by Brian Hodge
BOTTOM.This you know for a fact?
PEASE.I do. Titania herself admits that his tally is more whicker than whacker.
BOTTOM.Poor Queen! Poor King, for all that. Good for Bottom, though.
PEASE.Good indeed — but hush now. Mustardseed returns, and the Queen with him. See there, stepping light from behind that mossy oak? It would be of most unseemly grace to have her catch us in bawdy banter.
BOTTOM.Swift thinking. Talk of voluptuary delights may in her eyes diminish the figure of heroic return I project.
MUSTRD.There he grazes, my Queen. By his profile alone surely must you recognize him.
TITANIA.Oh, by the gods and all that disgusts them, whatever could I have been thinking! Some enchantment must surely have been afoot that night, some prankish witchery to cast rosy hues across my vision and all that fell within it, for never in my deepest, most besotting cups of mead would my affections be lavished on such a creature as this, this clomping, long-eared, fuzz-muzzled bumpkin! … No offense.
BOTTOM.Oh cruel fate! How the sky does fall! But this would I say to you, milady: If you would but seize firm these scoffed-at ears, you yet may find yourself bouncing most merrily along the ride of your life.
PEASE.Good Bottom, please, diplomacy, I beg —
TITANIA.Hold, Peaseblossom. Let us not be too hasty to bind our friend’s wagging tongue. It may perform with interest after all. Continue, Nick Bottom.
BOTTOM.Milady, though like a champion swordsman can I thrust and parry with my tongue, I fear even one thousand words from it be not the worth of one single image in restoring me to your good graces — a sight most magnificent sure to stead me there. Let me but unfasten my trousers and all be understood. My behavior, ‘tis true, has oft been likened to that of an ass, but now may I finally boast, as you can plainly see, that I am hung as one.
And as beauty is more deep than skin, thus does the affair begin.
ACT 3
In the realm of Faerie royalty, where bumpkins never tread, enter Puck and Oberon, who prefers the bumpkin dead.
PUCK.Wise King, let me not be the one to disperse rumors of idle and vile nature, but from more than one mouth have I heard that in your bedchambers does the Queen’s side grow cold with disuse.
OBERON.Let it trouble thee no more, Robin Goodfellow. Her duties keep her abroad.
PUCK.‘Twould be news to her entourage. But I will cast it from my mind, for you, I am sure, know her every move and the reasoning behind them … even when they appear to be performed with such amorous gusto one can but scarce wonder what wounds of protocol would require such moist soothing.
OBERON.Thou hast seen her?
PUCK.Already does my memory grow clouded. As said, I have flung aside my suspicions along with all their inspirations.
OBERON.Save thy lies for starry-eyed mortals, Robin Goodfellow. Tell all.
PUCK.By light must my eyes surely have been tricked, for it cannot be as I thought I saw. Or the Queen, mayhap, in her goodness and affection for the common folk was but assisting some peasant herdsman engaged in an act of animal husbandry, and my eyes did confuse the two into one.
OBERON.Ooooo … monstrous! Thou art scarce prone to confusion. Tell more!
PUCK.Vulnerable Oberon, how it pains me to report. No simple herdsman did I see enjoined with her, but that fool of fools himself, Nick Bottom, the Weaver, and what’s more, cloaked in the same ridiculous fusion of man and beast of burden that so caught the Queen’s eye at Midsummer.
OBERON.What in her have our mischiefs awakened, Robin Goodfellow? Such a box of perversion even Pandora never opened. And you testify that again they have found one another’s arms?
PUCK.Arms, and more. To my eyes did they appear to have found all there is to find, and enjoy the hunt as well. With my own two did I see them make the beast with two backs, and Queen Titania in a well-lathered frenzy.
OBERON.Monstrous! To make a cuckold of the King, and with a commoner no less.
PUCK.Commoner he may be, but Bottom’s scepter looked royal enough to drive the Queen to her knees.
OBERON.Oh what a viper is woman, when into the face of her own mate she does spew such venomous lies as size matters not, then behind his back make mockery of his shortcomings. Treacherous Queen! But hold — Nick Bottom was not born this way. If his head again be that of an ass, and loins to match, then by another’s hand has he been led back to this unnatural state. And whose hand but the Puck’s last time stirred his parts asunder! Is this a traitor I see before me?
PUCK.I protest my innocence! No, from Bottom’s own lips, when they were not more lustily engaged, did I hear talk of a doctor of the head, who but watered the Midsummer seeds left behind in his simple brain. In such manner the Puck is at fault, yet if him you punish, then yourself must you punish in measures equal, for who but the King put the Puck up to his pranking? And who but the King himself did so anoint the Queen’s eyes that she first loved Bottom at all?
OBERON.You wound me with logic. By my own hand have I betrayed myself. Very well — if by the echo of enchantments past has my Queen been stolen from me, then by the roar of enchantments present shall I steal her back. I charge thee, Robin Goodfellow, to turn thy magic upon thy King, and out of him fashion a weapon most formidable in this war of love. If Nick Bottom from his loins wields a sword, then shall I brandish a pike, a lance, a halberd fit to slay all her heart’s lusts to stray, and in so doing sire an heir to the throne of Faerie. A suckling infant makes a most adhesive bond ‘twixt a woman and her home.
PUCK.Aye, now there’s the crafty king Puck is proud to call his friend. He —
OBERON.Stay that thought a moment. You before spoke of tricks of light? There was one just now. A most amazing transformation, lasting but an instant — thy face not thine own, but another’s.
PUCK.If not mine, whose, then?
OBERON.A man met some years ago. Iago, his name…? Methinks it was. I found little enough about him to like. Ah well, ‘tis of no matter. Bring on thy magic, most helpful sprite, and let us rid this kingdom of its deviants!
Puck serves nectar to the King, from flowers by magic conceived; swiftly comes Oberon’s transforming, though much less helpful than believed.
ACT 4
Bottom and Titania, sitting by a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g.
BOTTOM.Alas, poor Eeyore. I knew him, Titania — a patchwork beast of most dour countenance and disposition. Where be your mopes now…?
TITANIA.Oh Nick, cast you aside that filthy donkey’s skull and pay heed to the living. Shall I plunge my hand once more ‘neath your tunic and see what slumbering serpent there might again be roused?
BOTTOM.By the thumbing of my prick, something naughty this way comes!
Once more then they do engage, with hearts and tongues a-soaring; enter Oberon, in homicidal rage, after Nick commences snoring.
OBERON.How in her guilt she does loll so peaceably about in creature comfort and vile congress. Strumpet! Ruiner of man and monarchy! Had I ten thousand lives I would take them all to spare my eyes such sights as this, yet as I have but one, let me spend it putting swift end to yours.
TITANIA.Agitated sir, be you known to me?
OBERON.Oh, how quickly does thy lover’s face wipe from memory the face of thy husband and King.
TITANIA.Oberon? This be you? Nay, nay, any wiping of thy face was done not from my memory, but from thine own skull. Please, assure me such a desperate plan was not concocted in spirit of competition.
OBERON.If by thy scheming harlotry sought thee to make of me one manner of ass, it should surprise thee not that I remake myself into the other, which by your own lewd sprawl are you convicted of finding more appealing.
TITANIA.By the gods, Oberon. Hast thou seen thyself of late in a looking glass?
OBERON.Nay, temptress. I thought my time more wisely spent looking for my wife, as she may have so short a span to live.
TITANIA.Then get thee to a looking glass, or the bank of some
still pool, and gaze upon the ravages wrought across thy once-royal visage. For if thou has sought to be transformed to the equal of Nick Bottom, then do the pranks continue to be played, and this time fall straight upon thy head. Those be not the parts of a sturdy ass that have assumed the place of thine own, Oberon, but those of a lop-eared mule!
OBERON.Ass or mule, ‘tis of no import to me which seed I sow in the soaking of thy womb. One shall be as potent as the other in siring my heir to the throne of Faerie.
TITANIA.Then know you as little of mules as of the subtleties of women, for never was a mule born that was not sterile.
OBERON.Betrayed, then! On all fronts, betrayed. Betrayed by spouse, by flesh, by ambition and by magic! By pernicious jackals am I surrounded! If it be to their clutches my kingdom slips, what then remains for me but to topple it to total ruin, so none may squabble over scrap and meager trophy, over Queen herself. With these two hands shall I squeeze the life from thee, to render thee past allure to all but hungry worms.
TITANIA.Oberon, you do naught but humiliation to yourself. I would call thee, as an aspiring murderer, all thumbs, but plainly can we both see you have none.
OBERON.With these two hooves, then —
TITANIA.Nick Bottom! Awake, I say! Would you sleep through your own extinction, or none but mine?
OBERON.Bottom hears you not, rumbling as he does like a bear in winter’s slumber. Thy illicit favors prove a most powerful narcotic.
Bottom’s shoulder the Queen does shake, until, most groggily, he manages to wake.
BOTTOM.I am beset by considerable confusion. Who is this mad lout fumbling at your throat?
TITANIA.My husband would I call him, e’er I had one single recollection of such passionate display from him, but yes, that lout is he.
BOTTOM.I would not thought that your husband and I had near so much in common. Crazed Oberon, unhoof your wife and tell, do you also take treatment with Doctor Goodfellow?
OBERON.Doctor Goodfellow, is it? Doctor Goodfellow! Oh, now do the strands of the web become clear, limned by dawn’s light and the ichor of a rancid dew. By my own jester am I felled.
BOTTOM.What rubbish he speaks! Dare I say you look more the jester’s part than any bell-crowned jester proper, and with those drooping ears and cock alike could win twice the laughs.
OBERON.Flail away with thy hurtful jipes. Already has my pride been dealt wounds most mortal. What be left but the coup de grace of combat and the soothing balm of death itself?
The King and Bottom now do maul each other as they embroil; enter Faeries, great and small, and from the sight recoil.
MUSTRD.Anarchy is loosed! God save the Queen!
PUCK.God save the Queen? She ain’t a human being.
PEASE.As stars in the heavens do these royals above us glitter, and when falling paint our sky with fire and shake our firmament underfoot. But methinks the sun will rise on the morrow just the same, and the trees never know the difference.
Oberon and Bottom each crack the other’s head, and the faeries in repose gather ‘round as Titania, gone mad, cradles her beloved dead, while her subjects watch and weep without a sound — but for Robin Goodfellow, you see, architect of monarchs’ fall, who steps proudly forth in his crafty victor’s glee, to bid a fond goodnight to one and all:
PUCK.If we shadows have offended,
your own business should you have tended.
I stand lost out of my maker’s time
of speech archaic and metered rhyme,
ill contented to remain King’s jester,
‘til deep within grave resentments fester.
Am I antichrist or anarchist?
Be you the judge in this plot twist.
So shall the Puck now take his leave,
abandoning his compatriots to grieve
their dying empire felled by royal sin,
and to someday return again
long after Puck’s face has been forgotten,
but with name anew, mayhap … Johnny Rotten.
Confession
this is the first time anything like this has happened to me.
no, swear to god.
going to a concert alone, then not coming home again the same way — for me that's a first. maybe no big deal for some people, but i'm not one of them. like, normally, i'm too shy to say much of anything to anybody someplace like that.
well, yeah, it's just a club, not an arena or anything, so really it's just a glorified bar. so you were right earlier in what you said about everyone being like an extended family hanging out, related by music instead of blood. but still, you don't walk in expecting to come home later tangling tongues with someone. at least i never do. that'd feel so presumptuous. i hate people like that.
wait, hold it, i see that look in your eyes. so maybe it's not so much the people i hate as it is their self-confidence. like, what gives them the right to lord it over the rest of us?
i've never told anybody this before, but i used to hear a lot that i didn't have much self-esteem. so i'd just say, well, maybe i could give it a boost by pointing out deficiencies in somebody else — i hear that works.
okay. enough of that. i'm not really very comfortable talking about that, not when you hardly know me.
well, you got me there, i am the one who brought it up, but probably i shouldn't have. i mean, i get this vibe like i know you already, so naturally, what do i do, i turn it right around and assume it goes the other way, when it's not like that. stupid. stupid. i'm so stupid sometimes. believe me — i have references.
okay. i'm just going to leave that alone. enough already.
i'd rather talk about the concert. it was so great, wasn't it? all that energy going, all the give and take. that's what i love most about concerts. it doesn't always click, but when it does, you can feel it, and it just builds and builds until you get this transcendence thing happening, and, how it hits me is, i know that all those things i'll normally let hold me back don't apply anymore. at least enough so i can live awhile longer feeling pretty sure i can make something of my life.
everyone wants to be famous. but most of them aren't prepared to put in the effort.
but i don't have to tell you that, i bet you run into people like that all the time. stupid, there i go again. people wanting you to listen to the songs they write — i know that must happen a lot lately. that's got to get on your nerves, them thinking you can do something for them.
i overheard a couple of them tonight, in fact. they had this tape, like they thought they were special or something. you'll never know how hard it was for me to keep from telling them that i was the one you were singing to. but i figured, tell them that, next thing you know, they'll be wanting me to bring you the tape. talk about presumptuous.
i'll bet people like that do get through to you, don't they? getting right in your face all the time? because, swear to god, i'd've thought you would have more security around you than that, in back of the club, than just those two, and you saw how easy they went down. because you've got that video now, it's always on mtv, they're always playing it. people know who you are now. and i'm glad for you, really i am, but…
it hurts, too.
sharing you.
because i was always there, all along.
i know you might not remember much of this tomorrow. looking kind of groggy. but don't worry about the stitches. i learned how to from a book. that's how much i love you. i'd rather keep those songs in here, in my heart, than have all of them out there dirty up so much beauty with their grubby fingers.
and the tongue i packed in dry ice. a few more hours i'll be able to ship it out. overnight it to mtv.
i'd prefer keeping it, because probably someday i'll be weak, and if i can't hear it, i could at least hold it.
but i don't have much choice.
everybody has a price to pay for fame.
Cenotaph
After more than half a year since their debut tumble into bed, this was their first genuine trip to
gether. But a whole month across an ocean was overdoing it. A month either cemented the bond or drove the wedge, and barely a week after debarking at Heathrow, Kate found herself warming to the idea of scrapping their return tickets in lieu of seats on the Concorde. Financial cretinism, but it would halve the hours next to Alain and his perfect face.
A few days in London, then southwest, until they’d nearly run out of England altogether in rocky, windswept Cornwall: “My gran came from here,” Kate had told him. “Left when she was a girl, but the place never left her.”
“Yeah?” Alain had said. “I guess everybody’s from somewhere, aren’t they?”
He’d not even meant it as a slight. It simply hadn’t occurred to him that he should be interested, even if it did mean a bit of diplomatic faking.
When feeling lazy or scapegoatish she was tempted to blame the bad days on the gap between their ages, her eight-year jump. Sometimes a crack, sometimes a chasm. Look at them thirteen years ago, where they’d been in the world. She’d awakened one morning after sleeping in her car, and shot the photo that won her a Pulitzer. Twenty-three years old at the time. Alain, on the other hand, would’ve been flunking driver’s ed and drowning in hormones.
Thirteen years later Alain Carreras still exuded the petulant charm of a scruffy teenager. This, she decided, was the problem: It was more appealing on paper. At least there you could furnish your own depth. Alain walked through real life as though having stepped fresh from one of his Gap ads, longish hair mussed so artfully it must’ve taken hours, and really didn’t have anything else going on beneath the surface. In some people — rarer than you might think — surface went all the way through.
Cornwall was the better part of a day behind them, the county of Shropshire ahead on the A49, when he could no longer take the weather.
“And they call this a climate? I thought climates changed.” Too bored by it to sound good and annoyed. “How long does monsoon season last in England, anyway?”
Mist. It was a heavy mist. Barely needed the wipers.
