Well, my sick BR is now healthy and back working at full tilt. I'm so glad that she is feeling much better. And I'm incredibly happy to have a second BR to keep both of us going and honest.

Thanks to Sas and Laswa!!!!


* * *


From Part 7

"To prevent what?" Rod asked, reminding her where she had left off.

Claire returned her gaze to Rod. "To...to avert an evil man from destroying my world! Please believe me, because I may need your help!"

Outside the door to the Cabbages and Kings book store, the woman paused as she pulled on some gloves. Liz Lathrop smiled and limped away.


Now for part 8


“She’s the bad guy?”

“Uh huh,” his mother responded, turning the next page.

“Do the good guys always win, mommy?”

“Well, we hope so,” she said, looking at her son’s shining eyes.


##########


Dystopia
December
2121

Wil Kent, his shackles replaced on his neck, wrists and ankles, was being painfully dragged by his chain through a series of underground chambers. After stumbling to his knees several times, his keeper shoved him out into a large open-air pavilion. Wil recognized it as a shabby version of an outdoor concert venue that he had taken his family to on many, many occasions.

He looked around at the angry, yelling crowd. It no longer held an audience that was anticipating an evening of Beethoven or Gershwin or Manfried but a rabble hungry for the stench of death.

Did only his small optimistic, yet enigmatic group remember how it was?

Encore! A bombastic name--pretentious and self-glorifying. He shook his head as the guards forced him to kneel on the ground.

<Who were we?> he thought, <that small band of artists, to say what life should be like? Who were we to say that?> His face felt the earth almost smother him as one of the guards put his foot on Wil’s neck. He struggled to lift his face. <Could we and we alone could bring back the days of glory? Enate Coalition Organized to Restore Elysium--ha! How full of us we were!>

<Perhaps they were right--these people around him insatiably craving his blood--and we, we pollyannaish thespians, were wrong. Perhaps the words of Shakespeare, Ibsen, Miller, and Zaharia should be buried along with the fantasy of Utopia. Perhaps he should finally stop looking at the world through a rose colored haze--stop being Don Quixote de La Mancha and become the sane Alonzo Quijana.>

Wil took a deep breath as the guards hauled him to his feet and pushed him toward the center of the stadium to await his accusers. He needed fortitude, he needed strength. And where else to gain strength--the words. Remember the words. Remember his daughter. Remember his wife.

For with his Dulcinea,
Beside him so to stand,
A man can do quite anything,
Out fly the bird upon the wing,
Hold moonlight in his hand.

If only he were like his ancestor--the Clark Kent of the 20th century. He *could* out fly the bird, he could reach for the stars. But he wasn’t a superhero, he was just a teacher, a playwright, an actor. An ordinary man who stood alone among the many--the many Visigoths.

He looked around at the mob, jeering and hooting. Where was his world? Where was his life? Where was the daughter he loved? Fighting! He knew that of her. Wherever she was, *she* was working on some plan.


* * *


Smallville, Kansas
Tuesday,
March 29, 1994

Liz Lathrop pulled back after kissing him. “It was a nice day,” she told her date.

“I would like to do this again.”

“So would I,” the man told her. “How about tomorrow evening.”

“That would be fine,” Liz responded and kissed him again. “I’m really happy that you’ve come to Smallville,” she said, smiling as she put her hand up and toyed with the top button of his shirt.

He leaned in to kiss her again.

“Tomorrow,” she said suggestively, and pushed him toward the steps.

Liz’s date turned and walked away toward his car.

Dr. Lathrop opened the door of her apartment and walked in. The outward smile faded quickly. She had had to figure a way to get the upper hand. She knew from the very start that Tempus was the kind of man who would use her and then discard her. That, she couldn’t tolerate. Tempus might believe as all men did, that he was in charge. But she knew that the time traveler wasn’t the only one with a plan and he nor any man could be trusted.

And now, she knew something that would give her what she needed. She could prevent that young girl from interrupting Tempus’ plans, and as such, he would owe her. Owe her big time. As a result, she had insured that little Liz would get everything that was coming to her. But she needed help to make certain that a plan of her own making was put into affect, and that help just walked down her front stoop.

She turned to look out the window as she watched the man drive away. Before long, Dr. Light would be eating out of the palm of her hand. *Her* plan was coming together.


* * *


“Let’s take it from the middle of page sixty-one,” Martha told Claire and Lois. “Right where they finally start to plan and to work together and support each other against all the bad guys.”

Lois walked over to the table and stood there moving her hands carefully in order to feel for the vase in front of her just as Rod Purcell had taught her.

Suzy/Lois: Can you find me some ammonia and some vegetable oil?

Gloria/Claire: Where are they?

Suzy/Lois: (She points to the general area of the kitchen shelves.) Under the sink...and in that cabinet.

As directed, Claire in her role as Gloria searched for the bottles.

Suzy picked up the vase of flowers. She walked carefully, carrying the vase and emptied the water into the sink.

Suzy/Lois: Ammonia.

Gloria/Claire: (Takes bottle from cupboard under sink.) Got it.

Suzy/Lois: Pour some into this vase....quite a lot...watch out for your eyes.

Both Claire and Lois made a face as they pretended that the ammonia smell bothered them.

Gloria/Claire: What’s this for?

Suzy/Lois: For just in case...Go on...a little more. Okay. Now a little oil on top of that...to stop it smelling.

Claire poured in some of the oil that she had gotten from the wall cupboard by the stove.

Suzy/Lois: Now put those bottles away where you found them. (As Gloria does what she is told) Now--where’s the fuse box? Can you see it?

Gloria/Claire: The what?

Lois and Claire were doing beautifully with this scene, so Martha could take a few moments to think. The director looked over to where Dr. Post was sitting, waiting for his part of the rehearsal. The actors were still rehearsing in the practice room but would be going on stage very shortly, as Jonathan had just about completed the set and in record time even with the special effects and additional unique requirements necessary.

Martha sighed as she looked back at the actresses. They were working so hard, especially Lois. This *was* a difficult part to portray, and her daughter-in-law was putting so much into it. That was why the elder Kents, Claire and Mr. Wells had decided not to let the newlyweds in on what was going on. Lois and Clark had to believe the play was the thing--not the plot behind it. They, as the play suggested had to be kept in the dark.

Martha watched Lois struggling to capture the essence of what it was like to be blind and succeeding wonderfully. Her character had developed nicely. Her performance wouldn’t evoke pity--it wasn’t meant to. It, instead would gather the audience up into a conspiracy between them and her as she led them into cheering her on.

The Director looked over to where Rod and Jimmy were sitting. Rod had his Braille puncher out and was taking notes, Jimmy was reading ahead in the script. Martha was feeling regretful that their hard work wouldn’t get the attention it deserved.

It was a shame. Both she and Jonathan, and *their* co-conspirators, knew that no audience would ever see the current play they were working on. No theatre-goers from their community would ever witness the wonderful performance that Martha was now watching as she appraised her daughter-in-law’s accomplishment.

Martha sighed. She, Jonathan, Claire and Mr. Wells understood this, because their plan to stop Dr. Post would occur *before* the scheduled production dates. Loving theatre as much as she did, this was a sacrifice--one she had to make. And Martha knew that she and Jonathan had to do an incredible acting job, as they had to continue to do the best job they could as director and technical director while waiting for the planned moment--for the moment when Dr. Post would be unaware and they could...

“I have to stop both of you,” Martha said to the two young women, as she shook off her thoughts and reverted back to the job of director--a job she had to keep on top of in order hide their plans.

“You’re doing fine,” she told Claire and Lois. “But as we get into this next section, your speech and actions have to become more and more rapid. You should be speaking on top of each other and begin moving around very quickly. It will heighten the suspense.”

“Okay” both Claire and Lois responded.

Suzy/Lois: There’s a fuse box in the wall somewhere...near the stairs I think. (She puts out her hand) Take me to it.

Claire took Lois’ hand and led her to the fuse box.

Suzy/Lois: Now go round the whole apartment turning on all the lights. Start in the bathroom.

Claire walked over toward the side of the rehearsal room, miming going into the bathroom.

Gloria/Claire: On--or off?

Suzy/Lois: (Impatiently and right on top of the last speech) On!...On!

Gloria/Claire: (A little hurt) Okay. Okay.

Suzy/Lois I’m not mad at you honey--just in an awful hurry. Those men are coming back here!

Gloria/Clare: “That’s okay, Suzy--I’m not mad either.

As the stage directions dictate, Claire walked back a few steps as if into the bedroom.

Suzy/Lois: Is it dark outside yet?

Gloria/Clarke (From offstage) No--not quite.

Suzy/Lois: (More rapidly) I wish it would hurry up. Close the drapes in the bedroom.

Gloria/Claire (Calling from offstage) I will. (She pauses) They just switched on the street lamps.

Suzy/Lois: Good.

“Hold on a second,” Martha told her actors. “Rod,” she said, turning to face the young man sitting at the side of the room. “I need the sound of drapes closing at this point.”

“No problem, Mrs. Kent,” Rod Purcell told her, and added a note to his Braille sheet.

“And, Jimmy,” Martha said looking at the computer teacher. “I need a lot of special lighting effects here. It has to look as though the bathroom light goes on, then the bedroom light, then they have to go off. Then there’s a hall light’s bulb that gets broken. Just listen to the dialog and follow along in the script I gave you, and you’ll get the idea.”

“Sure, Mrs. Kent,” Jimmy said. It shouldn’t be too difficult to set up the lights and program the computer to run the show.”

“Great,” Martha said, and then turned to her actresses. “Okay, ladies. Let’s continue.”

Lois pretended to open up the fuse box and began feeling for the fuses. Claire entered from the supposed bedroom.

Gloria/Claire: All on.

Suzy/Lois: In here too?

Gloria/ Claire: Yes

Suzy/Lois: Good. Now--as I take out each fuse--tell me which light has gone off. Ready?

Gloria/Claire: Yes.

Claire ran back to the side of the room as if standing in the bedroom doorway.

Lois mimed turning various fuses.

Gloria/Claire: Bedroom...bathroom...all out in there....(She returns from the bedroom)...ceiling...(she points) that one...

Suzy/Lois: *Which* one?


* * *


Dystopia
December
2121

“Which one?” asked the Inquisitor.

“Which one what?” Wil asked back.

“Which one of your collaborators stole the books from the propaganda box.”

“Propaganda box?”

“Don’t toy with me,” the man ranted at him. “The box where we keep those vile books selected for destruction.”

“I don’t know! And if I *did* know, I wouldn’t tell you,” Wil began, and gathering energy from deep inside, he faced the tribunal. “Books won't stay banned. The pages may burn, but the books themselves won't incinerate. Ideas won't go to jail. In the long run of history, the censor and the inquisitor have always lost. The only sure weapon against bad ideas is better ideas. The source of better ideas is wisdom. The surest path to wisdom is a liberal education. And a liberal education includes the arts. You may cut out the tongue but not the hope of the singer or the actor. You may break the arm but not the spirit of the writer, composer or the painter. No matter what you do to us, we will be heard, we will be seen, and we will be believed.”


* * *


Smallville, Kansas
Thursday
March 31, 1994

“So do you believe me?” Liz Lathrop told her new ally.

“It sounds like the plot of bad play,” Dr. Light replied. “Let’s see, twins separated at birth, time travelers, red glowing crystals that will change the world. No, no, no--impossible,” he suggested. “Wait, oh....wait! I know. An early April Fools’ joke.”

“Not at all,” Liz said, putting her arms around him. “Tomorrow’s my birthday and I’m giving you and myself a great birthday present.”


* * *


Smallville, Kansas
Friday,
April 1, 1994

<Concentrate!> Claire admonished herself, as she tried to pay attention to her government teacher’s explanation of the Electoral College. She directed her attention to Clark Kent as he was elucidating the history of that process.

“The Constitution leaves the selection of electors to the state legislatures,” Clark explained. “The only stipulation is that their number equals that of the congressional delegation and that officers of the federal government are not eligible. Candidates for elector usually are nominated by party conventions, in primary elections, or by party organizations.”

Claire looked down at the blank page in front of her. She should at least be pretending to take notes. She looked up at her teacher and then back down to the pen in her hand. She was finding it so hard to look at him. His face was so like that of her father’s. She could see the courage, the commitment, the caring that was so a part of her father’s character as well. And it wasn’t because Clark Kent was Superman. In her world, her father didn’t have super powers but they were both the same man--heroes. And heroes were not born because they had super powers, they were made because they saw wrongs and needed to make them right.

It had been so difficult not to let Lois and Clark in on their plans. For the past two weeks, she had come to know and love both of them. They were her family, after all. But their love--the love they shared between the two of them was so synergistic that it overflowed to include not only their family and friends but their students and humanity in general. They didn’t know she was family, but they had made her feel loved and she had missed that--missed her mother and her father.

But soon, soon.... She would see her father soon and have back the life they once had. Tonight was the night. At rehearsal tonight, Dr. Tim Post would be...

“Miss Kennedy,” Clark Kent said. “Miss Kennedy,” he repeated. “You don’t seem to be with us today.”

“Huh?” Claire responded.

“Could you enlighten us?”

“Well...well,” she groped for something to say.

“What if *you* tell us some of the problems of the electoral college,” he suggested.

“Well,” Claire began, searching back to her own studies. “The election is decided by a majority of the total electoral college vote which may or may not really reflect what the people want,”

“And...” Clark encouraged.

“Um...the electoral college system generally gives all of a state's electoral votes to the winner in that state, no matter how slim the margin. So sometimes it has happened that candidates have been elected even though they received fewer popular votes than their opponents. Umm...let’s see...John Quincy Adams in 1824, uh...Rutherford B. Hayes in 1876, Benjamin Harrison in 1888, a very close one with John F. Kennedy and Richard Nixon in 1960. Then, of course the really controversial election of 2000 with Gore and Bush when Vice President Gore won the popular vote but...”

Claire stopped as the entire class stared at her.

“Gore and Bush?” Clark Kent asked.

Claire looked around the room. “Uh...uh...April fools,” she added just as the bell rang.


* * *


Several of the Smallville Players entered the auditorium just as hordes of students were flooding out of the school after their last class. Jonathan went directly backstage and opened the door at the rear loading dock. He looked both ways and seeing that those who were scheduled for rehearsal were on stage busily preparing, he signaled for Wells to enter unbeknownst to the others.

The two men moved over toward the light board on stage left. Wells unfolded his schematic and poured over the blueprints with Jonathan looking over his shoulder.

Two others were also observing as the Smallville Players readied themselves for this eventful rehearsal. They watched for their moment to get into position, and then the two physicians climbed carefully up to the catwalk and moved along the bank of lights. “Will this work?” Liz asked Dr. Light.

“Of course,” he said and reaching out, removed an amber colored flimsy piece of stiff cellophane that gelled the fresnel light, replacing it with a violet plastic disc.


* * *


Anne Holland, Keith Haley and Rod Purcell were sitting in the library waiting for Claire Kennedy so they could work on their American Lit. project. Anne looked up at the clock.

“Where is she?” Anne asked the others. “We were supposed to meet following seventh period.”

“Mr. Kent asked her to stay after class,” Keith explained.

“Is she in trouble?” Anne inquired.

“Well, she *was* fooling around--you know April Fools,” Keith said looking at the others.

“I think Anne’s right. She may be in trouble,” Rod told them.

“Does she need our help?” Keith asked.

“I don’t know,” Rod said, opening up the glass case over his watch and feeling the dial. “She might just be at the auditorium for rehearsal and has forgotten about our meeting,” he informed the two as he picked up his cane and made for the door.

Anne watched him as a twinge of jealousy ebbed through her. Rod belonged to her. She had been in love with him since they were young children. She always believed that some day....

“Now, don’t ask me to explain,” he said, turning back toward his friends, “but she might be facing something really dangerous. And I need to be there to help her.”


* * *


Dystopia
December
2121

Wil Kent faced the panel of judges.

“It is the final unanimous decision of this tribunal,” the Inquisitor declared, “that you will be taken back from whence you came and remain imprisoned for a period of thirty days. From thence you will be taken to a place of execution and burned at the stake.”

“Can I say nothing?” Wil Kent asked.

“What you say is folly,” the leader of the tribunal reminded those assembled. “Spending time on art, music, theatre or poetry is inane foolishness. We no longer dedicate our lives to frivolity, capriciousness or emotional claptrap. The world will be based on logic, on the necessities of life.”

“But without what you call frivolity, what is life?” Wil demanded. “The necessities of life sustain our life but the arts is what we stay alive for! The Humanities are ways of thinking about what is human--about our diverse history, values, ideas, words and dreams. What would life be without them?” Wil asked again. “The Humanities inspire us to ask who we are and what our lives should mean. They ask us to place ourselves in the worldwide context of humankind and to understand commonalities and differences. Without the Humanities, are we human? Without them, what are we? Who are we? And most of all, what will we become?”

* * *


Smallville, Kansas
Friday
April 1, 1994


“What *are* you?” Clark asked looking at Claire who had remained after class per the instructor’s wishes. “*Who* are you?”


tbc
on Tuesday (after a small trip to see my son in Chicago)