Margaret Atwood - Hag-Seed

“Those are in the maximum wing,” says Felix. “Under special surveillance. For their own protection. My guys don’t approve of that kind of thing.”

“Good,” says Anne-Marie. “So Caliban won’t really try to rape me?”

“Not a hope,” says Felix. “The other guys would stop him. One of them’s an accountant.” He indicates Gonzalo. “And here’s your Ferdinand.”

“Cute,” says Miranda. “WonderBoy. He pick that stage name himself?”

“Not sure,” says Felix. “He’s got the right face for it though. The fifties after-shave look. Earnest.” He’s dated himself with fifties after-shave , but she doesn’t tease him.

“So, a fraudster. Ripping off oldies,” she says. “That’s not pleasant.”

“He didn’t injure anyone,” says Felix defensively. “Not physically. He was selling fake life insurance to seniors, doing very well at it. They never found out until after they were dead.”

“Say that again?” says Anne-Marie, smirking.

“All right, it’s the beneficiaries who’d find out, but since none of his targets had died yet, that hadn’t happened. It was a dumped girlfriend who spilled the beans on him, as I understand.”

“And how many of those were there? Dumped girlfriends?” Already she’s sounding possessive: of an unreal actor playing Ferdinand, the facsimile of a non-existent swain.

“ ‘Full many a lady,’ ” says Felix, quoting, “but not a patch on you. You’re perfect and peerless, remember?”

“I know, right?” She laughs again. He’ll ask her during rehearsals to reprise that laugh, turn it from a laugh of self-mockery to a laugh of delight.

“He’s obviously a sweet-talker,” says Felix. “Some of the seniors came to his trial. They wanted him to get a reduced sentence, be given another chance. They loved him; they thought of him as a son. If anyone can make those flowery love speeches convincing, it’ll be WonderBoy.”

“You’re telling me something?” says Anne-Marie.

“Forewarned is forearmed,” says Felix. “This kid could talk the pants off a statue of Queen Victoria. He’ll want you to be his girlfriend on the outside, smuggle stuff in for him, who knows? Just don’t get involved. He’s probably already married. To more than one woman,” he adds for greater effect.

“You think I’ll fall in love with him, right?” says Anne-Marie. “You think I’m that easy?” She clenches her jaw.

“No, no,” says Felix. “Heaven forefend. But you’ll need your wits about you once you’re in character. Even a hard-shelled little nut like you.”

“You’re in character already,” says Anne-Marie, grinning. “Playing my overprotective dad. But you know teenage girls, they desert their adored daddies the minute some young ripped stud heaves into view. Don’t blame me, blame my fucking hormones.”

“Okay, truce,” says Felix. “You’re doing well, only quench the swearing. It’s off-limits, remember; especially for Miranda.”

“Agreed,” says Anne-Marie. “I’ll try.” She continues down the list. “I see you’re having the song-and-dance.”

“Well, The Tempest spent the whole eighteenth century as an opera,” says Felix. “So I pitched it to the guys as a musical. Puts it in more of a context for them. They were having trouble with the fairies and the bee-sucking song and so forth.”

“Yeah, I get that,” says Anne-Marie, grinning.

“I was wondering if you could help out with the choreography. Give them some pointers.”

“Could do,” she says. “I take it no ballet. We’ll have to see what their bodies can handle.” Felix smiles: he likes the word we. “What’ll you do about that bee-sucking? It could be a deal-breaker.”

“Remains to be seen,” says Felix. “They could redo the wording. In the other plays we’ve put on, they’ve written some new material for sequences they felt needed some updating. Using the, ah, the contemporary vernacular.”

“The contemporary vernacular,” says Anne-Marie. “You mean trash talk. How now, grave sir?”

“It’s the literacy part of the course,” he says a little apologetically. “Writing things. Anyway, judging from the texts we have, Shakespeare’s troupes must have done some improvising.”

“You always pushed the boundaries,” says Anne-Marie. “What about Iris, Ceres, and Juno? The engagement-party masque. That’s a weird scene. It’s got a lot of words, it could get boring. I see here you’re thinking of dolls?”

“I can’t ask the men to dress up like goddesses. We can montage…”

“What kind of dolls?”

“I was hoping you’d help me out,” Felix says. “I’m not proficient in that area. Grown-up dolls.”

“You mean, with tits.”

“Well, not babies, or, you know, animals. What would you suggest?” His Miranda hadn’t made it past the teddy-bear stage: dolls are a pain point for him.

“Disney Princesses,” says Anne-Marie decisively. “They’d be perfect.”

“Disney Princesses? Such as…”

“Oh, you know. Snow White, Cinderella, Beauty as in Sleeping, Jasmine from Aladdin in those campy pants, Ariel from The Little Mermaid , Pocahontas in the leather fringes…I had the whole set, once. Not Merida from Brave, though — that was since my time.”

This is a foreign language to Felix. What is Merida from Brave ? “It can’t be Ariel,” he says. “We already have an Ariel.”

“Okay, I’ll noodle on it. Could work really well! Who wouldn’t want three Disney Princesses to turn up at their engagement party and shower them with blessings? And maybe some glitter confetti,” she adds slyly, Felix being notorious for the glitter.

“I’ll be counseled by you,” says Felix at his most courtly. “Miss Nonpareil.”

“Save it for the fans,” she says, laughing. But he has what he wants: now they’re allies.

Or are they? Maybe her eyes aren’t wide because of innocence. Maybe it’s fear. He has a split instant of seeing Prospero through the gaze of Miranda — a petrified Miranda who’s suddenly realized that her adored father is a full-blown maniac, and paranoid into the bargain. He thinks she’s asleep when he’s talking out loud to someone who isn’t there, but she’s heard him doing it, and it scares her. He says he can command spirits, raise storms, uproot trees, open tombs, and cause the dead to walk, but what’s that in real life? It’s sheer craziness. The poor girl is trapped in the middle of the ocean with a testosterone-sodden thug who wants to rape her and an ancient dad who’s totally off his gourd. No wonder she throws herself into the arms of the first sane-looking youth who bumbles her way. Get me out of here! is what she’s really saying to Ferdinand. Isn’t it?

No, Felix, it isn’t, he tells himself firmly. Prospero is not crazy. Ariel exists. People other than Prospero see him and hear him. The enchantments are real. Hold on to that. Trust the play.

But is the play trustworthy?

Friday, January 18, 2013.

At the Print Pro shop in Wilmot, Felix makes copies of his revised cast list — just the character names and the actors, no descriptions — to hand out to the actors. Then he drives into Makeshiweg and picks Anne-Marie up outside the house she shares with her three roommates. He gives her the Fletcher Correctional pass Estelle has arranged for behind the scenes, and she follows him in her own car — a dented silver-gray Ford — up the hill and through the outer gate to the parking lot.