by Kaysoon Khoo
THE END OF CLEO
by
KAYSOON KHOO
Copyright 2014 Kaysoon Khoo
This book is purely a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or to any places or events, is purely coincidental.
THE END OF CLEO
Here's my own ghastly rendition of the death scene of Cleopatra VIII, female Pharaoh, Serpent of the Nile, wife of Julius Caesar, mistress of Mark Antony, femme fatale and royal slut extraordinaire. Never mind if my account's not historically correct. History is never half as entertaining as showbiz.
The following dialogue took place between Cleo and her handmaiden Charmion, just before the Egyptian queen made her exit from the world in her own highly original way. Marilyn wasn't around to show Cleo how to do it with Nembutals, more's the pity. Slitting the wrist was simply too messy, hanging too undignified, seppuku too Japanese, drowning too watery, jumping off a pyramid too risky (what if you didn't die on the spot!), and poison too uncertain.
So Cleo opted for the time-honoured tradition of applying an asp to the bosom. By the way, this mode of suicide was only meant for women, eunuchs, and Egyptian drag-queens. The straight dudes either fell on their swords or jumped into a pool of crocodiles. I guess it wasn't easy being both macho and suicidal at one and the same time in ancient Egypt.
Picture the Queen of the Nile in her throne-room, dolled up in full state regalia, an inch of makeup on her face, her whole being bedecked with a girl's best friend and other precious stones. Charmion approaches her with a basketful of figs. The mound of figs moves. There is something concealed underneath it – something that lives – and is ready, willing and able to deliver the kiss of death.
CLEOPATRA: How do I look, Charmion honey? Is everything in place? I want that damned Octavius to be truly impressed when he views my corpse. I want the eyes of that wop to pop when he beholds the wealth and splendour of Egypt – not to mention my incomparable beauty, of course.
CHARMION: You look like a million bucks, Your Majesty. Truly spendid. The desert rose in full bloom couldn't match your glory.
CLEOPATRA: Only a MILLION? That's chicken feed! I'm Queen of the Nile, for Ra's sake!
CHARMION: Forgive me, Your Majesty. A slip of the tongue. I meant a billion.
CLEOPATRA: That's better, though not quite good enough. But never mind. Let it be, I know my own worth. Is everything ready for me to go out in style? Have you got that ... that thing with you?
CHARMION: Yes, Majesty. Right here under the figs. See, it moves. I think it's impatient to get into action, the feisty little bugger. Do you want it to go to work on you right now?
CLEOPATRA: Huh – what? No, no, not NOW! What's the hurry? I've all the time in the world. That doesn't ring quite right. Actually, I have very little time left – but what the heck, I'm a woman – self-contradiction is my prerogative.
CHARMION: I'm that way, too. Sometimes I think I want to do something and next minute I've changed my mind and I want to do something else. My guy gets so wild he often smacks my bottom – hard!
CLEOPATRA: You don't know how to handle men, and that's all there is to it. No one ever smacks my rump – unless, of course, I want him to. Even then, I warn him not to lay on too much force – just enough to make me feel good – but why go into all that now? We're not going to know it again. Let me look upon my Lord Antony one more time before I go to join him. I want to commit his face to memory so I won't leap into the wrong guy's arms in the afterworld. Lift the shroud from his face, Charmion.
CHARMION: I think you'd better not look, Your Majesty. It's not pretty. He's been dead three days.
CLEOPATRA: So? I will look upon his face, I tell you! How dare you hesitate! Uncover my Lord Antony's face right this instant, or I'll ... I'll ...
CHARMION: There, there, Your Majesty. Don't agitate yourself. You know you always look older when there's a crease between your brows. Here, I'll pull down the shroud and let you see him. But I warn you, it won't be a treat. You're ready? One, two, three – presto! Lord Mark Antony, Your Majesty! Feast your eyes for the last time upon one of the most valiant Romans of all time!
CLEOPATRA: By the sanctified pubis of divine Isis! By the regal pussy of revered Nefertiti! My Lord Antony looks like something I wouldn't touch with a ten-foot pole – make it twenty! He's simply ghastly! And his mouth! Why, it's open! And there are flies crawling out from between his lips! I think I'm going to be sick! Didn't I tell you people to clamp his jaws shut?
CHARMION: Oops! We clean forgot, Your Majesty! There was such a hullabaloo as you never saw when the Roman soldiers got here. What with all the girls busy getting raped, and the boys busy being buggered, it quite slipped our minds completely.
CLEOPATRA: Slipped your minds, indeed! If I weren't getting ready to die, I'd see to it that the hangman's noose slips round all your necks! And the stench! My Lord Antony smells as if he hasn't bathed for a week – make it a fortnight! Didn't you sprinkle rose-water over him?
CHARMION: We did, Your Majesty, but with the weather being so hot, it didn't do much good. We thought of bathing him in scented water but what with all those Roman soldiers –
CLEOPATRA: Oh, all right, all right! You've already told me how they kept all of you busy! I'll bet all of you had quite a party! Just – just cover up my Lord Antony's face again. I can't bear to look at it anymore! I swear by all the Ptolemies who have gone before me, my Lord Antony looks like a carcass no starving mongrel will even want to sniff at. And to think he once shared my bed – holy crocodile shit, if I even imagine sleeping with him now, I'll heave up my lunch! Charmion, you'd better give strict instructions that he is not to be placed too close to me when I've croaked. Some germ or bacteria just might contaminate my body before I'm embalmed.
CHARMION: Don't you worry your lovely head over that, Your Majesty. I'll personally see to it that no such thing happens.
CLEOPATRA: You? I thought you were going to slit your wrists and follow me to the netherworld!
CHARMION: I'll do it after I've seen you laid out properly, Your Majesty. You have my word.
CLEOPATRA: Make sure you don't chicken out at the last minute, girl. I'll need you to attend to my toilette and do my hair and take care of my wardrobe wherever the hell it is I'm going.
CHARMION: I never go back on your word, Your Majesty. But ... it does seem such a pity ... our dying, I mean. Do you realise this is the last sunset we'll ever enjoy? And with me being so – I mean both of us being so young, it does seem such a waste of our lives. Must we go for broke and croak? Can't we just run away? I can handle a chariot as well as –
CLEOPATRA: For the last time, Charmion, a Pharaoh does NOT run away! Why, the – the shame of it! A daughter of the Ptolemies turning tail? My ancestors would roll over in their sarcophagi and turn into eunuchs! Fancy a queen of Egypt fleeing from her enemy. And think of the ignominy if we were caught!
CHARMION: Why, they'll just bring us right back here. What have we got to lose?
CLEOPATRA: You may have nothing to lose, but with me it's quite a different matter. Do you know what Octavius intends to do to me?
CHARMION: What? Ravish you on the desert sands under the glow of the crescent moon?
CLEOPATRA: I should be so lucky! It won't be anything half so romantic. Octavius likes boys. No, what that whelp of a she-mongrel wants is to drag me in chains behind his chariot when he returns to Rome in triumph.
CHARMION: Well, at least that'll be a change from your last visit to Rome.
CLEOPATRA: That! Oh, THAT! Please don't remind me of it. I could just die, thinking of that moment of triumph, remembering all that glory. That day I was not a woman – I was a goddess! I was Isis herself! It was the greatest moment of my life! I see it all again in my mind's eye �
�� me riding under the arches of the city on that marble sphinx pulled by a thousand burly slaves – the voices of the multitude shouting "O Dio Mio! Cleo! Cleo!" – people cramming the streets and leaning from balconies and rooftops to catch a glimpse of me in that stunning outfit lined with gold thread – its plunging neckline showing my magnificent cleavage – Caesar standing up to greet me when they lowered me from the sphinx – and his withered old prune of a wife Calpurnia doing the same ... I had multiple orgasms, Charmion. I creamed in my royal underwear!
CHARMION: You did not, Your Majesty!
CLEOPATRA: Oh, yes I did! I pulled the cushion from under my ass and squirmed against the hard seat until I nearly swooned with pleasure. Sheer power surged through my veins that day, Charmion. I was to be Caesar's queen, and that meant queen of the whole Roman Empire, and that in turn meant queen of the whole wide world. I was intoxicated
