A Very Happy Birthday to Saskia who nagged me to start this today -- and Happy Thanksgiving!!!!
Smallville Players IV: Encore
Welcome back into the world of theatre and the Smallville Players. As before, Lois and Clark are teachers at Smallville High School and both are very active members of the community theatre group directed by Martha Kent.
As with SP III, I caution you to watch the dates very carefully as the plot and actors flit back and forth between two views of the present and two views of the future.
Since this is the last fic in a four-part chronicle, we hopefully tie up all loose ends and leave our actors in a great place remembering that:
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players.
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts.
Wm. Shakespeare
As You Like It. Act ii. Sc. 7.
At the end of the story, you will find credits, but right here, right now especially on Thanksgiving, I have to thank so many people. The friends I have made in the last two years are friends who have been there for me and will hopefully be part of my future. Thank you to Labby, Erin, Bethy, Tricia, Karen, and Wendy who have helped me become a better writer. Thank you to Saskia, Cristina, Merry, Gerri, Roger, Rivka, Shelley, Raquel, Kathy, Carol, Yael, Kathy, Maria, and others I’m probably forgetting to mention, who have constantly read my work and encouraged and supported me.
This last fic in the series has been a Dutch Treat, because Saskia has joined Laswa as a BR and I thank her sincerely.
Most of all thank you Laswa, who has been there for all four parts--your sustenance, your spark, and your loyalty has found its way into all my writing --- You’re incredible.
* * * * * * *
Part 1
“Mommy, mommy! Read me a story,” the little dark-eyed boy shouted, as he ran into the living room, handing his mother a book.
The patient young woman retrieved the book from her five-year old son’s hand. “This one again?” she asked, looking at the volume, lovingly.
“Yes,” the little boy insisted as he joined his mother on the well-worn couch in front of the fireplace of the old farmhouse. “Again and again and again!”
She smiled, moved a lock of hair off of her son’s forehead and opened the book to the dedication page.
##########
...There is a time for some things,
and a time for all things;
a time for great things,
and a time for small things.
But all in good time.
Miguel de Cervantes
Don Quixote
The mother turned the page and her mind began its journey, as the words in the book took her back.
##########
Smallville, Kansas
Monday,
March 14, 1994
Jonathan Kent walked down the long fluorescent-lit hallway of Smallville High School. Above the long row of gray lockers was a banner with ‘61 days of school left’ printed in large red block letters. A couple of colorful posters reminded the students that Friday was a basketball game with arch rival Hillsborough High School.
The elder Kent turned the corner at the end of the hall and strode toward the lobby of the High School Auditorium which the Smallville Players used as their theatre. He opened the door at the rear of the school’s auditorium and walked down the aisle. A flash of white caught his eye as he ambled toward the stage. He paused and then moved sideways along one of the rows, flipping up seats as he went. He stooped down and picked up a wayward program that had slipped under a seat and remained unnoticed by the busy janitorial staff.
Smallville Players presents ‘Arsenic and Old Lace’, he read. Jonathan sank down in an auditorium seat and opened the program. He smiled as he glanced at the cast of characters and found himself thinking back to the production’s final night. Was it just two weeks ago?
A bulb in one of the chandeliers above Jonathan’s head began flickering, but it went unobserved as his mind played an encore of that last eventful performance. Jonathan remembered that he had been stage left, behind the supposed Brewster dining room, waiting for his cue when Libby spoke.
* * *
Aunt Martha/Libby Barton: Well, Mortimer, now that we’re moving, this house really is yours.
Aunt Abby/Martha Kent: Yes dear, we want you to live here now.
Mortimer/Clark: No, Aunt Abby, this house is too full of memories.
Backstage, Jonathan was standing across from Dr. Mock when the minister heard his cue. Dr. Mock picked up the Bible and walked toward the Brewster’s front door entrance. He paused behind the masked panel that hid the exits and entrances of the actors. Jonathan had been there when the minister and Clark had worked this out, and he was confident that Dr. Mock knew what to do. Jonathan Kent returned the smile Dr. Mock, alias Dr. Harper threw at him and moved closer so that he, too, was ready for his prescribe entrance.
Aunt Martha/Libby Barton: [Looks over at Clark and smiles.] But you’ll need a home when you and Elaine are married.
From his position, Jonathan could see Clark glance around the set to make sure that all the actors were in their places. They all knew what was to occur, that is all except Lois Lane.
Mortimer/Clark: Darlings, that’s very indefinite.
Elaine/Lois: [Rising from the couch where she had been sitting.] It’s nothing of the kind--we’re going to be married right away.
Mortimer/Clark: Yes, right away. In fact right now!
Jonathan had seen Lois look over at Clark. He knew that she realized that that wasn’t the line and instead, were probably the changes hinted at by Martha before she went on. Clark usually didn’t go up on lines. Aunt Abby, that is Martha Kent was supposed to say....but people began moving to what looked like pre-assigned spots on the set.
At the appointed moment, Jonathan Kent entered to stand beside his wife. Perry had returned from upstairs and took Lois’ arm and escorted her to the center of the stage to stand beside Clark. Martha had taken Jonathan’s hand and smiled up at him. Jonathan glanced over at Lois and could imagine what she was thinking.
Lois looked around again. She looked at Martha, Jonathan and then the rest of the cast. This obviously looked real to her. It *was* real she was realizing!!! Reverend Harper, uh...Dr. Mock was entering through the Brewster’s supposed front door.
Clark turned Lois to face him. “I fell in love with you the moment I first saw you. I’ve never stopped loving you, not even for an instant. And I will go on loving you for the rest of my life,” he told her gently, putting his hand up to cup the side of her face. “Marry me now,” he pleaded, his eyes searching into her soul. “Right here, right now--in front of all of our friends and family. I can’t live without you. I was so wrong to push you away. You mean everything to me. Please, please say yes.”
Clark pulled Lois into his arms and kissed her. Through the kiss he whispered: “Lois, I love you. Marry me.”
Tears welled up in Lois’ eyes as she stepped back to stare at the incredible man who once again had asked her...asked her to... She closed her eyes. Was the jinx at long last over? Should she tempt fate and... <Stop thinking, Lois> she shouted at herself. You have spent your adult life risking everything for your work, for the causes you believe in. Risk now! Feel! Don’t think!
Clark waited, hoping against hope.
Lois looked up at him with confidence in her eyes, and in a warm and steady voice said: “Yes, Mortimer. I’ll marry you,” she began, matching the deep look into his eyes, “...right here, and right now.”
* * *
Jonathan Kent looked at his watch and shook off the reverie of the performance--that is the wedding--vividly portrayed in his thoughts. No time for encores now, as he had promised Martha that he would prepare the stage so auditions could be held for the next play. He also had to move some set pieces that remained in the two wing areas to their small delegated storage room behind the stage in order to establish a large enough area for set construction.
Jonathan shouldn’t be spending time reminiscing because he really had to get working on this particular play quickly, as it had a lot of technical attributes requiring special features to be installed within and behind the set. The next play would be a technical director’s tour de force; and it, therefore, would require a lot of his time.
A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt, though, as the dream-like remembrances held him. The elder Kent smiled as he folded the program and looked up at the closed red curtain with a large gold ‘S’ within a circle, embossed on it. Jonathan smiled again as the Smallville High School emblem reminded him of how far his son had come to finally realize his destiny.
Only seven months ago, Clark had been hiding his powers and surreptitiously reaching out to help those in trouble. Jonathan had worried about his son being made into some kind of government experiment, poking and prodding him once they found out he was not like other men.
But now with the advent of Superman, Clark finally knew why he was here and how he could make a difference. And his son had done just that.
Jonathan stood up and walked up the steps to the stage. He paused in front of the closed curtain. Much had ended or been altered when the curtain rang down sixteen nights ago. The house of Luthor was no more, Libby Barton had resolved issues in her life and now faced her last days with friends clustered around her; and lastly and wonderfully, Jonathan now had Lois Lane as a daughter.
The technical director of the Smallville Players Theatre group stepped through the curtain and walked backstage. He reached up and moving hand over hand, reopened the curtain.
* * *
Once again, Claire looked into the mirror, eyeing the reflection she saw staring back at her. She tossed her head and fluffed her dark hair, but that was just a way to procrastinate, as vanity was not one of her vices.
She took a deep breath and gazed, yet again, at the dark resolute eyes and the determined chin. Although only fifteen, there was a maturity behind those eyes and a wisdom that came from an understanding heart. She had the family chin, her mother had told her; and the look in Claire’s eyes when she knew she was right, echoed the paternal side of her family back to her...her...no she couldn’t get off track. Concentrate!
“Hi,” she said lightly to the face in the mirror. “My name is Claire Kennedy and I’ve just moved here from...from...” she paused, as she bit her lower lip. “Metropolis.”
Why was she having so much trouble with those simple lines? She was an actress. How dare she go up on her part! It’s as if she had never been on stage before. She turned away from the mirror and gathered herself together.
Claire had been in over a dozen plays since the age of nine--and always, always big roles. She had been Annie in ‘Annie’, Mary in ‘The Children’s Hour’, Helen Keller in ‘The Miracle Worker’ and even Juliet. Her current role, as Claire Kennedy, new student at Smallville High School, should be a snap for the young thespian. But so incredibly much was riding on this.
Claire turned back to the mirror and sliding her hand up to move a lock of hair from her face, checked the reflection one last time to insure that she looked the part, spun away and walked toward the door.
* * * *
Lois Lane looked toward the door of her classroom, half expecting to see her husband walk by. In the just over two weeks that she and Clark had been married, she had gained a superpower of her own--the ability to know when her husband was nearby. Lois frowned and then smiled, as she caught sight of him moving quickly down the hall. A few seconds later, a red and blue streak zoomed by the window of Smallville High School as Clark headed out toward some unknown danger.
<Be careful,> she thought, and turned back to her class.
“Welcome back from spring break. I hope you had a great vacation. I know I did,” she said, smiling.
The class laughed and then they all turned to look at Keith Haley while encouraging him through gestures and whispers to go toward the front of the class.
“Miss La...uh, Mrs. Kent,” Keith began. “The class wants to wish you and Mr. Kent the best. We all think this is so great. You both are fantastic teachers and incredible people,” he continued, smiling as he thought back to how the two of them supported him when he needed someone.
“We’re so glad that both of you found each other,” he went on. “And, uh, well... we’ve gotten together to get you a wedding present,” he said, as Emily Cox joined him, carrying a small package.
“Thank you all,” Lois told the class. “It’s been such a real joy to be your teacher. I have learned so much from all of you,” she finished, as she opened the package. Inside was a small hardbound book ‘The Night Thoreau Spent in Jail: A Play’.
“This is wonderful!” Lois exclaimed. “You all know how I love Thoreau and this specific book has been out of print for about ten years. I have a small, worn, paperback edition, but have been looking for this. Thank you--each and every one of you.”
Lois put the volume down on her desk and tenderly placed her hand on it. She then smiled and faced the class once again.
* * *
Dr. Tim Post closed the top drawer of his desk and, for the third time, adjusted the diploma on the wall of his office at Smallville General Hospital. He stepped back again to look at the results of his machinations. He smiled and reached down into the box on the floor, lifting out two other framed documents that falsely and somewhat garishly testified to his ersatz credibility.
Moving back to his desk, the visitor from the future, opened the bottom drawer and removed a bag made of material not known to contemporary earth dwellers. He opened the clasp that secured the bag and poured some of its contents into a small plate that he had placed on his desk earlier. The granules of red crystals sparkled in the sun that filtered through the blinds at his window.
“Just in time,” the pseudo doctor sang. “I found you just in time. Before you came my time was running low.” He took some of the finite crystals in his hand and letting them dribble out as if in some Navajo sand painting, he drew the familiar ‘S’ on the desk. “I was lost,” he crooned. “The losing dice were tossed. My bridges all were crossed. No where to go.”
The flagitious phony got up and with the bag in his arms, danced around the room. He stretched out his arms and smiled at his treasure. “But now you’re here. And now I know just where I’m going. No more doubt or fear. I’ve found my way,” he crooned, as he strutted back toward the desk.
Dr. Post put the bag down on the desk, whistling the final strains of the song. And looking at the crystals in front of him, he licked his lips and smiled. “And it’s about time,” he said out loud.
* * *
“It’s about time,” Lois told the class. “The novel we are going to study next is *all* about time. It is considered the first book to be written about time travel.”
“I know,” sang out Tom Mock. “The Time Machine.”
“Nope,” their teacher informed them. Besides that’s a British novel and this is American Literature. Think American.”
The class was quiet.
“Do you know the answer, Rod?” asked their teacher.
All heads turned toward Rod Purcell.
Rod had been born in Smallville as had most of his friends. At age five, he was in a terrible automobile accident that killed his mother and rendered him totally blind. Rod’s father had been a cardiologist but returned to Medical School to become an ophthalmic surgeon. He became renown in his field as he spent the last twelve years searching for a way to help his son.
Dr. Purcell and Rod spent four months in Switzerland, where the doctor had heard there was a new procedure that could help his son. Both returned to Smallville two weeks ago, the operation unsuccessful.
Lois looked out at Rod. “Rod? From what I’ve heard, this author is a favorite of yours.”
“Yes, Mrs. Kent,” Rod replied. “Mark Twain. And the book you are talking about is ‘A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur’s Court’.”
“Right you are, Rod,” his teacher acknowledged. “And, now, let me read this review.”
...Mr. Clemens, we call him, rather than Mark Twain, because we feel that in this book our arch-humorist imparts more of his personal quality than in anything else he has done. Here he is to the full the humorist, as we know him; but he is very much more, and his strong, indignant, often infuriate hate of injustice, and his love of equality, burn hot through the manifold adventures and experiences of the tale. What he thought about prescriptive right and wrong, we had partly learned in The Prince and the Pauper, and in Huckleberry Finn, but it is this last book which gives us his whole mind. The elastic scheme of the romance allows it to play freely back and forward between the sixth century and the nineteenth century; and often while it is working the reader up to a blasting contempt of monarchy and aristocracy in King Arthur's time, the dates are magically shifted under him, and he is confronted with exactly the same principles in Queen Victoria's time. The delicious satire, the marvelous wit, the wild, free, fantastic humor are the colors of the tapestry, while the texture is a humanity that lives in every fibre. At every moment the scene amuses, but it is all the time an object-lesson in democracy...
“So, Lois told them “through the eyes of an American humorist of the 19th century, we are going to view sixth-century Camelot.”
* * *
“Camelot,” Clark Kent said, as he quickly reentered his History II class. He adjusted his tie and began collecting the quiz he had hastily assigned his students while he made his ‘phone call’.
“Camelot,” he said again. “The New Frontier. The Kennedy years were something special,” he continued, as he put the relatively easy quiz question the students responded to, in his desk.
“The lethargy of the 50s made way for the creative and youthful energy of the 60s as the youngest elected president, John Fitzgerald Kennedy took up residence at the White House. Just as the Camelot of old dealt with an idyllic view of the world--might for right instead of might is right--a voice against injustice--an arm tilting at windmills. Oops,” Clark interjected. I’m mixing metaphors or legends as it were--King Arthur and Don Quixote.”
The students chuckled.
“But, maybe not,” Clark went on. “Those are two views of not a particular time period in history, but of a concept--a concept of commitment to an ideal--that there is good in all of us and that a government should be one that supports that vision.”
Clark walked around and leaned against the front edge of his desk. “Quixote’s quest personifies romantic idealism--a state of mind which exists just this side of madness--in its purest form. His story becomes an inspiration to pursue our personal quests with unfailing dedication, unbridled optimism, unwavering courage, and unparalleled chivalry. I believe it finds its echo in JFK’s inaugural commitment--‘ask not what your country can do for you, but what you can do for your country.’”
* * *
“So what do we have to do with this one?” Tom asked the English teacher. “Dress up in 6th century clothing, put on a joust, search for the holy grail?”
“No, Tom,” Lois said, her eyes twinkling. “But it would be fun to see you try that.”
The students laughed and then looked at their teacher expectantly. She had always had an interesting task to go with the discussion of their assigned novel. What was in their teacher’s mind this time?
Lois smiled. “Okay, nothing controversial, no wandering out in the community, just an additional reading requirement and the opportunity to contrast several visions of knighthood in flower.”
Lois turned to write the names of several literary pieces on the board. Remembering that she now had a visually impaired student, Lois read off the titles as she listed them in chalk. ‘The Song of Roland’, ‘The Castle of Otranto’, ‘The Talisman’, ‘Ivanhoe’, ‘The Idylls of the King’, Le Morte d’Arthur, and ‘Don Quixote’.”
The groans from the class were loud and long.
Lois turned back. “It’s not going to be that bad,” she explained. “Once again, you’ll be in groups of four. You will read your supplementary piece of literature. One of you will present some information on the author, a second student will provide a summary of the work, another will compare the vision of knighthood depicted to that of Mark Twain’s, while the fourth student will contrast the writing style of the two authors. Any questions?”
“Can we pick our teams?” Cindy asked.
“Not this time,” their teacher responded. “I want to try to break-up a couple of your little cliques and give you the opportunity to work with some new people. Oh, and speaking of new people, a new student will be joining us shortly.”
“Who?” Keith asked, verbalizing what the others were thinking.
“Claire Kennedy,” Lois informed them, looking at a note on her desk. “She’ll be here as soon as she finishes getting her orientation lecture from Principal White.”
“She’ll get more than that,” Cindy said. “She’ll learn more about Elvis than she thought she’d ever want to know.”
The students chuckled in agreement.
“Well, she should be here soon,” Lois informed them. “Meanwhile...”
* * *
Claire quickly walked over to the auditorium. She just had to take one quick peak at the stage before she joined her class, which was already in session. Claire walked over to the light board. Well, this was certainly archaic. She expected that, of course. She looked up at the electrics, quickly figured out its system and pulled up the lever marked C3. Two ellipsoidal instruments, gelled in violet, brightly blazed down on center stage. Claire walked over, found its hot spot and looking out toward the empty seats, wet her lips and spoke.
Claire/Aldonza: Please! Try to remember!
Yes, try to remember. Remember something that hasn’t even.... When was it? When? She stooped down and touched the very place on the boards where her father...her father...lying on a bed, center stage reaching out...reaching toward...saying those anguished lines from ‘The Man of La Mancha’.
Quijana: Is it so important?
Yes it is important--so important. She stood up and could almost hear his lines as if spoken aloud--although only a resonance etched deeply within her thoughts and memory. She continued the dialog, so much a part of her soul.
Claire/Aldonza: Everything. My whole life. You spoke to me and everything was--different!
Quijana: I...spoke to you?
Claire/Aldonza: And you looked at me! And you called me by another name! (She sings, pleadingly)
Dulcinea...Dulcinea...
Once you found a girl and called her Dulcinea,
When you spoke the name, an angel seemed to whisper--
Dulcinea...Dulcinea...
Claire moved out of the light as if she was dragged by unknown forces, but ran back to the light and continued.
Dulcinea...Dulcinea...
Won’t you bring me back the dream of Dulcinea...?
Won’t you bring me back the bright and shining glory...
Of Dulcinea... Dulcinea...
Quijana: Then perhaps...it was not a dream...
Claire/Aldonza: You spoke of a dream. And about the Quest!
Quijana: Quest?
Claire/Aldonza: How you must fight and it doesn’t matter whether you win or lose if only you follow the Quest.
Claire wiped away the tears that had slowly fallen down her face and walked out of the auditorium door and toward her own quest.
* * *
Martha Kent closed the door of Libby Barton’s bedroom and nodded to the hospice nurse who was wending her way carefully up the stairs, balancing a tray of medications and at the same time, attempting to avoid Miss Libby’s attentive cat who was intermittently trying to rub against the nurse’s legs.
“Jinx,” Martha said coaxingly. “Here kitty.”
Noticing that the nurse moved with a slight limp and was trying not to drop the tray, Martha stooped down and picked up the cat. “Jinx is coming home with me,” explained the older woman. “Miss Libby needs to see her settled somewhere.”
“Thank you,” the nurse replied. “I think that’s best.”
Martha carried the cat downstairs and set her down in the kitchen as she opened the cupboards one by one. Finding what she was looking for, Martha removed several cans of cat food and placed them on the counter.
Jinx took that moment to scurry into the living room and hop up on to her accustomed spot on the window seat. Jinx turned around several times and snuggled down on the cushions that adorned the area. The sun streamed through the window and the warmth felt good on the cat’s fur. She purred softly, but then stopped suddenly as her ears picked up a sound. A soft humming emanated from inside the cat’s resting place.
Jinx jumped off her perch and began moving back and forth against the oak grain of the wood paneling as if sensing something warm and alive within.
The nurse returned to the living room and eyeing the cat’s movements, suspiciously moved slowly toward the feline.
Martha exited the kitchen with a bag of supplies, and carefully picked up Jinx before the nurse could reach her.
“How is Miss Libby doing?” Martha asked the nurse, gently stroking the cat in her arms.
“She’s holding on,” Liz Lathrop explained, as she continued to regard the cat. “Her pain medication has been increased, and she is somewhat more comfortable. The end isn’t far off.”
Martha sighed. “Let me know if she needs anything,” Libby Barton’s friend told the nurse, as she moved toward the front door.
“Of course,” the nurse replied, solicitously. “Here, let me get that,” Liz Lathrop told Martha and moved over to open the door for the older woman and her charge.
Dr. Liz Lathrop shut the door and leaning against it, removed the badge that identified her as the hospice nurse. She took a deep breath and strode toward the window seat. One minute later, Liz stood there with a globe in her hand.
* * *
“...You know about transmigration of souls; do you know about transposition of epochs -- and bodies?" Anne Holland read aloud from the text of the novel that they were about to study.
“Okay, you continue, Emily,” their teacher instructed.
“I said I had not heard of it,” Emily added. “He was so little interested -- just as when people speak of the weather -- that he did not notice whether I made him any answer or not. There was half a moment of silence, immediately interrupted by the droning voice of the salaried cicerone.”
Out in the hallway, Claire looked down at her hand as it reached out to open the door of room 217. She pulled her hand back.
In the classroom, Cindy, as requested, continued “...My acquaintance smiled -- not a modern smile, but one that must have gone out of general use many, many centuries ago...and muttered apparently to himself: ‘Wit ye well, I SAW IT DONE.’ Then, after a pause, added: ‘I did it myself.’"
“All right,” Lois said, looking up from the book. “Let me ask you a question.”
Claire reached out again and turned the knob on the door.
“Okay,” the English teacher said. “Let me try again. How many of you believe in time travel?”
Claire walked into Lois Lane’s classroom.
Lois and the students stopped and stared at the young brunette.
“Hi!” Claire began. “My name is Claire Ken...Kennedy. I’m a new student here. I just moved to Smallville from Metropolis and, in answer to the teacher’s question. I not only believe in time travel. I’ve done it. I’m from the future!”
tbc
