Itsy Bitsy Spider | Page 5

a broken and bitter old woman,"
he said, "and I will not have dinner with her under any circumstances,

do you understand?" He peered up Bluejay Way and down.
"Yes, Daddy," said the bot.
"I believe she voted for Nixon, so she has no reason to complain now."
Apparently satisfied that the neighbor weren't sneaking up on us, he
leaned against the windowsill, facing me. "Mrs. Thompson, I think
today may well be a happy one for both of us. I have an
announcement." He paused for effect. "I've been thinking of Lear
again."
The bot settled onto one of her little chairs. "Oh, Daddy, that's
wonderful."
"It's the only one of the big four I haven't done," said my father. "I was
set for a production in Stratford, Ontario back in '99; Polly Matthews
was to play Cordelia. Now there was an actor; she could bring tears to a
stone. But then my wife Hannah had one of her bad times and I had to
withdraw so I could take care of Jen. The two of us stayed down at my
mother's cottage on the Cape; I wasted the entire season tending bar.
And when Hannah came out of rehab, she decided that she didn't want
to be married to an underemployed actor anymore, so things were tight
for a while. She had all the money, so I had to scramble -- spent almost
two years on the road. But I think it might have been for the best. I was
only forty-eight. Too old for Hamlet, too young for Lear. My Hamlet
was very well received, you know. There were overtures from PBS
about a taping, but that was when the BBC decided to do the
Shakespeare series with that doctor, what was his name? Jonathan
Miller. So instead of Peter Fancy, we had Derek Jacobi, whose brilliant
idea it was to roll across the stage, frothing his lines like a rabid
raccoon. You'd think he'd seen an alien, not his father's ghost. Well,
that was another missed opportunity, except, of course, that I was too
young. Ripeness is all, eh? So I still have Lear to do. Unfinished
business. My comeback."
He bowed, then pivoted solemnly so that I saw him in profile, framed
by the picture window. "Where have I been? Where am I? Fair
daylight?" He held up a trembling hand and blinked at it

uncomprehendingly. "I know not what to say. I swear these are not my
hands."
Suddenly the bot was at his feet. "O look upon me, sir," she said, in her
childish voice, "and hold your hand in benediction o'er me."
"Pray, do not mock me." My father gathered himself in the flood of
morning light. "I am a very foolish, fond old man, fourscore and
upward, not an hour more or less; and to deal plainly, I fear I am not in
my perfect mind."
He stole a look in my direction, as if to gauge my reaction to his
impromptu performance. A frown might have stopped him, a word
would have crushed him. Maybe I should have but I was afraid he'd
start talking about mom again, telling me things I didn't want to know.
So I watched instead, transfixed.
"Methinks I should know you ..." He rested his hand briefly on the bot's
head. "... and know this stranger." He fumbled at the controls and the
exolegs carried him across the room toward me. As he drew nearer, he
seemed to sluff off the years. "Yet I am mainly ignorant what place this
is; and all the skill I have remembers not these garments, nor I know
not where I did lodge last night." It was Peter Fancy who stopped
before me; his face a mere kiss away from mine. "Do not laugh at me;
for, as I am a man, I think this lady to be my child. Cordelia."
He was staring right at me, into me, knifing through make-believe
indifference to the wound I'd nursed all these years, the one that had
never healed. He seemed to expect a reply, only I didn't have the line.
A tiny, sad squeaky voice within me was whimpering, You left me and
you got exactly what you deserve. But my throat tightened and choked
it off.
The bot cried, "And so I am! I am!"
But she had distracted him. I could see confusion begin to deflate him.
"Be your tears wet? Yes, faith. I pray ... weep not. If you have poison
for me, I will drink it. I know you do not love me ...."

He stopped and his brow wrinkled. "It's something about the sisters," he
muttered.
"Yes," said the bot, "'... for your sisters have done me wrong ...'"
"Don't feed me the fucking lines!" he shouted at