As we made our first foray into the tragic morass of King Lear, little was
clarified. What became painfully clear to me, however, was that we had
greatly underestimated the enormousness of Richard's absence. He was
more than a vacant bedroom, an unoccupied seat in the library, a chair
at our refectory table where he sat like Banquo' s ghost, invisible to
everyone but us. Often I thought I saw him out of the corner of my eye, a
passing shadow, slipping out of sight around the corner. By night he was
a recurring character in my dreams-as my midterm scene partner, or
my silent companion at the bar-twisting the most mundane scenarios
into something dark and sinister. I was not the only victim of these
nocturnal torments; James had taken to muttering and fidgeting in his
sleep, and on the nights I shared a bed with Meredith, sometimes I woke
to find her trembling beside me. Twice we were all woken by sounds of
screaming and sobbing from Wren's room. He was as much a bully in
death as he was in life, a giant who left behind not an empty space so
much as a black hole, a huge crushing void that swallowed up all of our
comforts, sooner or later.
But as we were moving cautiously into the shortest calendrical
month, our comfort was mostly my responsibility.
Cleaning the Castle had become my primary occupation outside of
classes, rehearsals, and homework. My custodial schedule was irregular,
determined largely by when I had a free hour and nobody else was in the
building. These coincidental opportunities were few and far between,
and I was forced to seize them whenever they arrived, regardless of how
tired I was. The second day of February found me on my hands and
knees in the library, finally doing what I had put off for weeks and
thoroughly cleaning out the fireplace.