Juliet’s Survival - CHAPTER 1 - Part 2
CHAPTER 1 (Part 2)
But if he had heard of me in that way, he would not have called me by my first name. I looked at him without replying. He averted his gaze in embarrassment. His ears were still flushed red.
“Um, so I’m writing a script inspired by you Lady Juliet. I’ve been using your name so often in my writing that I’ve inadvertently called you by your first name and addressed you familiarly. I apologize for that.”
“I’m honored that you’re writing a play based on me.”
In modern times, if the man next door was writing a novel based on me, it would be quite creepy. But here, in Berneque, it was different.
It was a great honor to be the subject of a play. It was very rare for someone other than royalty to be the subject of a play. Only those recognized for their charm to warrant a play could become the protagonists of a story.
In any case, I felt relieved. The fact that Shakespeare, my neighbor, was writing about ‘Juliet’ meant that at least the place I lived in now wasn’t the setting in the original story. After all, there’s no way the author and the character would ever meet and talk in real life.
“Oh, I’ve been enjoying our conversation so much that I almost forgot the purpose of it. The reason I came is that we’re hosting a ball at the Capulet House this time. My mother also intended to send an invitation to you, Mr. Shakespeare, but due to my mistake, it got overlooked. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
I extended the invitation I had brought with me. Now that I knew the source of my anxiety was an illusion, all I had to do was finish my business and go home.
“Ah, it seems difficult for me to attend the ball on that day due to personal reasons. Could you please wait for a moment?”
Shakespeare called for his servant, took a pen and paper, and quickly wrote a brief refusal letter. His handwriting, at a glance, seemed quite elegant. I received the finished letter and rose from my seat. Before leaving, I intend to say something briefly.
‘I hope the ending for Juliet in your story won’t be a tragedy, Mr. Shakespeare.’
I meant to say it. It wasn’t meant to be a serious statement. I didn’t care how the story ended, as long as Juliet wasn’t me. It was a statement partly in jest and partly a matter of personal sentiment.
However, my voice didn’t come out. Was it the mood? Was it the fact that I hadn’t actually said it? I opened my mouth once more. The words still didn’t come out.
The anxiety that had disappeared returned.
* * *
[Juliet came to me. She smiled at me.
I think I can write a beautiful story today].
* * *
I walked back to my house, not knowing what to think. I wanted to explore Shakespeare’s house for more clues, but I didn’t have a good excuse. In fact, I didn’t even have the mental capacity for it. It was a miracle I made it home without making any mishaps.
“Mother, there’s a letter from Shakespeare.”
I tried to gather my thoughts. Shakespeare had declined to attend the ball. After delivering this letter correctly, I would likely have no reason to meet him again.
“A letter?”
My mother took the letter with a puzzled look on her face. She read it quickly and then frowned.
“What a pity. I was hoping to hear from Mr. William Shakespeare, who returned not long ago.”
“Is he a remarkable person?”
I asked, seeing the disappointment in my mother’s eyes. I needed even the smallest piece of information about William Shakespeare. My mother nodded.
“He’s not well-known in Berneque yet, but he’s a famous playwright in Stratford. I was curious because he mentioned that his next play would be staged in Berneque, but it’s a pity that he can’t join.”
I hadn’t heard of Shakespeare’s name before, so I wondered if he was still in his early, unknown stages, but apparently, he was already famous in other countries. Well, it was ‘that’ Shakespeare, after all. If he was already writing plays, fame was inevitable.
“He hasn’t made any public appearances in Berneque yet, but he’s famous for being a handsome man. I wanted to invite him to this ball.”
My mother said with a face full of regret. Shakespeare indeed had a face worthy of becoming famous. Unconsciously, I nodded my head in agreement. My mother looked at me curiously.
“Have you met Mr. William?”
“Oh, no. If he’s that handsome, I’d really like to see him at least once. It’s a shame he couldn’t come to the ball.”
After a moment of hesitation, my mother finally nodded as well.
“Well, I’d better get back upstairs.”
I didn’t see the point in staying. I hastily ended the conversation and walked away.
Why couldn’t I speak? I recalled the incident at Shakespeare’s house. I’d barely gotten over one anxiety, and another was creeping up on me.
No matter how much I thought about it, I couldn’t come up with an answer. I needed more clues. But Shakespeare had declined the invitation to the ball. Should I create another excuse and visit him again?
I shook my head. It was an absurd thought. I wanted to live peacefully, not as a protagonist in a tale but as an ordinary human being. To me, Shakespeare was like a yellow light at a traffic light, signaling that I needed to stay away from everything that reminded me of the original work for the sake of my tranquil life.
Juliet and Capulet are names I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life, there was no helping it. I can’t disassociate myself from all the minor characters, so I have to put up with that too. But there are lines I can’t cross, with that, I had refrained from uttering a single word to Romeo for five years.
At first, Romeo was deeply offended. I would have felt the same way if the person I had casually exchanged banter with suddenly began ignoring me. Especially if it’s someone you’ve known since childhood.
But I did it. After a year or so of ignoring his persistent tirades and turning my head away at the mere sight of his face, Romeo began to lose interest in me. Harassing someone every day who responded only with a blank stare was undoubtedly a foolish act. His discontented glares disappeared completely after he got a girlfriend about three years ago.
It was going to happen again. I could stop seeing people as often as I wanted to.
I knew I wasn’t in ‘Romeo and Juliet’ in Shakespeare’s play, and that was enough for me. I must have said something and thought I didn’t, or vice versa. I put the lid back on, struggling with the creeping anxiety.
What was the anxiety about? Knowing that I wasn’t the Juliet in Shakespeare’s play was enough. There must have been thoughts I believed I expressed but didn’t, or the other way around. I subtly covered the emerging anxiety.