Playing Puck

by Scott Williams

  Chapter Three

  As I walk through the woods, I can’t help but chuckle at the ridiculous results of human emotion. To be so controlled by my own passions would be slavery to an insatiable master. I am truly lucky to serve my master.

  Enough wandering. I must hasten to Titania. She must awaken to my visage. I only hope I can tolerate her pathetic spellbound love. I must be on guard if I am to use her for my plans. Bleeding her will only satisfy me momentarily. Death is oh, too quickly met.

  “What hempen homespuns have we swagg’ring her, so near the cradle of the Fairy Queen?” I wonder. Furious with the ruinous potential of their revelries, I quicken my pace to intercept them.

  “What, a play toward! I’ll be an auditor;” I grimace, “an actor too, perhaps, if I see cause.” Cause for mischief; cause for misfortune; cause for misadventure.

  “I see my arrogant friend Bottom is playing the young lover.” I think. “A stranger Pyramus than e’er played her!” Though Pyramus was but another fool; his best qualities those of pride and arrogance!

  Perhaps, I chuckle to myself, an ass for an ass! I see Bottom has been left alone. Let’s see if I can’t terrify the peasants into flight with some fancy. Calling forth Hell’s incantations, I give Bottom the ass’ head, though the opposing end might suit him better!

  The fools have all ran in fright! “I’ll follow you,” I roar after them all, “I’ll lead you about around, through bog, through bush, through brake through brier. Sometime a horse I’ll be, sometime a hound, and neigh, and bark, and grunt, and roar, and burn, like a horse, hound, hog, bear, fire, at every turn.” I roar into the night.

  Panting with lusting rage, I turn, amazed to see Bottom still here! And his horrid companions Snout and Quince have slinked back around to his aide! As I chase them off, I return to find Bottom singing! Over his shoulder, Titania stirs at his voice.

  “SILENCE!” I roar! “My plans are as yet unprepared for fruition!”

  To no avail does my warning affect.

  Titania awakens and, to my horror, drops her gaze first upon Bottom, between herself and I! As I watch her freshly wakened passion play out upon Bottom’s ass, my anger boils over. Putrid steam rises from all around me as the earth begins to bake and rot in response to the chaotic rage transmitted through our contact.

  Fairies are summoned, distracted by my malevolent presence, to fumble their servitude to Bottom.

  The oak I lean against cracks and splits, as the overwhelming reverberations of a killing frenzy builds within me. Shaking with rage, I smash the oak’s trunk, sending it crashing to the ground in a smoking pile, reduced to ashes in a moment’s time. Clenching my fists in frustration, I leap into the air, away from these puny, insignificant creatures. “Hell surely has much more fury than any woman, scorned.” I vow.

  Glaring down at the forest, I see Oberon signaling me. “What a mess this has become.” I ponder. “I must hasten to salvage what I can, before Master calls me for a reckoning.” Gliding down, my claws find purchase in the compost of the forest.

  “How now, mad spirit!” Oberon timidly asks, seeing the anger festering within me, seeking only release. “What night-rule now about this haunted grove?”

  “My mistress with a monster is in love,” I growl, “near to her close and consecrated bower, while she was in her dull and sleeping hour, a crew of patches, rude mechanicals, that work for bread upon Athenian stalls, were met together to rehearse a play, intended for great Theseus’ nuptial day.”

  My anger is boiling close to spillage, so I drop my voice to a hiss as I continue, seeking control: “The shallowest thickskin of that barren sort, who Pyramus presented in their sport, forsook his scene, and entered in a brake. When I did him at this advantage take, an ass’ nole I fixed on his head. Anon his Thisby must be answered, and forth my mimic comes. When they him spy, as wild geese that the creeping fowler eye,” (the blood and gristle of this memory soothes me somewhat), “or russet-pated choughs, many in sort, rising and cawing at the gun’s report, sever themselves and madly sweep the sky, so, at his sight, away his fellows fly; and, at our stamp, here o’er and o’er one falls; he murder cries, and help from Athens calls.”

  Oh yes; what pitiful fools these mortals be. Now in fine evil humor again, I continue: “Their sense thus weak, lost with their fears thus strong, made senseless things begin to do them wrong; for briers and thorns at their apparel snatch; some sleeves, some hats, from yielders all things catch. I led them on in this distracted fear, and left sweet Pyramus translated there: When in that moment, so it came to pass, Titania waked, and straightway loved an ass.”

  Furious again at the memory, I grasp at anything left for control. More difficult is this made by Oberon, the idiot, who actually thinks this all fine! I must remember to ask Master permission to destroy him, when I have finished this task…

  “Yes, Oberon.” I answer his questioning about Athenian. “I took him sleeping – that is finished too –“ (though not quite the way you’d like it to finish, fairy), “and the Athenian woman by his side; that, when he walked, of force she must be eyed.” “Yes, Oberon, I think. The twisting of your orders has salvaged my cover, for now. The ignorance of others is always such a soothing balm.”

  As I see Demetrius and Hermia enter, a razor-edged grin begins to spread across my twisted face. “Let’s see how you like this, fool!” I think towards Oberon.

  “Stand close: this is the same Athenian.” Oberon says.

  “Oh,” I think, “this is the woman, but not this the man.”

  Demetrius and Hermia argue, but I pay them no mind. Mirth and laughter swell up inside me as I watch Oberon’s expression change from puzzlement to alarm at this change of events. Hermia finally leaves, leaving the weakling Demetrius to fall asleep at our heels.

  As Oberon turns and confronts me, I swell in size. “That’s right, your lordship.” I think, as I tell Oberon, “then fate o’errules, that, one man holding troth, a million fail, confounding oath on oath.”

  I see the truth of the matter settle in on Oberon, smothering his soul with guilt. Yes, he finally understands that his broken oaths are no different than any other’s. His Titania, at this direction, will end up no other way but to leave him to slumber some day. As he slumbers, the earth will rot around him, victimized by his nightmarish control over the landscape.

  Suddenly, with a shift towards quickening, Oberon speaks: “About the wood, go swifter than the wind, and Helena of Athens look thou find. All fancy-sick she is and pale of cheer, with sighs of love, that costs the fresh blood dear: by some illusion see thou bring her here. I’ll charm his eyes against she do appear.

  “I go, I go; look how I go,” I say, casting quickly into the murky waters of my mind, seeking a solution to this sudden turn of events, “swifter than arrow from the Tartar’s bow.”

  Quickly, I seize upon an idea, even as I see Lysander and Helena approaching, themselves. I will cause Demetrius to awaken now, to gaze upon Oberon. We shall see how the king extracts himself from this mess!

  “Captain of our fairy band,” I begin, “Helena is here at hand; and the youth, mistook by me, pleading for a lover’s fee.”

  Noting the time to ripen, I raise my voice and step forward, forcing Oberon closer to Demetrius.

  “Shall we their fond pageant see? Lord, what fools these mortals, be!” I fairly roar the last out, but lazy Demetrius stirs not!

  “Stand aside.” Oberon says in a hasty voice, puzzled by my actions, and ushering us both away from my goal. “The noise they make will cause Demetrius to awake.”

  Seizing one last opportunity, I almost whine to Oberon, “Then will two at once woo one; that must needs be sport alone; and those things do best please me that befall prepost’rously.”

  I struggle against Oberon, but too late; Demetrius awakens to Helena. Though Hermia comes across us all now, I am too distraught to think of mischief more. Ceasing t
o struggle, I watch my ruin unfold about me.

  As the mortals leave our glade, Oberon turns to me with anger in his little eyes.

  This is thy negligence.” He accuses. “Still thou mistak’st, or else committ’st thy knaveries willfully.” He dares to glare at me, awaiting my defense.

  “Believe me, king of shadows, I mistook.” I mock. “Did not you tell me I should know the man by the Athenian garments he had on? And so far blameless proves my enterprise, that I have ‘nointed an Athenian’s eyes; and so far am I glad it so did sort, as this their jangling I esteem a sport.”

  As Oberon commands me further, though, I realize my defense has come to naught. I have been undone, as Oberon’s swiftly coalescing plans prove. As he spews forth hated solutions to this, his doing, I can but complain of coming dawn.

  “My fairy lord, this must be done with haste, for night’s swift dragons cut the clouds full fast, and yonder shines Aurora’s harbinger; at whose approach, ghosts, wand’ ring here and there, troop home to churchyards: damned spirits all, that in crossways and floods have burial, already to their wormy beds are gone. For fear lest day should look their shames upon, they willfully themselves exile from light, and must for aye consort with black-browed night.”

  Oberon shrinks into himself, as he finally realizes the being that has been disguised as his loyal servant. Denying brotherhood with me, he begs, “But we are spirits of another sort… But, notwithstanding, haste; make no delay. We may affect this business yet ere day.” Turning, he flees in haste. His flight would seem as much to escape my company, as to accomplish his task.

  “Up and down,” I murmur, “up and down, I will lead them up and down: I am feared in field and town: Goblin, lead them up and down.” Perhaps, I ponder, their down will have greater depth than their up!

  “Here comes one.” Motioning with my arms, while chanting evil incantations, thick, sticky fog rises all around.

  “Where art thou, proud Demetrius? Speak thou now.” Says Lysander.

  “Here, villain;” I murmur, bored now with this play, “drawn and ready. Where art thou?”

  Out of the fog Lysander stumbles, yelling, “I will be with thee straight.”

  “Follow me, then, to plainer ground.”

  Weaving a wandering path, Lysander pursues the casting of my voice, while I turn to pursue Demetrius.

  “Though coward, art thou bragging to the stars,” I taunt Demetrius, “telling the bushes that thou look’st for wars, and wilt not come? Come, recreant! Come thou child! I’ll whip thee with a rod. He is defiled that draws a sword on thee.”

  “Yes, art thou there?” asks Demetrius, anger rising quickly in this arrogant little man.

  “Follow my voice.” I call out. “We’ll try no manhood here.”

  On and on through the night these two idiots plunge on, ever seeking their foe, yet finding only fog.

  With taunts of “Ho, ho, ho! Coward, why com’st thou not?” and “Come hither. I am here.” I lead the dimwits through night’s secrets.

  Helena, I see, has been foolish enough to come, seeking to save Demetrius, no doubt.

  Yet but three? Ah, here is Hermia as well. Come one more. Two of both kinds makes up four. Here she comes, curst and sad: Cupid is a knavish lad, thus to make poor females mad.

  In disgust, I carry out Oberon’s orders, no way of escape searchable to myself. Anointing the four lovers eyes, as well as those of Titania and Bottom nearby, I mumble my disgust, and fear, over what is to come next: “On the ground sleep sound: I’ll apply to your eye, gentle lover, remedy. When thou wak’st, thou tak’st true delight in the sight of thy former lady’s eye: and the country proverb known, that every man should take his own, in your waking shall be shown. Jack shall have Jill; nought shall go ill; the man shall have his mare again, and all shall be well.”

  As the spent petals of the hateful flower fall to the ground, Titania awakens to Oberon, startled from her enchanted sleep.

  “My Oberon, what visions have I seen! Methought I was enamored of an ass.”

  “There lies your love.” Says Oberon, gesturing towards the slumbering Bottom.

  “How came these things to pass? O, how mine eyes do loathe his visage now!”

  With a warning glance my way, Oberon says, “Silence awhile. Robin, take off this head. Titania, music call; and strike more dead than common sleep of all these five the sense.”

  Titania smiles at the prospect of her music, shouting, “Music, ho music! Such as charmeth sleep!”

  “Now, when thou wak’st,” says I, “with thine own fool’s eyes peep.”

  In fear, I am in revelation at the sun’s early announcement upon this world.

  “Fairy king, attend, and mark;” I fearfully say, “I do hear the morning lark.”

  Too late, I realize the trap Oberon has prepared within my tasks of the evening, as Apollo rides in on his fiery chariot, I am taken captive back to hell’s confinement.

  As I roar my betrayal, I can just hear Oberon chuckle, as he leads his Titania into their fairy woodlands.