The Chinese woman, one of the 40 million-odd Madame Cheungs in the People’s Republic of China, spoke loudly although she seemed to have only a fleeting grasp of the English language. Even her Mandarin seemed a bit shaky. Fong wondered if some malicious bureaucrat had stuck these three white people with a person suffering from gentle dementia. It wouldn’t be the first time it had happened.
Suddenly the play inexplicably stopped and a long pantomime followed wherein most of the costumes were paraded.
“Lots of hats,” Fong whispered.
“Careful,” Fu Tsong hissed back.
Then Tall Lady leaned over toward Big Hair and said, “They do talk in this play, don’t they? I mean this isn’t a mime, is it? I hate mime.”
“Really?” asked Donny in mock surprise.
“I hate mime’s nasty little cousins, ventriloquists, too,” said Big Hair.
“Ventriloquists are only mimes with attitude,” said Tall Lady.
“Mimes who can’t keep their mouths shut,” said Big Hair.
“Mimes whose lips move,” chirped Donny.
Listening to the chatter of the three Caucasians was an unexpected treat. Fong wanted to applaud. Give a hardy “Hoa.” Cleverness, never much in abundance in this kind of theatre, was a welcome relief.
Madame Cheung responded, “Is noble – no?”
Donny gave a get-this-broad look to Big Hair and Tall Lady then put an expansive smile on his face and turned to Madame Cheung, “It’s a fascinating mix of styles, the surreal and the naturalistic.”
Tall Lady let out a groan.
Fu Tsong whispered in Fong’s ear, “I like her and she has taste too.” The warmth of her breath made his heart miss a beat.
The play finally got to its story line, something about an emperor whom everyone was trying to kill because he was sleeping with too many young girls in an effort to maintain his youth or something. Fong couldn’t understand why the other characters didn’t just rush at him and knock him off the stage and save everyone a lot of aggravation.
Near the end of the act, a large map lowered inexplicably from the flies.
Madame Cheung leaned over Donny and intoned, “It is a map.”
Tall Lady asked, “How long has this play been running?” The question was relayed down the line to Madame Cheung and the answer was relayed back from Donny, who announced completely straightfaced, “Just over an hour and a half.”
Tall Lady let out a loud, “Oh, god” and returned to some deep inner space.
In the middle of the fourth scene, someone offstage began singing “I Did It My Way” – very loudly. Fong saw the back muscles of Big Hair begin to quiver, then she spluttered. Madame Cheung leaned over and said gravely, “Flank Sinatra.”
“Flank?” exploded Donny. That was too much for Tall Lady who burst out laughing. But Donny kept his face blank and asked smoothly, “Is that part of the play?”
Madame Cheung pondered Donny’s question for a moment then the map came down again and she pointed out, “It is a map.”
In the next scene, someone, Fong had by this time totally lost track of the characters, committed suicide. Fong cheered. Many others in the audience joined him. Every bad actor killed is a step in the right direction. Upon the death, the curtain fell and the house lights came up. Before the Caucasians could rise, the intrepid Madame Cheung announced loudly, “Good. It’s intercourse,” and headed to the bathroom.
The three foreigners managed to hide their faces but Fu Tsong, who had been following the scene in the row ahead as closely as Fong, lost it completely. Donny pointed at Fu Tsong and then broke out laughing. Through his laughter he said to Big Hair, “I like her,” to which Big Hair, tears of laughter streaming down her face, said, “I can see why.” The Tall One had crumpled in her chair clutching her sides and barked out, “Good, it’s intercourse. And she’s an English teacher.”
Donny announced to all and sundry, “I’ve been bored to tears in theatres in every language in every country in the world.” To which the Tall One replied through tears of laughter, “And whose fault is that?”
Donny was still talking, evidently oblivious to that fact that Fong had just taken a rather extended internal voyage. “As I said, Detective, I’ve been bored to tears in theatres in every language in every country in the world.”
“And whose fault is that?” Fong replied, immensely pleased with his own cleverness. Donny looked at him. “That sounds familiar.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, but I can’t quite place it,” Donny said, for the first time eyeing Fong as something more than a student asking for an extension on a term paper.
Fong avoided Donny’s eyes and said, “ Let’s start with the text of the play. It’s usually cut, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It’s only a myth that Hamlet’s a quick play. It’s ponderous and long, so everyone cuts it.”
“Was Mr. Hyland’s cutting unusual?”
“Well, he left in the Reynaldo scene and the whole Rosencrantz and Guildenstern plot, which is out of the ordinary. As well, he played up the relationship between Polonius and Claudius. Made Polonius a smart guy in disguise.”
“Yes, he did,” said Fong. “Is the Reynaldo scene about spying?”
“Yes. Reynaldo is sent to follow Laertes and make sure that he behaves himself and cover for him when he doesn’t behave himself. Yes, Mr. Hyland also left in the Voltaman plot.”
“More spying and deceiving?”
“Yes and of course so is the R and G plot.”
“R and G?”
“Rosencrantz and Guildenstern – ah, gentle Rosencrantz and wise Guildenstern.”
“These are the men sent to murder Hamlet on the boat to England.”
“Yes, but Hamlet finds their orders, switches the names on the letter and the two of them are murdered.”
“Spying again.”
“That’s a little crude, but yes spying, if you will. He’s also used what’s thought of as the American cutting. By removing the subplot of Fortinbras the entire evening drifts toward the demise of a great soul, Hamlet. It makes sense when you see the opening he’s devised but it does make the evening more personal and less political. The Europeans have a tendency to make the play about succession and politics. For that you need the history of Fortinbras and he must arrive at the end to solve the problem.” Donny smiled, “Capiche?”
“Pardon me?’
“You understand?”
Fong nodded. Oh, yes, he understood more than this odd bowling ball of a man could ever imagine. Geoffrey Hyland and spying. Geoffrey Hyland arriving without a visa three months ago. Geoffrey Hyland eluding his surveillance team for thirty-six hours. Geoffrey Hyland and two Beijing handlers. “Do you know much about Shakespeare’s use of flowers, Donny?”
“Everything about Shakespeare’s use of flora, I know.”
“Everything?” Fong wanted to ask but let that slide. Instead he asked, “What did primroses mean in Shakespeare’s writing?”
“They represented things unfinished. Things that die before they are old or done or consum-mated.”
Fong thought about that then asked, “And marigolds?”
“Flowers for middle age – a mid-life flower.” Donny smiled. His eyes twinkled. He was being impressive and he liked being impressive.
Fong nodded, “And forget-me-nots?”
A darkness crossed Donny’s round features. A vein suddenly pulsed in his forehead just over his left eye. “Forget-me-nots? I don’t believe there are any mentions of forget-me-nots in Shakespeare.” The smile returned to his face. “But I’ll check. That’s what graduate students are for, don’t you think?”