscar had just discovered the real reason why he never wanted anything to do with the show.

"Wasn't there some way to cancel it?"

"I already promised to do it, there is no going back." Perhaps in a futile attempt to pretend that the thing was not so bad, he continued saying. “But it isn´t as bad as it seems, at least I have already prepared what to say.”

Then why are you practically shaking while holding that sheet? Oscar wanted to ask. But he held back, aware that it wouldn´t been sensitive on his part.

"I think you must have noticed a long time ago, but I'm not good at comforting people. Anyway, if there is anything I can help you with so that the drink is not so bitter, let me know and I will try to do it.”

"There's nothing you can do except… could you…?" Albert paused for a moment before starting again, this time with a little more assurance. “Could you join me that day?”

"Accompany you, you say?"

“Not on stage, I mean… Since I have to give the opening speech, I will also have to stay to see the performance. I have seats reserved for this purpose. So, I was wondering if you would want to share it with me. Y-you wouldn't have to do anything, just sit back and enjoy the show.”

Oscar didn't know whether to laugh or cry when he heard this, but in the end he opted for the former. It was, in his growing black humor, even amusing that a hypothetical murderer said such a thing to his victim, about the day and place where he was supposed to be annihilated.

"Tell me, if I were to accompany you that day, sit in the balcony and cheer you on from the shadows, would that help you keep your fear at bay?"

“It would.”

Perhaps it was because of the quick and firm way in which Albert said it, as if there were no room for doubt, that Oscar immediately found himself agreeing:

"That being the case, no more talk. I will go.”

He wasn't going to let fear get the better of him, and he wasn't going to allow the villain to be reduced to a character who could be seen by others as good-for-nothing if that proclamation went wrong. Did the people expect a speech from him? Well, it would be proportionate. What about the murder? That would not happen, no matter how hard it was for those who might be waiting for it.

It wasn't just that Albert didn't seem like the type of person who killed on impulse, it's that at that moment he even seemed too happy to think about such necessities. Much less if the object of said crime was someone like Oscar.

After all, it had been three or four days since the villain had returned and in Thornfield the changes were already evident. Still unable to return to Snodland, Peter Northrop had left Albert in charge not only with the speech for the play, but with the usual tasks that he had to perform for the smooth running of his businesses.

And it is that Oscar could only know this once he began to exercise his position as secretary for this family, but these wealthy people not only limited themselves to showing off new clothes and attending mass dances, as Dianne expressed in her infamous novel. No. The Northrops ran businesses and had to run them diligently.

Mr. Northrop was someone who had no difficulty making new friends and getting along well with people he was speaking to for the first time. So it was he who used to do business with suppliers and listen to complaints and suggestions from his employees. Albert, on his part, preferred clerical work.

When Oscar started coming to Thornfield every afternoon, just like that same day, it was Albert who tried to explain everything about the accounting and administration of a company to him. It turned out that the villain was not only the one who was in charge of managing the funds, but he was the one who chose where and in which products to invest in. His father supervised his decisions, of course, since business was still in his name. But, within what was possible, Albert had enough freedom to maneuver and his father also appeared to trust enough in his decisions.

"Why have you given me this position?"

 “What?” Albert was doing a tally of inventory for the past month, explaining how it was carried out, when he heard Oscar ask that question. “Why are you asking that all of a sudden?”

"It's nothing, I guess. I was just thinking that as good as this is, you shouldn't need a secretary to run it for you.”

If Oscar remembered correctly, the Northrop never had a secretary. He might have thought, at first, that the author had forgotten to mention it. Because, in the end, that might not have been relevant to the plot. But, seeing the orderly way in which the villain handled his affairs, he made sure that in truth a secretary was not a priority for that family.

"I don't know if I'm that good at it, I think it's normal," Albert had said softly, downplaying the matter. “Anyway, two heads are better than one.”

"It's fine by me," Oscar laughed, "but you should know by now that I'm here because I want to. You didn't need to pay me to come,” Realizing something, he hastily added. “Ah, but if you are going to use me for this, then yes, I would appreciate it if I was getting paid. I love coming to Thornfield and everything you want, but my gray cells also suffer depending on what activity.”

This time it was Albert who laughed, pointing:

"You could always stay here, since you appreciate the place so much. We have several free rooms and you could save on meals.”

“Nah. The offer is appreciated, but that would be too much!”

They had already discussed this before, on the day of Albert's return home. Then, Oscar had stayed for dinner and, when finished, had been accompanied to his inn by the villain himself. Along the way, their relationship being official, they were talking about the place where they would be interested in living.

It wasn't that Oscar had a problem with Thornfield or with its people. No, he was quite comfortable with everything. What happened was that he refused to live under the same roof as a family like the Northrop, being that, if necessary, he would be treated as an equal. Providing him with all the comforts and without demanding that he give up anything in return. Oscar didn't like that idea just because he didn't think he deserved it. Being able to stay in Albert's company, perpetually, seemed tempting. But he did not want to lead an existence where he only allowed himself to be cared for and accepted every gift that was proposed to him.

If he did that, he told himself, sooner or later he would get used to sitting still, expecting nothing. For everything would come to him too easily.

So no, that was one of the few conditions that he couldn't accept at the moment.

And, although Albert seemed somewhat disappointed to hear his reasons, he also did not take long to understand and accept it: In the end, it didn´t matter much where he lived. Oscar continued to stay in town and visit him almost daily. Their homes were so close that either of them could show up at the other's house without even occupying a carriage. So actually, it didn't make much sense to insist either.

Because of this, all Albert did was remind him:

"I won't mention it again, then. But the offer will continue indefinitely, in case you change your mind one day or finally consider yourself worthy of it.”

For such a thing to happen, Oscar thought, he would have to somehow get promoted in his main job. He didn´t want the rest of the people of Thornfield to see him as a mere servant with privileges, but as someone who could fend for himself, without needing the favor of this family. And for this, apart from needing to keep working hard, he needed time.

Hence, he was extremely grateful to Albert for not pressuring him and also did not wish to create false hope. Currently, he was fine with the arrangement they already had. It was not his intention to change it; not in the near future, at least. But he didn´t want to disappoint the villain, if the wait was too long. Therefore, instead of continuing the conversation in those directions, Oscar chose to thank him again for the kindness with which he was treated and, immediately afterwards, change the subject.

Since the accounting exercises had been interrupted, why not take the opportunity to talk about the other matter?

"We didn't get to talk about that journal I found in the end," he began tentatively.

The day that Albert accompanied him to his apartment, he had taken the opportunity to return the damn notebook. But, because it was late enough, there was no time to stop and talk much more about it.

"I didn't think you were the kind of person who keeps a record of everything that happens to you."

Nothing was mentioned in Dianne's novel. Of course, again, in that play Madeleine had been too busy drinking the winds for Patrick to even think of making a record of Thornfield.

"It was long time ago," Albert said, somewhat embarrassed. “Perhaps in my childhood I believed that this was a good system to somehow avoid what happened in my daily life, since I could organize better my thoughts if I left them in writing.”

"In your childhood? Oh, so there are other diaries?”

"I have some more in my room, yes. It's just that I didn't remember the whereabouts of that particular one; There was a time when I found myself hiding them in different parts of the house that only I thought I had easy access to. Although, as you may have seen, they were not very good hiding places. That is why in recent years I have tried to gather all the material on a shelf in my room, which is where it should always have been.”

Perhaps, before the prolonged silence and the questioning look of Oscar, Albert realized that he had revealed something that he should not. Because, before the other could misinterpret, he was quick to add:

"Although it is true that I wrote diaries in the past, it is no longer something I continue to do."

"May I ask why?"

"I guess you could say I got tired," he murmured upon noting this. “Writing a book with my memories is a bit... It's childish, don't you think? I think that should be left to children or, in any case, to the elderly whose life has been interesting enough to have contributed something valuable to society.”

"I couldn't tell you," said Oscar, visibly amused by that last comment. “Who are we to judge whether someone else's life is interesting or boring? In the end it is too subjective”

Not to mention, Oscar had no idea if the diaries Albert was talking about would have spanned a series of random years, from his childhood, or if they were all structured to perfection. Assigning each year a notebook, at least until the villain had reached the age of majority.

Was writing a vital chronicle childish? This, he supposed, depended a lot on the age and style of the narrative the author used. In any case, it was better not to delve into it, since it was clear that Albert was not comfortable discussing the content of those texts.

"Be that as it may, I have to say I admire your bravery," Oscar decided to continue. “I would not be able to fill an agenda with my experiences, however harmless they were, without becoming paranoid thinking that someone could find and read them.”

"When I was a kid I thought similarly too, I think. So I looked for places around the house to hide them. But the truth is that even then there was no need; there is a bookcase in my room that is locked and only my family and I have access to. And neither my father nor my sister were ever like-minded to meddle in my affairs, if it's something specifically private.”

"That is fortunate. If in my childhood I had written a diary, in the best of cases it would have fallen into the hands of my aunt and she would have lectured me on some trifle that I only confessed in writing to having done wrong. In the worst of them, Madeleine would have found it and, in less than twenty-four hours, I would already be the laughingstock of the whole town.”

Fortunately, and although the original Oscar did seem to be idiotic enough to be one of those typical characters who write something compromising and then end up losing it, he never gave himself up for an autobiography. The reason for this was as simple as that he was not at all literate in writing matters.

He could barely put together a sentence without misspellings. It would have been an ordeal for him to put together a whole book. If Madeleine asked him for help on a subject related to literature, it was likely that he would agree more out of commitment than out of sheer talent at it. Hence things would go wrong.

"It would have been in very bad taste for that to happen," the villain reaffirmed.

Perhaps in another time he would have answered something lighter, along the lines of: "I don't think that would have happened" or "I doubt that Ms. Cornell was capable of such atrocity when it comes to a member of her service." if only out of simple courtesy. But Albert was already so burned out with Madeleine that he couldn't even leave a small margin to doubt.

"In any case, if you wanted, you could read that diary you found."

“What?” Oscar thought he had misheard. “Don't you mind if I read it?”

"More than not minding, I suggest it because even having the opportunity to read it, you didn't. Being that respectful of my things, that tells me that nothing bad will happen if I leave you something of my own, be it a diary or whatever else. ”After a pause, he added. “For that reason and because what those diaries contain is old, I no longer identify with their content at all. It's almost as if someone else wrote it.”

"That being so, I'll think about it," Oscar resolved with a smile.

He wasn't going to give a decisive yes, but he didn't want to refuse either. Curiosity got the better of him but, at the same time, he didn't want to suddenly accept such kindness for fear of startling the villain. It could be that, after a few weeks, when all danger had passed, he did decide to take that step.

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