I see that it’s Woody Hull coming down the aisle who’s caused the reaction. I’m as surprised and outraged as the rest of the crowd. What is he thinking? Hasn’t he heard what people are saying? Or is this his idea of brazening it out?
Jean gets up and goes to meet him in the aisle. She’s pulled herself together since I saw her earlier in the day—her hair is styled and she’s wearing an elegant, tailored blue dress—but her face is etched with fatigue and worry as she bends to whisper in Woody’s ear. She is explaining, I imagine, why it is not the best idea for him to attend this particular performance. In response, Woody rears back his grizzled head and brays loudly, “After all the goddamned money I give this school, I think the least it owes me is a goddamned seat!”
“He can have mine,” I say, glad to have an excuse not to sit near the front. “I can stand in the back.” But Martha James has already gotten up. “I’ve already seen it,” she says, “and I’ve got so much grading to do. Have my seat, Mr. Hull. Please.”
Jean thanks Martha, who stuffs her papers in her bag and then loudly and awkwardly drags it up the aisle. Woody sits down, spreading his legs so far that Jean has to squeeze her knees next to mine. She gives me an exasperated look and whispers, “Did you talk to Bantree?” I nod and mouth Tell you later as the chapel is plunged into darkness.
A drum beats, slowly at first, and then faster, speeding my heartbeat with it. A flickering candle appears on the stage, seeming to float of its own accord. I think of the light that legend says shines from the Maiden Stone and I imagine Lila behind that light, her disembodied soul roaming the woods for all eternity, seeking vengeance. Then other lights ignite on the stage and move in a circle, intertwining with one another, braiding an intricate dance around an invisible maypole to the fast and insistent drumbeat. I imagine the lights are meant to be the Salem girls dancing in the woods before they’re discovered by the Reverend Parris, the prelude to all the action of the play, but I can’t help think it’s an allusion to the lost girls and the legend of the Maiden Stone—a conclusion borne out when the backdrop becomes visible. It’s a rugged coastline that could be Colonial Salem but is actually the view from campus of the Point and Maiden Island. The light reveals five girls dancing, holding not candles, but cell phones with flickering candles on their screens.
One of the girls steps forward, holding her phone out to the audience. The light from her phone streaks her face with shadow and light, which makes it look like she’s wearing warpaint—or blood. I don’t recognize Rachel Lazar until she speaks.
“The edge of the wilderness was close by,” she announces, quoting a line I recognize from Arthur Miller’s prologue. “The American continent stretched endlessly west, and it was full of mystery for them. It stood, dark and threatening, over their shoulders—”
Each of the girls looks over her shoulder. It’s as if they’re looking at the Maiden Stone.
“—night and day, for out of it—” They turn back to the audience, their faces now dyed red by stage lights. I know the line that comes next: for out of it Indian tribes marauded from time to time, and Reverend Parris had parishioners who had lost relatives to these heathen—but I know that Lila had wanted to change it because she thought it was insensitive to Native Americans. We’d had a discussion in class about whether it was ethical to change an author’s words. I find I’m holding my breath to hear what comes next—as if I’m waiting to see what is coming out of the wilderness for me.
“For out of it dangers came,” all five girls chant, “sometimes not from the wilderness outside but from the wilderness inside our own hearts.”
Rachel speaks alone next. “This performance is dedicated to our fallen friend, Lila Zeller, who was lost in that wilderness.”
The girls take deep breaths and blow out their virtual candles on a single drumbeat, plunging the stage back into the dark. I find I’m gasping for breath, my heart racing, as if I’ve been running. Then the lights come up and we’re in an ordinary room. According to the play it’s supposed to be the bedroom in Reverend Parris’s