The Curse of the Scottish Play
Chapter 6: The Blessing
If anyone actually thinks I own Macbeth, they are in need some special help or a lot of coffee.
The next day, Mac and Gruoch sat quietly backstage, doing nothing but waiting, as they had agreed to do after the exorcism attempt of the night before. She sat nervously in the shadowy corner where they hid yesterday. Leaning against the wall, she was deep in thought. Mr. McCorrey had not told the director exactly that the place had been exorcized as she hoped he would. Instead, the honest man said that he had confronted two demons that he hadn't been able to expel yet, but that he was fairly certain that the theater and its actors were safe. She hoped that his honest statement would be enough to calm the terrified actors. She worried that too many starts and disruptions would convince the priest to get rid of them anyway.
Beside her, Mac rested too. Bandages covered his chest and shoulder, and his arm down to the hand where he had been burned by holy water. He was staring off into the darkness between the top of the stage curtains and the ceiling, looking up and into the corner, away from her. She couldn't see his face to tell for sure, but he seemed tense and nervous, too.
He turned to face her. His eyes were full of tired worry, but he offered her a faint smile anyway. She knew he'd been up all the rest of last night. In the many times she'd been startled by nightmares from her shallow sleep between when she'd bandaged his burns to when she'd finally woken up that morning, she'd heard him moaning softly in pain. His injuries were terrible. When they got back to their temporary home, the burn was still smoking, and his flesh was charred black and red and bleeding. It hurt her just to see it.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly.
"I'm fine," she said. Actually, she felt awful, too. She'd slept through most of the night, despite her numerous wakings, but had woken up feeling even more tired than she did when she went to bed. On top of that, she was sore all over. She guessed she must have pulled something or been injured somehow when she's plowed into the fight. But despite how she felt, she wasn't about to let her brother know she was miserable. "It's you I'd be worried about." She looked at him. The cuts and less severe burns on his face where the jar struck him were uncovered. She hadn't even noticed them. "Oh, hell. I can't believe I missed this. Here, hold still." She reached out to touch the injuries.
He winced and drew back from her probing fingers. " If you're worrying about me, then I'll have to worry about you, or who else will?" He caught her wrist in his left hand, holding hers away from his face. " You look tired."
"Like you don't? Hell, you look more dead than tired."
"But that's alright because I'm not dead. I always look this way anyway. Well, without the burns and all. "
"Just don't look like a troublemaker, or we're out of here."
"I'll try not to."
They stayed there the whole day. Neither of them really felt like moving. They listened wearily as the actors ran through the damned play four times and stage hands worked busily, assembling props, backdrops, costumes, posters, and all the odds and ends that went into a play. Gruoch spent an hour or two dozing, with her head reclined on Mac's shoulder. At least she thought it was an hour, because when she asked him how long she'd been asleep, he answered that he didn't know, he had no sense of time. " I told you, you were tired," he said.
The day passed slowly and tensely. It was different from the dull half-guilt they felt before an assault on the actors, which was dulled by repetition, an old wound healed to the point where could be felt only as a sore ache. This was new. They'd never been helpless before. Finally, the last of the actors left for home, the engines of their cars humming reassurances to the hiding demons as the growled to life and carried their drivers home. Mr. McCorrey strode calmly backstage, glancing around the dusty space and waiting expectantly. Gruoch stood, and helped her brother to his feet. Together they crept from the shadows to meet him.
"Well, at least you're here, " he said stiffly, "Maybe if I can trust a devil that far, I can trust it to keep the rest of its word. God help me," he sighed. " I couldn't find anything on how to end a spell without destroying the witch herself, which, in this case, is impossible. But I hope that a prayer, and a blessing on the trapped souls will, with God's help, be enough. I don't suppose either of you have ever prayed before. " They shook their heads. Their clan, though surrounded by a Christian culture, had retained the old Celtic beliefs. "Very well. On your knees." They hastily obeyed. "Now bow your head, close your eyes. Fold your hands in front of you, like you were begging for mercy. "
The demons complied immediately. "Listen silently to what I say and when I'm done, say 'amen' ."
The priest continued in a soft, comforting tone. "Lord, "he said, "We thank you for keeping the actors in this play safe today, and for the good work that was accomplished without interference. We thank for these monsters' keeping their word and their willingness to pray. Good Lord, we ask that you bless the souls of their parents, Macbeth and ...his wife. Please forgive their sins, and free them from the curse that has held them here on Earth. Amen."
"Amen," Mac and Gruoch murmured uncertainly. They continued kneeling, waiting for more.
"You can get up now, " Mr. McCorrey told them. "How will we know if it worked?"
"Mother?" Gruoch called, as she rose. The heavy stage curtains rippled and swayed in a gust of wind blowing from nowhere. "Father?" A mighty knocking the walls answered her. She hung her head in disappointment. "They're still here."
"Are you sure?"
Another sharp rap sounded in the brick wall. "Yes."
"Don't worry about it. We've been trying for centuries, and we haven't been able to free them either, " Mac said, beginning to get up. "We'll keep up our end of the bargain just the same."
"Wait a minute, "the priest said softly. He sounded sympathetic, "Stay where you are, Macamfearnachtill. " He stopped standing and returned to his knees. Mr. McCorrey walked to him and placed his hand upon his head. " This may well be the most painful thing you'll feel if you aren't telling the truth. You come here too, " he called to Gruoch, who quickly came to her brother's side and knelt again, as he laid his other hand on her brow. "Dear Lord, I ask you to bless and keep these demons--" A jolt of pain raced through the pair kneeling before him, almost unbearable. They instinctively jerked away, but he had them, and continued praying. "--hold them to their word, and guide them on their mission to free their parents--" Almost instantly, the pain stopped, and was replaced by a dull glowing sense of joy. It erased the pain that they'd just felt like a lightning bolt, even eased the pain of Mac's burns. "--and keep them safe in their travels. Help them to do the right thing whatever they're faced with. Amen." They looked up at him, puzzled. But happy to be puzzled. It had been a long time since they'd been happy about anything. There was another series of knocks at the brick, and a peaceful gust. It seemed their parents were happy as well to have their heathen children blessed.
Mac took the old priest's hand. "Goodbye, Father McCorrey," he said, standing. "And thank you. I hope your Lord will do as much and better for you."
Gruoch rose too. "Amen." With that the two demons turned and left, with only one last parting glance at their recent adversary. Mr. McCorrey never saw them again, but almost a month later, he still led his congregation in prayer asking God for the Macbeths', and their children's, freedom.
Chapter 6: The Blessing
If anyone actually thinks I own Macbeth, they are in need some special help or a lot of coffee.
The next day, Mac and Gruoch sat quietly backstage, doing nothing but waiting, as they had agreed to do after the exorcism attempt of the night before. She sat nervously in the shadowy corner where they hid yesterday. Leaning against the wall, she was deep in thought. Mr. McCorrey had not told the director exactly that the place had been exorcized as she hoped he would. Instead, the honest man said that he had confronted two demons that he hadn't been able to expel yet, but that he was fairly certain that the theater and its actors were safe. She hoped that his honest statement would be enough to calm the terrified actors. She worried that too many starts and disruptions would convince the priest to get rid of them anyway.
Beside her, Mac rested too. Bandages covered his chest and shoulder, and his arm down to the hand where he had been burned by holy water. He was staring off into the darkness between the top of the stage curtains and the ceiling, looking up and into the corner, away from her. She couldn't see his face to tell for sure, but he seemed tense and nervous, too.
He turned to face her. His eyes were full of tired worry, but he offered her a faint smile anyway. She knew he'd been up all the rest of last night. In the many times she'd been startled by nightmares from her shallow sleep between when she'd bandaged his burns to when she'd finally woken up that morning, she'd heard him moaning softly in pain. His injuries were terrible. When they got back to their temporary home, the burn was still smoking, and his flesh was charred black and red and bleeding. It hurt her just to see it.
"Are you okay?" he asked softly.
"I'm fine," she said. Actually, she felt awful, too. She'd slept through most of the night, despite her numerous wakings, but had woken up feeling even more tired than she did when she went to bed. On top of that, she was sore all over. She guessed she must have pulled something or been injured somehow when she's plowed into the fight. But despite how she felt, she wasn't about to let her brother know she was miserable. "It's you I'd be worried about." She looked at him. The cuts and less severe burns on his face where the jar struck him were uncovered. She hadn't even noticed them. "Oh, hell. I can't believe I missed this. Here, hold still." She reached out to touch the injuries.
He winced and drew back from her probing fingers. " If you're worrying about me, then I'll have to worry about you, or who else will?" He caught her wrist in his left hand, holding hers away from his face. " You look tired."
"Like you don't? Hell, you look more dead than tired."
"But that's alright because I'm not dead. I always look this way anyway. Well, without the burns and all. "
"Just don't look like a troublemaker, or we're out of here."
"I'll try not to."
They stayed there the whole day. Neither of them really felt like moving. They listened wearily as the actors ran through the damned play four times and stage hands worked busily, assembling props, backdrops, costumes, posters, and all the odds and ends that went into a play. Gruoch spent an hour or two dozing, with her head reclined on Mac's shoulder. At least she thought it was an hour, because when she asked him how long she'd been asleep, he answered that he didn't know, he had no sense of time. " I told you, you were tired," he said.
The day passed slowly and tensely. It was different from the dull half-guilt they felt before an assault on the actors, which was dulled by repetition, an old wound healed to the point where could be felt only as a sore ache. This was new. They'd never been helpless before. Finally, the last of the actors left for home, the engines of their cars humming reassurances to the hiding demons as the growled to life and carried their drivers home. Mr. McCorrey strode calmly backstage, glancing around the dusty space and waiting expectantly. Gruoch stood, and helped her brother to his feet. Together they crept from the shadows to meet him.
"Well, at least you're here, " he said stiffly, "Maybe if I can trust a devil that far, I can trust it to keep the rest of its word. God help me," he sighed. " I couldn't find anything on how to end a spell without destroying the witch herself, which, in this case, is impossible. But I hope that a prayer, and a blessing on the trapped souls will, with God's help, be enough. I don't suppose either of you have ever prayed before. " They shook their heads. Their clan, though surrounded by a Christian culture, had retained the old Celtic beliefs. "Very well. On your knees." They hastily obeyed. "Now bow your head, close your eyes. Fold your hands in front of you, like you were begging for mercy. "
The demons complied immediately. "Listen silently to what I say and when I'm done, say 'amen' ."
The priest continued in a soft, comforting tone. "Lord, "he said, "We thank you for keeping the actors in this play safe today, and for the good work that was accomplished without interference. We thank for these monsters' keeping their word and their willingness to pray. Good Lord, we ask that you bless the souls of their parents, Macbeth and ...his wife. Please forgive their sins, and free them from the curse that has held them here on Earth. Amen."
"Amen," Mac and Gruoch murmured uncertainly. They continued kneeling, waiting for more.
"You can get up now, " Mr. McCorrey told them. "How will we know if it worked?"
"Mother?" Gruoch called, as she rose. The heavy stage curtains rippled and swayed in a gust of wind blowing from nowhere. "Father?" A mighty knocking the walls answered her. She hung her head in disappointment. "They're still here."
"Are you sure?"
Another sharp rap sounded in the brick wall. "Yes."
"Don't worry about it. We've been trying for centuries, and we haven't been able to free them either, " Mac said, beginning to get up. "We'll keep up our end of the bargain just the same."
"Wait a minute, "the priest said softly. He sounded sympathetic, "Stay where you are, Macamfearnachtill. " He stopped standing and returned to his knees. Mr. McCorrey walked to him and placed his hand upon his head. " This may well be the most painful thing you'll feel if you aren't telling the truth. You come here too, " he called to Gruoch, who quickly came to her brother's side and knelt again, as he laid his other hand on her brow. "Dear Lord, I ask you to bless and keep these demons--" A jolt of pain raced through the pair kneeling before him, almost unbearable. They instinctively jerked away, but he had them, and continued praying. "--hold them to their word, and guide them on their mission to free their parents--" Almost instantly, the pain stopped, and was replaced by a dull glowing sense of joy. It erased the pain that they'd just felt like a lightning bolt, even eased the pain of Mac's burns. "--and keep them safe in their travels. Help them to do the right thing whatever they're faced with. Amen." They looked up at him, puzzled. But happy to be puzzled. It had been a long time since they'd been happy about anything. There was another series of knocks at the brick, and a peaceful gust. It seemed their parents were happy as well to have their heathen children blessed.
Mac took the old priest's hand. "Goodbye, Father McCorrey," he said, standing. "And thank you. I hope your Lord will do as much and better for you."
Gruoch rose too. "Amen." With that the two demons turned and left, with only one last parting glance at their recent adversary. Mr. McCorrey never saw them again, but almost a month later, he still led his congregation in prayer asking God for the Macbeths', and their children's, freedom.