Newly minted attorney Marta Novak arrived on schedule to find Lucy and David Larkin quarreling at the entrance to Southwark, their full-scale recreation of Shakespeare’s Globe Theater. The 20-sided polygon sat on property Lucy had inherited, a beautiful spot above a picturesque stretch of Bayou Lafourche. Water birds nested and flew, dove to seize prey. Surrounding Southwark, uninterrupted by human intrusion, trees and bushes formed a rich green backdrop. Marta knew the extent to which the fortunate setting had helped Lucy secure the arts grants that had paid for Southwark’s construction. Lucy and David Larkin were prosperous, but none of their own money had gone into this. Since becoming their attorney, Marta had reviewed every step of Southwark’s rapid gestation, including the grant writing and subsequent negotiations with three private foundations, the State of Louisiana, and Lafourche Parish. Now—with construction completed—a group of locals was raising objections to Southwark’s intrusion into what had been a pristine stretch of the bayou. Lucy and David owned the replica as a couple, but the project had been entirely Lucy’s idea. She had named it Southwark after the original location.

Lucy’s gauzy duster sweater flapped wide with each sweep of her long arms, the black fabric lifting and falling as she swung back and forth between her husband and a murder of crows grabbing up food scraps. As each bird lifted with its prize, two more alighted, the result a dark patch against the artificial hue of the lawn. “If we’d had the workshop catered like I wanted, the servers would have cleaned up after. Now just look! Those birds are ruining the greensward!”

Lucy’s voice rose in pitch, broke halfway through “greensward.” Running at the crows with arms flailing, she continued to shout.  

Marta had become accustomed to Lucy and David’s festering animosity. Even their glances at each other seemed stained by grimaces of displeasure. How terrible, Marta thought, to face old age in such a state. Two of her first clients, at odds with each other in their aging.

Their relationship tore at Marta, her own long-ago marriage having been brief and unpleasant. Might it have lasted if she had done something differently?

Regretful, Marta approached David, nodded toward Lucy in the midst of all the birds. “I hope I haven’t come at a bad time.”

David shook his head. “Lucy wants to build a Shakespeare community by hosting Renaissance workshops, and this was her first. On Renaissance gambling. Some dim bulb thought it would be a good idea to bring snacks. Then packed up and left the scraps. Thus the birds.”

“Renaissance gambling?” Marta queried.

“Hazard. Sixteenth-century version of craps. Very complicated rules, so not as enjoyable as it might have been. Decent weather at least, so Lucy insisted on holding the class out on the lawn.”

Marta flinched as Lucy darted around in the flock, stumbled, and nearly fell. Black duster flapping, a giant crow-like figure among smaller kin. “Other than that, how did the class go?”

 “Well enough, I think. One of the men knew how to shoot craps and kept interrupting the instruction, comparing the two games. Just so we’re clear, Southwark is Lucy’s passion, not mine.” David led the way into the theater. When they reached the open area in the center, he turned toward her. “You a Shakespeare person, Marta?”

“Not really.”

“Nor I.” He swept an arm to indicate the three gallery levels. “I didn’t know Shakespeare was a passion of Lucy’s either until she started on this project.”

Marta surveyed the interior. “This seems smaller than I would have imagined.”

David shrugged. “It’s 99 feet across, 30 feet high, same dimensions as the Globe in London. Shakespeare could pack three thousand people into his.” Perhaps in response to Marta’s raised eyebrows, he added, “Don’t worry, occupancy here is limited to 1,600.” He paused, then scoffed, “Not that Lucy’s likely to get anywhere near that large an audience. Hardly seems impactful enough to warrant all the fuss from the locals.”

Despite all her creative passion, Lucy showed no real interest in the practical elements of Southwark’s management. Marta well knew David worried Southwark wouldn’t generate enough income to pay for upkeep. In fact, it barely covered the necessary insurance.

Against the backdrop of shouting and squawking, Marta got to the point of her visit. “When you called, you said your neighbors were objecting to Southwark. How can I help?”

“I have questions about liability issues. Lucy’s gone ballistic like this before. If she behaves this way while I’m trying to negotiate with the neighbors, we could be up the creek.” David scowled at the stage. “Southwark was a mistake from the outset.”

“You want to be out on your boat.” It wasn’t a question. Marta had gotten to know Lucy and David well enough to know they quarreled over other things as well.

“We thought retirement would be different.” David had his back to her. “But I guess we’ve simply grown apart.”

In retirement, David had devoted himself to sailing, Lucy to the arts. Marta felt sadness for them. They had stayed together so long. Wasn’t that, at least, worth having—not facing old age alone?

Suddenly overcome by her own marriage regrets, Marta warned herself not to get involved with her clients’ personal lives. Still, she couldn’t help but offer a thought. “Maybe you can return to what you liked to do together before retirement. What did the two of you do as a couple then?”

 “Nothing!” A harsh laugh escaped. “We must have been betting we’d eventually get better at marriage.” David strode to the center of the structure and gazed up at the ceiling. “I guess we didn’t really grow apart. Maybe long ago we just gambled that we’d find a way to make the relationship work—and we lost.”

Marta nodded, understanding their desire to take that risk. Having—until that moment—half wished she’d taken it herself. Now grateful she hadn’t made the same mistake.

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Richard Schreck is the author of over 30 fiction and non-fiction pieces and a former publication editor for a large professional association. “Hazard at Southwark” explores a fictional world he is developing in Brain Game, a novel set in Baltimore and New Orleans. Brain Game background stories also appear in The Razor, Gargoyle, The Loch Raven Review, The Write Launch, and other literary magazines. See links to these stories at richardschreck.com and commentary at Instagram @richardschreckwriting and Bluesky @richardschreck.bsky.social.