Harper saw how interested his wife looked and asked softly, "Darling, would you like to go see it?"
Martha nodded. She had not seen a play in years, not since she married. Back then, seeing one meant traveling more than a hundred miles to the nearest town. They could not afford the journey, let alone tickets.
"I wonder how much tickets cost." Harper looked around. "I remember that native saying it was free to watch from outside."
"Indigenous," a girl's voice came from above them, speaking English. "'Native' isn't very polite." Harper looked up and saw an Indian girl sitting in a tree. He hurriedly bowed in apology. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend..." "It's all right." The girl pointed to a ladder leaning against the tree. "If you're worried about the ticket price, you can watch from up here. It's a bit far away, though, so you won't hear the lines clearly."
Only then did Harper notice that the trees around the "theater" were full of people, most of them children.
He hesitated, then asked, "How much are the tickets?"
"Six deniers each."
Harper blinked. His wife whispered in his ear, "Less than three cents."
He was tempted. He could afford three cents.
But before he could decide, Martha had climbed the ladder and sat beside the Indian girl. She waved to him. "I can see perfectly from here, darling. Come on up."
A little over ten minutes later, The Count of Monte Cristo began.
The actors spoke French, but the kind Indian girl translated a few lines now and then. Harper and Martha managed to follow the story.
Night fell, and the final act ended.
Martha watched the actors come forward to take their bows, her eyes brimming with tears.
It was a magnificent play, worthy of