Intermission was just moments away. The townsfolk and the soldiers, the settlers and tradesmen, were all gathered around to shout in grand unison their unwavering support for Pedro and his city, St. Augustine.
Pedro’s last line in the first act of Cross and Sword is an oath before God that he will do what he has set out to do. He commits all of himself to the cause and by his cry challenges the rest of the settlement to join in support, and join in we do. With a thrust in the air of his sword, he shouts in a booming voice “We swear!” As if an immediate echo, but larger and with certain affirmation, all the people answer with a “We swear!”
The house goes dark, we all scurry off stage, and announcements are made over the house audio about the snack bar, the gift shop, the opportunities for group discounts and that the show will resume in fifteen minutes.
Those were the usual announcements. Tonight there was another. The announcer made a very solemn statement that at nine o’clock that evening, in an address televised to the nation, President Nixon announced his resignation effective the next day. Then he reminded everyone that the gift shop would be open after the show as well.
It was a Thursday night, slow because it was not the weekend, but okay because the summer had been good. There were probably 1,000 people in the house when the announcement was made, and no one cheered, groaned, applauded, shouted “oh no” or did anything. None of the cast, slipping around in the shadows, behind the sight lines, said any more than usual. It was hot and still. The Florida coastal jungle was silent and motionless for a moment.
What there may have been was a sigh, a great big collective sigh, an exhale so slow and so resigned that it slipped past lips without a sound, it escaped each person without notice. When the house lights came up some people stood up to stretch, others moved towards the aisles, speaking only in low, muted tones.
And in a few short minutes, the show continued for the forty-second performance that summer.
Pedro’s last line in the first act of Cross and Sword is an oath before God that he will do what he has set out to do. He commits all of himself to the cause and by his cry challenges the rest of the settlement to join in support, and join in we do. With a thrust in the air of his sword, he shouts in a booming voice “We swear!” As if an immediate echo, but larger and with certain affirmation, all the people answer with a “We swear!”
The house goes dark, we all scurry off stage, and announcements are made over the house audio about the snack bar, the gift shop, the opportunities for group discounts and that the show will resume in fifteen minutes.
Those were the usual announcements. Tonight there was another. The announcer made a very solemn statement that at nine o’clock that evening, in an address televised to the nation, President Nixon announced his resignation effective the next day. Then he reminded everyone that the gift shop would be open after the show as well.
It was a Thursday night, slow because it was not the weekend, but okay because the summer had been good. There were probably 1,000 people in the house when the announcement was made, and no one cheered, groaned, applauded, shouted “oh no” or did anything. None of the cast, slipping around in the shadows, behind the sight lines, said any more than usual. It was hot and still. The Florida coastal jungle was silent and motionless for a moment.
What there may have been was a sigh, a great big collective sigh, an exhale so slow and so resigned that it slipped past lips without a sound, it escaped each person without notice. When the house lights came up some people stood up to stretch, others moved towards the aisles, speaking only in low, muted tones.
And in a few short minutes, the show continued for the forty-second performance that summer.