Fool(99)
Drool paused as he passed Regan’s body and lost his sense of purpose. He lay Jones and my hat on the table next to her, then pinched the hem of her gown and began to raise it for a peek.
“Drool!” I barked.
“Sorry,” said the Natural. Then he spotted Goneril’s body and moved to her side. He stood there, looking down. In a moment his shoulders began to shake and soon he broke into great, rib-wrenching sobs and proceeded to drip tears upon Goneril’s bosom.
Cordelia looked at me with pleading in her eyes, and I, at her, with something that must have seemed similar. We were shits, together, we were, that we didn’t grieve for these people, this family.
“They was fit,” said Drool. Soon he was petting Goneril’s cheek, then her shoulder, then both her shoulders, then her breasts, then he climbed on the table on top of her and commenced a rhythmic and unseemly sobbing that approximated in timbre and volume a bear being shaken in a wine cask.
I retrieved Jones from Regan’s side and clouted the oaf about the head and shoulders until he climbed off the erstwhile Duchess of Albany and slipped through the drape and hid under the table.
“I loved them,” Drool said.
Cordelia stayed my hand and bent down and lifted the drapery. “Drool, mate,” she said. “Pocket doesn’t mean to be cruel, he doesn’t understand how you feel. Still, we have to keep it to ourselves. It’s not proper to dry-hump the deceased, love.”
“It ain’t?”
“No. The duke will be here soon and he’d be offended.”
“What ’bout the other one. Her duke is dead.”
“Just the same, it’s not proper.”
“Sorry.” He hid his head under the drape.
She stood and looked at me, turning away from Drool and rolling her eyes and smiling.
There was so much to tell her, that I’d shagged her mother, and we, technically, were cousins, and, well, things might get awkward. It was my instinct, as a performer, to keep the moment light, so I said, “I killed your sisters, more or less.”
She stopped smiling. “Captain Curan said they poisoned each other.”
“Aye. I gave them the poison.”
“Did they know it was poison?”
“They did.”
“Couldn’t be helped, then, could it? They were right vicious bitches anyway. Tortured me through my childhood. You saved me the effort.”
“They just wanted someone to love them,” I said.
“Don’t make the case with me, fool. You’re the one that killed them. I was just going to take their lands and property. Maybe humiliate them in public.”
“But you just said—”
“I loved them,” said Drool.
“Shut up!” I chorused with Cordelia.
The doors cracked open then and Captain Curan peeked his head through. “Lady, the Duke of Albany has arrived,” said he.
“Give me a moment, then send him in,” said Cordelia.
“Very well.” Curan closed the doors.
Cordelia stepped up to me then, she was only a little taller than me, but in armor, somewhat more intimidating than I’d remembered her—but no less beautiful.
“Pocket, I’ve taken quarters in my old solar. I’d like you to visit after supper tonight.”
I bowed. “Does my lady require a story and a jest before bedtime to clear her head of the day’s tribulations?”
“No, fool, Queen Cordelia of France, Britain, Belgium, and Spain is going to shag the bloody bells off you.”
“Pardon?” said I, somewhat nonplussed. But then she kissed me. The second time. With great feeling, and she pushed me away.
“I invaded a country for you, you nitwit. I’ve loved you since I was a little girl. I came back for you, well, and for revenge on my sisters, but mostly for you. I knew you would be waiting for me.”
“How? How did you know?”
“A ghost came to me at the palace in Paris months ago. Scared the béarnaise out of Jeff. She’s been advising the strategy since.”
Enough talk of ghosts, I thought. Let her rest. I bowed again. “At your bloody beckoning service, love. A humble fool, at your service.”
ACT V
How I would make him fawn and beg and seek
And wait the season and observe the times
And spend his prodigal wits in bootless rhymes
And shape his service wholly to my hests
And make him proud to make me proud that jests!