A nice and cloudy August day found Hannah wandering around the shopping district of her town with a fat purse and a devious plan.
Her friend Nina’s birthday was coming up and so, Hannah’s mother had armed her with a generous amount of money and had sent her shopping. She was told to buy “the best gift ever!”
Now Hannah was not a very nice girl and when she received the money, all she could think about was how she wanted to spend it on herself. No, she wasn’t greedy, just an economist. She’d be the first one to tell you that. (And probably the only one at that…)
I’ll buy something ultra-cheap for Nina and spend the rest on myself, she thought, smiling to herself while knowingly eyeing the bright and colourful “Sale” signs. In her mind, she formulated a plan on how to buy the cheapest trinket she could.
As part of her plan to buy something inexpensive, she found herself making her way to the old part of the shopping district. As she walked on, flashy shops selling brand-new designer things and shiny gift shops selling every type of gift anyone could ever want were replaced by aged, musty, dull-coloured and ancient shops that had probably been run within the family for generations. The cool and new smells were over-taken by warm and aged ones.
Although she had never been there before, Hannah couldn’t help liking the place. It felt homey and familiar. The old shops and elderly people hobbled about trading ancient-looking banknotes for equally ancient-looking and flimsy junk.
It was the large sign that caught her attention first. “FREE PETS!” it boasted in large, uneven, white letters. The letters were written on the dusty window of an old pet shop. And an old shop it was.
The building looked as if it was held together by duct tape or old glue. The roof was tiled and was a colour that could have been red about 40 odd years ago. (Although it could have been blue too. It was rather hard to tell…) The shop had another sign above it’s door made of wood and possibly iron. It boasted that the name of the shop was “Will O’ the Wisp.”
Hannah had been trying to buy the cheapest possible present for Nina and ‘Free’ was just within her price range. (But only just.)
She quickened up her pace and burst in, pushing the ancient but strangely sturdy door away. A bell announced her ‘incursion.’
The interior of the shop was a bit dark and smelled funny. Not hilarious-funny. More like queer-funny. Hannah had to squint and take in as few breaths as she could. That made it tolerably intolerable, which was a great improvement.
As she squinted, she saw rows upon rows of cages filled with all sorts of critters. There were mice, cats, birds, frogs, snakes and even the odd insect or two. It was a regular menagerie…
“Welcome Customer,” whispered a voice behind her Hannah, making her jump. The voice was gentle but a bit unnerving at the same time. It also had the hint of a smile embedded in it. Not the gentle kind of smile one would imagine. But a toothy, sneaky and altogether shifty smile.
She turned around and saw the owner of said voice. He was a short man. (Taller than her but short by general standards. She wasn’t the tallest person anyway…) He had the type of smile mentioned above, messy dark-brown hair, large ears and dark eyes. His eyes had a sparkle in them that fascinated Hannah. He wore a pale grey (or maybe dark white) shirt, trousers of some unknown colour and boots too faded to be called any colour. He also wore a stained apron and equally stained gloves that gave off an odd odour. He had a small name tag that identified him as “Goodfellow.”
“Oh hi!” she beamed at him despite his unruly appearance. “I’m here about your sign…?” She let the last word hang in the air, accentuating it.
Goodfellow scratched his head, puzzled. Then he spoke up. “’Will O’ the Wisp’? What about it? Is it crooked again?” He sighed.
Although she maintained her wide smile, Hannah rolled her eyes on the inside. “No, no. The other one, silly!” She laughed. A shrilly and absolutely fake laugh. “The one that says ‘Free Pets’?”
“Oh. That sign.” Goodfellow’s smile was back. “It is no lie. What manner of beast or being are you looking for?”
Hannah blinked. Did he just say ‘being’? “I don’t know… Something small I guess…” she answered.
Goodfellow smiled and lead her deeper into the shop through the labyrinthine maze of shelves and counters. “Right this way, customer!” he exclaimed with barely concealed zeal.
As Hannah walked on through the shop, she heard bits of conversation between two shrill voices. From the gist of it, it sounded like two people were having a heated argument. And they kept referring to a third person who didn’t seem to say anything.
“…givin’ them away…”
“…disgrace…”
“…knows what he’s…”
“…you think, sister…?”
Hannah couldn’t help slowing down to listen. It sounded fascinating.
“I’ll hurry on ahead, Customer.” Called Goodfellow and scampered off conveniently out of sight. “Busy, busy!” he called from somewhere to the left.
With what, she thought to herself as she looked around. She was looking for both the source of the voices and a small pet for Nina. Something easy to carry home and didn’t make too much of a mess… She walked around closer and closer to the high-pitched voices, as if drawn to them. As she came closer, she heard them better.
“That girl’s coming.”
“Just as you said, sister.”
“Come here dear. Don’t be afraid.”
“Nobody but us.”
It didn’t take her long to find the source of the voices; thee large parrots. The first one was the kind of parrot one would most traditionally imagine. It had green feathers with splashes of crimson and yellow near the beak. The second one was a lurid blue with sunny yellow and pale white decorating its face. The last one was a bit unusual in that it was largely white in colour with bit of grey flecked about. The other two were ‘arguing’ while the last one sat still.
“Hello girl!” the green parrot turned to her and called out. It moved one wing in a manner that was eerily similar to a beckon.
“How fortunate that we met.” the blue one interjected. “For you that is, right sister?” It turned to the third one.
The third one said nothing. It similarly did nothing as well.
Hannah felt foolish and decided to walk away. They were just talking parrots with an unusually comprehensive vocabulary, after all. Nothing special or worth a second glance. As she turned away, the first, green parrot spoke again.
“Hannah. Lied to her mother at age 12.” It squawked. “Mother never found out what happened to her pearl necklace, did she?”
Hannah stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes bulged open and she spun around so fast that she nearly lost balance! “What?! What did you just say? How did you know my name? How did you know about the necklace?”
Her mind was reeling as she jumped to a million and one paranoid conclusions a second. Her heart chose that moment to run the Triathlon and as a result, she started sweating profusely. How could this parrot know? How could anyone know? Her breath was coming out in short gasps as she tried to speak.
But before she could, the blue parrot spoke up. “Hannah. Plans to buy a cheap gift to the best of all friends and keep the rest for her self.” It clicked its beak before continuing on. “Don’t worry dear. You’ll get exactly what you deserve before the day is done. Isn’t that wonderful?”
“W-what?” gasped Hannah. Her anxiety and shock had now crossed over into fear and was headed in the general direction of hysteria. “Who are you? What are you? How do you know me? I must be going mad!”
She looked at the first parrot and it winked at her. (Or maybe it blinked… it was anyone’s guess really.) “We’re all a little mad here. I’m mad. You’re mad… Or something.” It squawked before turning the other way.
“Talking birds… They understand me…” whispered Hannah. “I don’t believe in talking birds…”
“Maybe us talking birds don’t believe in dishonest girls either!” retorted the second parrot before burying its head under its wing.
The third one had said nothing. And it had done nothing. But now, it spoke up, “Hannah. Finds a gold pendant outside this very shop.” It looked at her knowingly with its black (and honestly a little scary) parrot-eyes. “Hannah. Finds gold buried under the giant banyan in the old Sultan’s garden…”
“What?” though Hannah was scared, the greedy aspect of her nature rose to the surface. It was aided by curiosity. “Gold? What do you mean?” she tilted her head to look the third parrot in the eye and give it what she hoped was a forceful and persuasive glare. (The lunacy of giving persuasive glares to parrots was lost on her.)
Once again, the third parrot said nothing. It also did nothing.
“Tell me!” she demanded in an urgent, hushed voice. “Tell me now you stupid bird!” She continued to eye it.
The third bird said nothing. It also did nothing. (It didn’t even blink!) It was so still and did nothing so well that one could be forgiven for thinking it was a statue.
Hannah was getting increasingly frustrated and her tendency to think rationally had decreased to dangerous levels. She stepped towards the parrot and reached for it with her hand menacingly. “Tell me now, you little feathery bastard or I’ll-“
It happened in the blink of an eye. The hand with which she was reaching at the parrot was grabbed out of the air by a hand with grip as strong as steel. (She may or may not have imagined a soft cracking sound…) “Or you’ll what, Customer?” Goodfellow’s voice was void of all the jolliness it had previously carried. Instead it was threatening and steely. His dark and sparkly eyes were now just eerily dark. He looked a tad bit furious to say the least.
For a moment Hannah couldn’t say anything. She was frozen on the spot like how a deer would be as it stared into the headlights of an oncoming truck. In this case, the ‘headlights’ were Goodfellow’s dark eyes. They were like caves full of unseen peril…
“I’m sorry…” she mumbled, gaining her composure a bit. “I-I am frightfully sorry!” she began breathlessly. “I got lost and found these parrots and they talked to me and they know stuff and I didn’t mean to come here but I got lost and I-"
Goodfellow laughed, cutting her off. “Don’t worry about it, Customer. I understand your predicament. It was a series of unfortunate mistakes from both parties.” He nodded at the parrots. “They shouldn’t have been so chatty,” then he nodded at Hannah. “And you shouldn’t have risen to the bait, Customer.”
Hannah looked down, her face colouring. “I guess that was pretty stupid… I feel foolish.”
“Don’t feel so, Customer.” Smiled Goodfellow encouragingly. “The sisters have a habit of provocation. But tell me,” he raised an eyebrow. “Did the third sister talk to you?”
“Third sister…?” Hannah blinked trying to figure out what he meant. “Oh you mean the third parrot. Yes. It did. It told me that I find g-" she stopped in mid-sentence before changing her words. “…that I find what I am looking for.” The greedy part of her had taken over again. Maybe the gold was real, maybe it wasn’t. Either way, she was not going to let this Goodfellow have a chance at it. If it existed, it would be hers.
“You are a lucky one, Customer.” smiled Goodfellow. “They say that the third sister only tells the truth. I’d pay mind to what she said. If she said you’d get something, chances are that you will. I wouldn’t hesitate for a moment if I were you…”
“Really…?” Hannah’s mind thought up a hundred and one things at once, most of them dealing with what might happen if the said gold was real. As she thought, she made a series of quick (and selfish) decisions and plans.
She turned away from Goodfellow and started running. She ran like her life depended on it. She navigated the maze of cages until, with the tinkle of a bell; she finally burst out of the stifling shop and onto the streets.
“What about your free pet?” called out Goodfellow from within the shop. He seemed to be coming towards her.
“Later!” Hannah called back as she looked back at the shop once last time…only to trip on something and fall face first onto the road!
Hannah blurted out a swear word and sat up rather painfully. She reached over to massage the pain out of her leg when she touched something cold and hard! Eyes wide, she turned her head to see what it was. What she saw made her heart beat like a drum.
It was a fine chain-like necklace and was entangled around her feet. It had very miniscule links and a small red gemstone dangling from it. Additionally, and perhaps most significantly, it was made of solid gold!
Hannah quickly stood up, necklace in hand, and brushed off the dust from her clothes. The discovery of this necklace served to further cement her belief in the words of both the third parrot and Goodfellow. If she found the necklace like they said, maybe the gold was waiting for her too… It was time to get rich, she thought to herself.
With the gold in mind, she started to jog. She was headed towards the park that the parrot mentioned. She made her way through the twisted paths, pushing and shoving as she saw fit. On her way, she used the money her mother had given her to buy a shovel.
Eventually, she came to a half at the gates of the park. The park, built very long ago, had once been the gardens of a great Sultan. It had been turned into a national monument, tourist attraction and a park. It also housed a pathetic museum. Still, negativity aside, it was known for its natural beauty and tranquillity…
Taking in a deep breath, Hannah pushed the gate open and stormed in. she searched for the great banyan at the end of the park and eventually located it. But sadly, it was surrounded by people!
The greed for gold was what drove Hannah to her next course of action. She rushed at the tourists and casual pedestrians with her shovel raised, yelling and screaming her lungs out! She threw rocks at them, spat and cursed for good measure as well. All she could think about was the gold that was almost at her finger-tips!
As soon as the people were gone, Hannah began digging. She dug one hole after the next, all around the base of the banyan, hoping to come across her pot of gold. She dug deeper and deeper but found nothing. Puzzled, she tried the next spot. Then the next. And then the next.
This went on until a couple of burly men in blue uniforms came and forcibly restrained her. They read her rights to her and proceeded to haul her to a parked jeep near the entrance. It seemed that one of the people she had chased off had called the police.
They took her to the nearest station and frog-marched her in before sitting her down. They were very gruff with her and demanded to know who she was and why she was damaging a national treasure. They threatened her with fines that had more digits than letters in her name!
Terrified, she began telling them everything. Everything except the part about the gold, that is… She passed off the necklace as a trinket she had bought. (They confiscated it.) She also explained that an important family heirloom was rumoured to be buried in the park. This, she claimed, was her reason for trying to dig up the park. After this, they left her alone. She was furious. It was highly unlikely that she’d ever get the necklace back again… She waited and waited until they finally let her go.
By then, it was nearly sunset and Hannah was furious. She was so angry that she could cry! She bit her lip and started walking. She was going back to the stupid pet shop! She would give that Goodfellow a good talking to! And as for the parrot… Well… It was about to say goodbye to its sisters.
After wandering around on the streets through the old shopping district for a long time, she finally reached the shop. Or where it was supposed to be… what she was there made her eyes bulge out and her mouth fall open in horror and shock!
The shop had vanished! It was simply gone! There was not a trace of it having ever been there either. Instead, there was an old but undoubtedly solid brick wall! There was no sign, no Goodfellow, no parrots or any of the cages or other animals. Just this brick wall…
As Hannah stood there, shocked, she noticed a small piece of paper tacked onto one brick of the wall. It was so small and inconspicuous that only one scrutinising the wall as she had been could find it. She reached over and grabbed it. It was a note and it was addressed to her! Breathlessly, she proceeded to read it. It read…
“Dear Customer, This is as much a pet shop as you are well-meaning. We, the sisters and I have worked hard to ensure that you got what you deserved. We hope you enjoy it. In conclusion, I’d like to refer you to the following words,
‘If we shadows have offended,
Think but this, and all is mended;
That you have but slumber’d here,
While these visions disappear,
And this weak and idle theme,
Not yielding but a dream…’
Yours ~ Robin Goodfellow.”
Hannah felt cold and empty… She had been tricked! So easily and completely that it frightened her. They had used her greed and made her pay dearly for it… Goodfellow had lied to her. The parrots had deceived her, if they really did talk at all. They had tricked her and sent her on a wild goose chase! She had wound up losing all of her mother’s money on an expensive shovel. She had been arrested and in being so had lost both dignity and pride. (Also, there were a couple of people who now deemed her mad…) She was utterly defeated. She sat down right there, on the dirty ground and let out a long and bitter sigh.
“O woe is me…”
Sunday, November 16, 2008
The New Theatre, Westminster, London, England – 1935
It was a typical English night with its mischievous and sudden downpours coupled with chilly winds and fog as thick as broth. Lone pedestrians trudged along, muttering under their breath. They cursed the wind, they cursed the rain and they cursed the “bloody fog.”
But not her. She sat in her seat, sipping warm tea and wondering if she had made the right choice. She looked out of the window and felt sorry for the poor fools on the streets.
She was sitting in a seat she had paid an arm and a leg for, in the New Theatre in Westminster. She was there for the performance of Will Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet.” She had heard it from a friend (who had heard it from a friend) that this particular group were highly skilled and that their best performances were of this play.
She wasn’t exactly aquiver with anticipation. She had witnessed many a performance of it and each one outdid the next in both inaccuracies and bad acting.
Although, it was foolish to expect accuracy when the playwright himself altered the original story to suit his own ends… she just hoped that this would be worth the fortune she paid…
After sometime, the lights dimmed and everyone sat up, alert. The play was about to begin. She looked on sceptically, not expecting much. Hope for the best and prepare for the worst, the British always said.
The play began with the Montagues and Capulets brawling on the streets. Then came the timely intervention by the Prince of Verona.
This was one of the things about the play that she disliked the most. It wasn’t true to the source material. The original story was nothing like what Will wrote.
For one thing, it wasn’t a street brawl. It was a war. Also, it wasn’t between the so-called ‘Montagues’ and ‘Capulets’ either. It was between the Romans, under the rule of the great (hilarious and ever-so-frustrating) King Romulus and the Sabine tribes united under the equally great (bossy and overprotective) Supreme-Commander-in-Chief Titus Tatius. The Lover and The Father, respectively.
She put all criticism aside and watched the play. The longer the play went on, the more she accepted (although grudgingly) that the actors were remarkably good.
As she watched, she began to remember. She remembered things she had forgotten. She remembered things that she had forgotten to remember and she remembered what she should have remembered to forget… and for a while, the prim and proper lady lost herself in her past.
She lost the alias she now used. She lost the carefully crafted back-story she wore about herself. She lost all the lies and the deception. It was almost as if, for an instant, the lady sitting in that chair had vanished.And in her place was the young, naïve, beautiful and innocent Sabine girl who made the terrible mistake of falling in love…
William Shakespeare renamed her Juliet but to herself, she will forever be Tatia. Tatia, daughter of Titus Tatius. Tatia who fell in love with the great King Romulus. Tatia who was loved by King Romulus. The only woman he ever loved and he the only man she ever loved even to this day.
She sighed bitterly. Thinking about the past always made her sigh. She would think of Romulus and all the wonderful memories they made…
The first time they met, it was at a feast. He was there, being his majestic (and irritating) self and she was introduced to him. She had hated him on sight!
On stage, two actors were acting out the ball scene. They were both beautiful people and they brought a quality to the characters that she had never witnessed on stage. And she should know. She’d been attending performances of Romeo and Juliet ever since the play was first written.
She watched as ‘Romeo’ sneaked into the Capulet courtyard and overheard ‘Juliet’ vowing love to him. She rolled her eyes… Oh Will…
The fact of the matter was that she had vowed no such thing. In fact, she had insisted on never loving him “even if he was the last man in the land.” Those were her own words that she wound up consuming willingly and with much gusto.
As she watched ‘Romeo’ and ‘Juliet’ get married in secret, she remembered how Romulus found clever ways to escape his duties and come court her. He would follow her, disguised and send her love letters. (Of course she couldn’t read them, she didn’t know how. But that hardly mattered as he couldn’t write either.) He would send her flowers that were coloured every colour ever known. He would speak to her while she stood on at a window above. (At least Will got that bit right…)
She could almost smile when she remembered Romulus and his boyish and boisterous love for her. There was only so much that a woman could resist. Eventually, she gave way and they fell in love, so to speak.
She had nothing but fond (and secret) memories of what came after. Long walks, warm hands, kisses like rain, passionate lovemaking and golden moments of silence spent doing nothing but gazing into each other’s eyes…
On stage, things had taken a turn for the worse. Romeo had killed Tybalt and had gotten himself exiled. Though this had never really happened with Romulus, she supposed that it added to the overall dramatic effect… now Juliet was about to be married off to Count Paris.
At this point, she remembered Numa Pompilius; her ‘destined’ husband-to-be. She did not wish to marry him so she had done as Juliet had done. She asked for the help of another, though in her case, it was not a friar but a sorcerer. (Some called him a wise-man. He certainly looked the part…)
He had concluded that the best way to ensure that her love had a chance was for her to fake her death and escape. He also told her that he would see her and her lover happy and in love forever. Saying that, he told her of the elixir.
Tatia was young and naïve. She had no idea what she was getting into. She had no idea the burden she was about to shoulder… All she knew was the wise-man and his miraculous elixir that was to be the solution to all her problems.
Unlike what Will wrote in his play, the liquid ‘Juliet’ or Tatia drank was no poison. Quite the opposite, actually. It was a potion of life. Eternal life, no less. The wise-man called it the Elixir of the Dancing Water. He said it was from the lands to the south. Past the Nile and in the heart of the land of men black as obsidian. It was said to be the peak of alchemical achievement. According to the wise-man, it would grant the drinker immortality!
But there is a price, he had said. There always is, she had dismissed. He told her that the price for eternal life was death. After she took the elixir, she would die. She would remain so for 2 and 40 hours, he had said. (He used another unit of time which is now defunct.)
On stage, Juliet took the poison and fell into a deep sleep. Romeo rushed to her side (without reading his mail, the fool!) and after a long and depressing monologue, took his own life.
In that instant, the audience gasped and she remembered how her own tale ended. She took the elixir according to plan and died. She was in hiding at the time but Romulus knew where to find her. There she had lain until her time was up and she came back into the world of the living, reborn.
But alas, the world she came back to was not the world she had left behind. Everything had changed. One of the most prominent changes was the appearance of a dead body at her feet. She sat there, staring groggily at it before the truth sunk in.
She let out a blood-curdling and anguished scream! The dead body was none other than her beloved Romulus! He was dead! He was clutching a bloody dagger in one hand and had a deep wound on his abdomen. It was sickeningly obvious what had happened…
As she lay there, under the influence of the elixir, dead. She would have had no pulse, drawn no breath and to all the physicians in the world, she would have appeared lifeless. It was then that Romulus had found her. He would have thought her dead and decided that a life without her was no life… Stupid man! He had taken his life thinking she was dead!
She had desperately looked around for any more of the elixir but alas, it was all gone…
As Juliet said her final piece, there was not a dry eye in the house. Save one. Tatia had cried herself dry long ago. There were no more tears left. No elixir to help her beloved Romulus and no hope of her ever getting the chance to join him in the afterlife… All she had to look forward to was an eternity alone with possibly no hope of ever meeting him again.
The rest of her ‘natural life’ in Rome was a scam. She had pretended to be the obedient Sabine princess and had herself married to Pompilius. Their so-called marriage lasted for 13 years before she faked her death (this time it worked) and escaped. Thereafter she had been wandering through the world, untouched by time and her heart as broken as it was the day Romulus died.
How sweet and tragically romantic it would have been if they had both died together. Tatia and her beloved Romulus… United in life, united in love, united in death and together forever. But it was not to be. Instead of the supposedly tragic end of both loves dying for their love, one got to live forever. One got to live an incomplete half-life forever without the object of her undying love…
Such is life, she thought to herself as a single tear ran down her cheek to join the countless others she had shed in her past. So there was one tear left… she smiled sadly.
Another Place, Another Town, England – Another Time
It was a cold winter’s night as I sat in my workshop, writing. I had finished a few comedies and they were already being performed. I was set to write another one… But what next, I wondered to myself. Perhaps a love story? Or one about magic and storms?
Before I could make up my mind, there was a gentle knock on the door. I put down my quill and parchment before going over to receive whomever it was.
When I opened the door, I found a beautiful woman with the palest skin, darkest hair and wise eyes that suggested life lived longer than even I. Odd that, I thought to myself as I surveyed her.
“William Shakespeare?” she asked, her voice a soft melody like a minstrel’s song and her words lyrical and well-articulated.
“Yes. I am he.” I replied, wondering what it was that this beautiful woman wanted of me. “What can I do for you, lass?” I tried to be as polite as I could.
She looked at me with her amaranthine eyes, the colour of coals. Then she took a deep breath and spoke. “I have a tale for ye sir. Sir writes plays, correct?” She seemed both excited and ill at ease.
Her timing was utterly perfect. I had been sitting, waiting for the blessings of a muse when one came so willingly into my workshop. I would be a fool to let her go without hearing her tale. Perhaps it would be a tale worth of a great play. One never knows. “Please call me Will.” I smiled as I ushered her in. I offered her tea before setting her down. “What may I call ye, my lady?”
“At this age, I am known as Alice,” she said softly, as if she was about to divulge some gargantuan secret. She breathed in deeply. “But my real name…” she hesitated, letting her breathe out slowly. “…is Tatia.”
It was a typical English night with its mischievous and sudden downpours coupled with chilly winds and fog as thick as broth. Lone pedestrians trudged along, muttering under their breath. They cursed the wind, they cursed the rain and they cursed the “bloody fog.”
But not her. She sat in her seat, sipping warm tea and wondering if she had made the right choice. She looked out of the window and felt sorry for the poor fools on the streets.
She was sitting in a seat she had paid an arm and a leg for, in the New Theatre in Westminster. She was there for the performance of Will Shakespeare’s “Romeo and Juliet.” She had heard it from a friend (who had heard it from a friend) that this particular group were highly skilled and that their best performances were of this play.
She wasn’t exactly aquiver with anticipation. She had witnessed many a performance of it and each one outdid the next in both inaccuracies and bad acting.
Although, it was foolish to expect accuracy when the playwright himself altered the original story to suit his own ends… she just hoped that this would be worth the fortune she paid…
After sometime, the lights dimmed and everyone sat up, alert. The play was about to begin. She looked on sceptically, not expecting much. Hope for the best and prepare for the worst, the British always said.
The play began with the Montagues and Capulets brawling on the streets. Then came the timely intervention by the Prince of Verona.
This was one of the things about the play that she disliked the most. It wasn’t true to the source material. The original story was nothing like what Will wrote.
For one thing, it wasn’t a street brawl. It was a war. Also, it wasn’t between the so-called ‘Montagues’ and ‘Capulets’ either. It was between the Romans, under the rule of the great (hilarious and ever-so-frustrating) King Romulus and the Sabine tribes united under the equally great (bossy and overprotective) Supreme-Commander-in-Chief Titus Tatius. The Lover and The Father, respectively.
She put all criticism aside and watched the play. The longer the play went on, the more she accepted (although grudgingly) that the actors were remarkably good.
As she watched, she began to remember. She remembered things she had forgotten. She remembered things that she had forgotten to remember and she remembered what she should have remembered to forget… and for a while, the prim and proper lady lost herself in her past.
She lost the alias she now used. She lost the carefully crafted back-story she wore about herself. She lost all the lies and the deception. It was almost as if, for an instant, the lady sitting in that chair had vanished.And in her place was the young, naïve, beautiful and innocent Sabine girl who made the terrible mistake of falling in love…
William Shakespeare renamed her Juliet but to herself, she will forever be Tatia. Tatia, daughter of Titus Tatius. Tatia who fell in love with the great King Romulus. Tatia who was loved by King Romulus. The only woman he ever loved and he the only man she ever loved even to this day.
She sighed bitterly. Thinking about the past always made her sigh. She would think of Romulus and all the wonderful memories they made…
The first time they met, it was at a feast. He was there, being his majestic (and irritating) self and she was introduced to him. She had hated him on sight!
On stage, two actors were acting out the ball scene. They were both beautiful people and they brought a quality to the characters that she had never witnessed on stage. And she should know. She’d been attending performances of Romeo and Juliet ever since the play was first written.
She watched as ‘Romeo’ sneaked into the Capulet courtyard and overheard ‘Juliet’ vowing love to him. She rolled her eyes… Oh Will…
The fact of the matter was that she had vowed no such thing. In fact, she had insisted on never loving him “even if he was the last man in the land.” Those were her own words that she wound up consuming willingly and with much gusto.
As she watched ‘Romeo’ and ‘Juliet’ get married in secret, she remembered how Romulus found clever ways to escape his duties and come court her. He would follow her, disguised and send her love letters. (Of course she couldn’t read them, she didn’t know how. But that hardly mattered as he couldn’t write either.) He would send her flowers that were coloured every colour ever known. He would speak to her while she stood on at a window above. (At least Will got that bit right…)
She could almost smile when she remembered Romulus and his boyish and boisterous love for her. There was only so much that a woman could resist. Eventually, she gave way and they fell in love, so to speak.
She had nothing but fond (and secret) memories of what came after. Long walks, warm hands, kisses like rain, passionate lovemaking and golden moments of silence spent doing nothing but gazing into each other’s eyes…
On stage, things had taken a turn for the worse. Romeo had killed Tybalt and had gotten himself exiled. Though this had never really happened with Romulus, she supposed that it added to the overall dramatic effect… now Juliet was about to be married off to Count Paris.
At this point, she remembered Numa Pompilius; her ‘destined’ husband-to-be. She did not wish to marry him so she had done as Juliet had done. She asked for the help of another, though in her case, it was not a friar but a sorcerer. (Some called him a wise-man. He certainly looked the part…)
He had concluded that the best way to ensure that her love had a chance was for her to fake her death and escape. He also told her that he would see her and her lover happy and in love forever. Saying that, he told her of the elixir.
Tatia was young and naïve. She had no idea what she was getting into. She had no idea the burden she was about to shoulder… All she knew was the wise-man and his miraculous elixir that was to be the solution to all her problems.
Unlike what Will wrote in his play, the liquid ‘Juliet’ or Tatia drank was no poison. Quite the opposite, actually. It was a potion of life. Eternal life, no less. The wise-man called it the Elixir of the Dancing Water. He said it was from the lands to the south. Past the Nile and in the heart of the land of men black as obsidian. It was said to be the peak of alchemical achievement. According to the wise-man, it would grant the drinker immortality!
But there is a price, he had said. There always is, she had dismissed. He told her that the price for eternal life was death. After she took the elixir, she would die. She would remain so for 2 and 40 hours, he had said. (He used another unit of time which is now defunct.)
On stage, Juliet took the poison and fell into a deep sleep. Romeo rushed to her side (without reading his mail, the fool!) and after a long and depressing monologue, took his own life.
In that instant, the audience gasped and she remembered how her own tale ended. She took the elixir according to plan and died. She was in hiding at the time but Romulus knew where to find her. There she had lain until her time was up and she came back into the world of the living, reborn.
But alas, the world she came back to was not the world she had left behind. Everything had changed. One of the most prominent changes was the appearance of a dead body at her feet. She sat there, staring groggily at it before the truth sunk in.
She let out a blood-curdling and anguished scream! The dead body was none other than her beloved Romulus! He was dead! He was clutching a bloody dagger in one hand and had a deep wound on his abdomen. It was sickeningly obvious what had happened…
As she lay there, under the influence of the elixir, dead. She would have had no pulse, drawn no breath and to all the physicians in the world, she would have appeared lifeless. It was then that Romulus had found her. He would have thought her dead and decided that a life without her was no life… Stupid man! He had taken his life thinking she was dead!
She had desperately looked around for any more of the elixir but alas, it was all gone…
As Juliet said her final piece, there was not a dry eye in the house. Save one. Tatia had cried herself dry long ago. There were no more tears left. No elixir to help her beloved Romulus and no hope of her ever getting the chance to join him in the afterlife… All she had to look forward to was an eternity alone with possibly no hope of ever meeting him again.
The rest of her ‘natural life’ in Rome was a scam. She had pretended to be the obedient Sabine princess and had herself married to Pompilius. Their so-called marriage lasted for 13 years before she faked her death (this time it worked) and escaped. Thereafter she had been wandering through the world, untouched by time and her heart as broken as it was the day Romulus died.
How sweet and tragically romantic it would have been if they had both died together. Tatia and her beloved Romulus… United in life, united in love, united in death and together forever. But it was not to be. Instead of the supposedly tragic end of both loves dying for their love, one got to live forever. One got to live an incomplete half-life forever without the object of her undying love…
Such is life, she thought to herself as a single tear ran down her cheek to join the countless others she had shed in her past. So there was one tear left… she smiled sadly.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Another Place, Another Town, England – Another Time
It was a cold winter’s night as I sat in my workshop, writing. I had finished a few comedies and they were already being performed. I was set to write another one… But what next, I wondered to myself. Perhaps a love story? Or one about magic and storms?
Before I could make up my mind, there was a gentle knock on the door. I put down my quill and parchment before going over to receive whomever it was.
When I opened the door, I found a beautiful woman with the palest skin, darkest hair and wise eyes that suggested life lived longer than even I. Odd that, I thought to myself as I surveyed her.
“William Shakespeare?” she asked, her voice a soft melody like a minstrel’s song and her words lyrical and well-articulated.
“Yes. I am he.” I replied, wondering what it was that this beautiful woman wanted of me. “What can I do for you, lass?” I tried to be as polite as I could.
She looked at me with her amaranthine eyes, the colour of coals. Then she took a deep breath and spoke. “I have a tale for ye sir. Sir writes plays, correct?” She seemed both excited and ill at ease.
Her timing was utterly perfect. I had been sitting, waiting for the blessings of a muse when one came so willingly into my workshop. I would be a fool to let her go without hearing her tale. Perhaps it would be a tale worth of a great play. One never knows. “Please call me Will.” I smiled as I ushered her in. I offered her tea before setting her down. “What may I call ye, my lady?”
“At this age, I am known as Alice,” she said softly, as if she was about to divulge some gargantuan secret. She breathed in deeply. “But my real name…” she hesitated, letting her breathe out slowly. “…is Tatia.”
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
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