Bartholomew Quotes in Hamnet
“Something about rain. And branches. But I couldn’t properly make it out.”
Bartholomew regards him for a second or two, turning these words over and over in his mind. Rain and branches. Branches. Rain. Then he lifts his crook and tucks it into his belt.
“Get up,” he says.
The husband is still speaking, more to himself than anyone else. “She was here this morning and then she wasn’t,” he is saying. “The Fates have intervened and swept her away from me, as if on a tide, and I have no idea how to find her, no idea where to look and—”
“I do.”
“—I shall not rest until I find her, until we are—” The husband stops short and raises his head. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“How?” he demands. “How can you know her mind so quickly and yet I, who am married to her, cannot begin—”
And now the moment has arrived. Agnes conjugates it: he is going, he will be gone, he will go. She has put these circumstances together; she has set it all in motion, as if she were the puppeteer, hidden behind a screen, gently pulling on the strings of her wooden people, easing and guiding them on where to go. She asked Bartholomew to speak to John, then waited for John to speak to her husband. None of this would have happened if she hadn’t got Bartholomew to plant the idea in John’s head. She has created this moment—no one else—and yet, now it is happening, she finds that it is entirely at odds with what she desires.
Bartholomew Quotes in Hamnet
“Something about rain. And branches. But I couldn’t properly make it out.”
Bartholomew regards him for a second or two, turning these words over and over in his mind. Rain and branches. Branches. Rain. Then he lifts his crook and tucks it into his belt.
“Get up,” he says.
The husband is still speaking, more to himself than anyone else. “She was here this morning and then she wasn’t,” he is saying. “The Fates have intervened and swept her away from me, as if on a tide, and I have no idea how to find her, no idea where to look and—”
“I do.”
“—I shall not rest until I find her, until we are—” The husband stops short and raises his head. “You do?”
“Yes.”
“How?” he demands. “How can you know her mind so quickly and yet I, who am married to her, cannot begin—”
And now the moment has arrived. Agnes conjugates it: he is going, he will be gone, he will go. She has put these circumstances together; she has set it all in motion, as if she were the puppeteer, hidden behind a screen, gently pulling on the strings of her wooden people, easing and guiding them on where to go. She asked Bartholomew to speak to John, then waited for John to speak to her husband. None of this would have happened if she hadn’t got Bartholomew to plant the idea in John’s head. She has created this moment—no one else—and yet, now it is happening, she finds that it is entirely at odds with what she desires.