Jarett Kobek - Only Americans Burn in Hell

“What a great number have come to see this play of my life,” said Celia.

“Why would they not?” asked Rose. “What else would the dogs do? Bark at sparrows, chase cats up trees, and, by the smell of them, shit themselves every other Tuesday.”

Just past the gate, there was a little bookshop under the sign of a white bear. It was tended by a man named Henry Thomes.

Henry Thomes stood in front of his shop, crying out at passersby.

“Books, books, books,” he shouted. “Books of the Red-Rose Knight. Parts one and two. Books of the Red-Rose Knight. Read about the Red-Rose Knight in Tom a Lincoln !”

Celia stopped.

“The book has two parts?” she asked.

“The writer published the second but last year.”

“I will have this second part,” said Celia.

“For you, the cost is but four pence.”

“Pence?” asked Celia.

“Pennies,” said Henry Thomes.

“The swine asks for money,” said Rose. “We have spoken of money, lady. Do you remember?”

“Money,” said Celia. “I have no money.”

“No money, no book,” said Thomes.

“Would you take some ham?” asked Celia. “I believe Rose is carrying cured ham on her person. We could share it with you.”

“What am I to do with your old hog?” asked Thomes. “What I need is coin.”

Celia and Rose followed the crowd into the Hall at Gray’s Inn. They entered into a temporary autonomous zone called the Kingdom of Purpoole.

Almost every Christmas season, the young men of bleeding privilege who studied at Gray’s Inn would throw a huge party, creating a pseudo-monarchy of Purpoole, in which one of their number would be made Prince.

The Prince would rule for the season with his own courts, ministers, and government.

He was expected to put on masks, revels, plays, and dances. The current Kingdom had been established on the 12th of December.

A pupil named Thomas Rudde, of Higham Ferrers near Northampton, was made the Kingdom’s prince.

As the two women entered the Hall, the subjects of the Kingdom of Purpoole were escorting guests to their seats.

Prince Thomas was watching over his court.

Prince Thomas was drunk as a skunk. He’d been drunk for sixteen days.

He saw Celia.

Some of the tendril’s magic light had rubbed off on Celia. She glowed with the power of Fairy Land.

“How now,” Prince Thomas cried from his throne. “Who is this that comes amongst us? See how her face and bosom glow with light of the waxing crescent! Why, I shall avail myself of her company.”

The Prince leapt from his throne and took Celia’s arm in his own.

Prince Thomas was too drunk to notice that Rose Byrne had taken out her sword and was about to murder him.

Celia raised her hand, staying Rose’s assault.

“Sweetest creature,” said Prince Thomas. “Who art thou with thy fiery raiment?”

“I am Celia, Regnant Queen of Fairy Land.”

Prince Thomas laughed and laughed and laughed.

“What a jape!” he cried. “Which man of Gray’s Inn has architected such a jest?”

“Why are you laughing at my lady?” asked Rose.

“Many jibes arise throughout a Christmas Revel, but I know not of any previous happenstance when a character from imagination has come to life and presented herself at our court.”

“My lady is no product of imagination,” said Rose. “She is the Regnant Queen of Fairy Land. She has come to see the play.”

“Tell me,” said Celia. “What is your name?”

“I am Prince Thomas of this, the Kingdom of Purpoole.”

“I thought us in the Kingdom of England,” said Celia.

“In these walls, I am the true prince. All that happens within is for my benefit and by my leave.”

“As we are both monarchs,” said Celia, “shall we not watch the play together?”

“Excellent,” said Prince Thomas. “I have no throne for a queen, but my minions will find you some grand chair upon which to rest your bones and flesh.”

“Who whispered to you that my flesh wanted rest?”

Prince Thomas roared with laughter.

The play was presented by the Queen Anne’s Men.

The audience sat around three sides of the great hall. The fourth side was kept behind a curtain, which was used for scene changes during the play.

Celia watched.

Celia watched.

Celia watched.

At first the play was pretty fucking boring, some old shit about whether or not King Arthur could fuck the Red-Rose Knight’s mother. Then the living incarnation of Time came out and showed a bunch of other shit that happened, none of which was that interesting, and then an abbess put King Arthur’s bastard son, who was a baby called Tom a Lincoln, into the hands of a shepherd. Then Time came out again and Tom a Lincoln was much older and he and his fellow shepherds took up weapons and abandoned their sheep. Tom’s friends crowned him with a laurel of roses, thereby making him the Red-Rose Knight, and then all of the former shepherds camped out on a heath and robbed people, and then they ended up dragged to the court of King Arthur.

King Arthur and the Red-Rose Knight fought each other until their sublimated incestuous homoeroticism convinced King Arthur to accept the Red-Rose Knight as his son, and then the Red-Rose Knight and King Arthur kicked the shit out of the French, and then the Red-Rose Knight took some of Arthur’s men on boats and they went sailing around the world. Time came back on stage and said some shit. And then finally, the Red-Rose Knight and his men turned up on Fairy Land.

And Celia was there, watching herself, watching a man dressed up as Celia, watching as the man dressed up as Celia spoke words that Celia had never said and acted out deeds that Celia had never done.

The sexual morality of Fairy Land wasn’t prudish, but it was an out-of-body experience to watch a fictional iteration of yourself bed down with a makeshift knight.

In its many lies, Richard Johnson’s Tom a Lincoln had contained no mention of Rusticano.

But in the play at Gray’s Inn, Rusticano was about 30 per cent of the action.

A musical intermission occurred after the Red-Rose Knight left Fairy Land. There was a great amount of social mingling, with young rakes talking to women, and an outrageous amount of drinking.

“You are far more fair than the one who acts out your story,” said Prince Thomas.

“I am not a man,” said Celia. “Of course I am more fair.”

“You would be surprised,” said Prince Thomas. “Many of the boys who play as ladies are very comely, and it is said that most are paid catamites. I promise you, my queen, that the Celia of our drama shall find himself enveloped by one of Gray’s brutes before the night is through.”

“The lust of men can be overpowering. It was not the case with the true Red-Rose Knight. He mewled like a kitten.”

“Some men, often those who are princes, are known to roar like lions.”

“A sound that I am certain could shake my bones,” said Celia.

Celia didn’t pay attention to the rest of the play, which was claptrap about the Red-Rose Knight leaving Fairy Land and getting another girl pregnant and then Celia killing herself by jumping off a rock.

It wasn’t much different from Tom a Lincoln .

After the applause died down, Prince Thomas turned to Celia and asked, “How then, my fair elf queen, did you like the play of your own life?”

“It was very strange,” she said. “But was it a good play? We have no such entertainments in Fairy Land.”

“It was passable,” said Prince Thomas. “I have seen better, I have seen worse. But look at you, still your dusky skin is illuminated by the light of moon. My word, lady, what kind of woman are you?”