O, Juliet Part 27

"What is wrong, my love? What has happened?"

He was long silent, collecting his thoughts. "Of what friar did you speak?" he finally said.

I went cold again. "Bartolomo," I whispered. "Did he not come to you in Verona?"

Romeo shook his head, a steady no.

"Then how do you come to be here in my tomb?" I was sure I would not like his answer.

"A messenger did come," he said, "from Lucrezia de' Medici, with news that"-Romeo's features fell into grievous form-"Juliet Capelletti had succ.u.mbed on the eve of her wedding to Jacopo Strozzi."

I was struck dumb.

"I died then, Juliet. I died." His eyes filled with tears. "All my letters to you had gone unanswered...."

"They never reached me, love."

"I know, I know. . . ." The look on his face was haunted.

"Romeo, oh G.o.d. The friar was meant to come to you and tell you my death was feigned. A way to avoid my marriage to Jacopo Strozzi. It was nothing but a long sleep, a potion I took. You and the priest were to come here and fetch me away."

Romeo was shaking his head again.

"But all is well, my love," I said. "Despite the crossed messages you came."

"I rode like a madman, even believing you dead. I stopped for nothing." Romeo looked away, remembering. "There was on the road-I remember now-a brown-robed monk who knelt at the side of a horse whose leg was broken. But even for this I did not slow. Bartolomo?" He looked back at me. "I tell you I was crazed with grief."

"My sweet husband." I caressed his cheek with my hand.

"Juliet ... I thought you were gone from the world. I did not want to live without you. I took some poison from an apothecary's shelf."

"Well, there you are," I said, and gave him a cheerful smile. "You need not take the poison, for I am clearly not dead."

He took my hand in his and brought it to his lips. Then he looked at me. "But I I am, love. It is already done." am, love. It is already done."

I stared at him in horror. "Vomit it out!" I cried, pushing him off my bier. "Let me help you. I can help you." I found the strength in my legs to stand.

"Too late."

Romeo fell to his knees.

I dropped down before him and gently set him with his back against the marble bench.

"Icy vapors are in my chest. My fingers are numb." He smiled crookedly. "Yet my eyes are clear. Here is your lovely face. Those clever eyes that see beyond the lies of flesh. Ha. That last would have made a good line of verse."

I felt desperation sweeping over me. My voice became hard and strident.

"Where is the apothecary's poison?"

"All gone."

"No!"

"Juliet, sweet wife ..."

I cried out, "If it does not please G.o.d that we should live together, let us die together!"

Romeo's voice was growing weak. "Do not think of following me. I am a suicide. I will exist as a twisted tree stump in the Seventh Circle of h.e.l.l, scaled harpies flying overhead."

"Then let me be a twisted stump beside you."

"Oh, my love, no. Your life is too precious. You have poetry left to write. Children to birth and love."

"My life will be torment! Jacopo threatened to sign my name to the marriage contract, then rape me. Dante's Inferno is a heaven compared to marriage with him!"

"Have no fear of Jacopo. He is worms' meat."

"Jacopo dead?"

"I took my revenge for Marco's death. For my uncles . . ."

"Oh no ..."

"But most of all for you. Oh, the Fates were unkind in breaking that horse's leg."

"Unkind? The Fates must have chosen us as their deadliest enemies! And do not dare tell me that G.o.d is merciful, or works in mysterious ways."

"I will not tell you that. It is my stars that most disappoint me. By their promise, we were to be together."

Romeo slumped and a terrible sound came from deep in his chest. I sat beside him, my back against the bier, then laid him down, his head cradled in my lap. He was dying.

"My love," I moaned.

"Listen, listen . . . ," he whispered.

The stream, hearing her laughter, races faster Her kindness teaches clouds to be soft, Her breath the rose to be fragrant, Her hair the gra.s.ses to wave.

She is Juliet.

She is mine to save.

He smiled. "It is good, is it not?"

"The best you have ever written."

I searched frantically for words of comfort. Something, anything, of hopeful cheer must be said. It came to me suddenly.

"The G.o.d of Love will intervene," I said.

"What?" I could see his sight was dimming.

"The G.o.d of Love . . . he is our personal savior.When someone takes his own life for a sentiment as pure as ours, he goes to a special heaven over which our G.o.d presides. A heaven for those who die for love."

His laugh was weak. "I think our poet would approve . . . of this heaven." Romeo's heavy-lidded eyes closed. "I see it. It is indeed beautiful. A huge walled garden with soft carpets of flowers, and rows of vines. Glorious trees-olive and walnut and fig. A two-sided marble fountain there in the center, one part of cool, clear water, the other of wine. The sky overhead is deep blue with clouds . . . endlessly changing their shapes into faces and fabulous creatures. A great entertainment."

He gasped a breath.

"Romeo, stay with me!"

I kissed him then, with all my might and all my fervor. He raised his head and kissed me back, and I thought the mad thought that I might somehow kiss the life back into him. But then his head fell limp and heavy into my lap. He lay looking up at my face with love and desperation.

"Forgive me," he whispered.

In the next moment I saw the light that was his life flicker . . . then fade . . . then extinguish entirely.

So slender a thread, I thought, and closed his eyes with my hand. I sat still as a statue and death, like fine dust, rose around me. The torch crackled on the wall. Oh, this tomb was cold! I thought, and closed his eyes with my hand. I sat still as a statue and death, like fine dust, rose around me. The torch crackled on the wall. Oh, this tomb was cold!

It came suddenly to mind that perhaps if I willed the breath out of me if I willed the breath out of me, I, too, might expire. I pushed the air from my lungs and held, held, held . . . but the breath returned in a panicked rush.

I sobbed with my failure.

I felt the weight of death in my lap but held my eyes high, refusing its unbearable sight. Then Dante whispered low in my ear, "I cannot keep my devastated eyes from looking ever and again at you." "I cannot keep my devastated eyes from looking ever and again at you."

With the last of my courage I lowered my gaze and took in the sight of Romeo's body, lean and finely muscled. Graceful even in death. I grasped his arms to fold them into a cross on his chest. It was then I saw that he wore our braided gold marriage ring, the same as I had been too cowardly to wear.

Oh, the sight of it!

I cried out and fell on him, weeping and kissing his hands, breast, cheeks, mouth. I kissed his eyelids then, one by one, feeling the moist, delicate skin under my lips' touch.

I prayed for a taste of that oblivion I had recently known. No thought. No pain. But then I would wake to find my love-the whole meaning of my life-gone from me. But there was was a way! A clear path to oblivion. With a steady hand I pulled the dagger at Romeo's waist from its sheath. I held it up to torchlight, a strange and beautiful artifact. It was sharp, its point narrow and still wet with blood-Jacopo's. a way! A clear path to oblivion. With a steady hand I pulled the dagger at Romeo's waist from its sheath. I held it up to torchlight, a strange and beautiful artifact. It was sharp, its point narrow and still wet with blood-Jacopo's.

I wiped it clean on my funeral veil.

My fingers touched the place on my breast where I felt my heartbeat below it. I was sure my skin could not long resist such sharp steel. My arms were strong enough for a single hard, downward thrust. The pain would be brief, a trifle compared to the dry, grating agony that already raked my chest.

There is no special heaven, I thought bitterly I thought bitterly. Our precious G.o.d of Love was nothing but a cruel trickster. One who teased his devoted children with morsels of the most delicious existence, only to revoke them with violence and death Our precious G.o.d of Love was nothing but a cruel trickster. One who teased his devoted children with morsels of the most delicious existence, only to revoke them with violence and death.

I grasped the hilt in woven-fingered prayer and held the blade over my heart. I closed my eyes.

"Juliet!"

The echoing voice startled me and the dagger fell from my grasp, clattering on the marble floor at my side. I looked up to see hurrying toward me down the catacomb's aisle a familiar form, a torch held high before her.

Lucrezia.

"Dear friend," she cried as she set her torch on the wall. Then she saw the still form of my husband, his head cradled in my lap. "Oh, oh, poor Romeo!" She knelt across from me and placed her hand on his lifeless chest. Tears threatened, but she refused to let them fall. She looked at me. "Thank G.o.d you are back among the living. Come, we must away."

I stayed planted firmly where I was.

"Please," she pleaded. "Friar Bartolomo stands guard outside the tomb door. We cannot be found here."

"Bartolomo is the cause of Romeo's death."

Lucrezia looked stricken. "I know. He arrived in Florence just after Romeo . . ." She stumbled on the words.

"After Romeo killed Jacopo."

Then her eyes fell on the blade that had dropped from my hand. "Juliet, what are you contemplating?"

"An end to my grief."

"I do not think Romeo would wish you to take your own life."

"He said that. He did."

Lucrezia grew hopeful. But then she saw my stubborn expression.

"Do you not fear G.o.d's punishment?"

"What worse punishment can he have in store any greater than this?"

Lucrezia's face was full of anger. I needed to make her understand.

"For a moment in time," I said, "a man knew me for who I was and, without reservation, loved me for who I was. How can I now live knowing no one will ever see me again in such a perfect light? Hear me as I wish to be heard? Love me as Romeo loved me?"

"By holding the memory in your heart!" she cried.

"What, exist in memory the rest of my life? That is not living, Lucrezia."

"Then write it. In poetry. Let your love flow through the point of your quill, find form on the page."

" 'The Story of Romeo and Juliet,' " I mused. "To bring hope to all that true love can flower in a world as cruel and comfortless as this one. But you you will have to write it." I managed a smile. "Just be sure to write it as a man." will have to write it." I managed a smile. "Just be sure to write it as a man."

"Oh, Juliet!"

"Lucrezia, friend, I am done with this life. It is done with me. All that made it worth living is here on my knee. What lies outside this tomb is more a death than what lies within."

She was shaking her head from side to side.

"Would you ask me to live only for the sake of living? Or for fear of eternal d.a.m.nation?"

She set her lips firm and refused to look at me.

"I begged Romeo to stay with me, but much as he wished, he could not. And much as I will miss your tender friendship, I cannot stay with you. But don't you remember? You have 'an extraordinary life' ahead. A brilliant future of love and children and learning and beauty. Live it with me in your heart. And Romeo. Remember us, and we will live forever. I promise you. Now go, friend, please go. Tell the friar you found us both gone to our maker. Seek help before you enter here again. And one thing more. Take Viola into your house, her husband and child, too. There is another marriage for love to sweeten your life."

"What kind of friend am I to leave you here like this!" she sobbed, her face awash with tears.

"The very best friend. One who truly understands my heart. Here, give me a kiss."