Margaret Atwood - Hag-Seed

“I’m stickin’ with you,” she says. “You’re the guy that I came in with, to coin a phrase. That was such a good Guys and Dolls they did at Makeshiweg, oh, fifteen years ago, remember it?”

“Before my time,” says Felix, “but I was in it once, when I was young.”

“You’re still young,” she breathes. “Young at heart.”

“But you’re younger,” he says. “Younger than springtime.” Yes, he is drunk. “Lady Luck can be a nice dame.” They clink glasses.

“A very nice dame,” she says, “if you stay on my good side.” She takes a sip of her martini. More than a sip. “I don’t know what you’re up to, but you’ve got that rascally look. If it’s about saving the Players, I’m backing you all the way.”

Wednesday, March 13, 2013.

This is the day. He stands on the cliff’s edge. Very soon it will be thunder time. But first, the pre-battle speech.

In the dressing room, he adjusts his magic stuffed-animal robe. It isn’t everything he’d once had in mind, but a dusting of gold spray paint has brought it back to life. He takes his fox-head cane in his left hand, then switches it to his right. He peers at himself in the mirror: not too bad. Magisterial might be the adjective that comes to mind, given a well-disposed viewer. He smooths his beard, roughens his hair, tweaks the set of his garment, checks his teeth: they’re firmly cemented in place. “Tip of the tongue,” he says to his reflection.

Then he proceeds along the hallway, peering into the Green Room to make sure the grapes are standing ready. Before leaving his shack for Fletcher he’d spent the early morning carefully injecting each one with the hypodermic. The grapes had made it through Security without raising an eyebrow: after all, they contain no metal. Similarly with the mysterious pixie dust pills, stowed in a plastic bottle of painkillers. He slips his hand into the crucial pocket, just to make sure. All is in order.

In the main room the full cast is assembled. Anne-Marie’s in her Miranda outfit: the simple white off-shoulder dress, the bare feet, the paper daisies and roses in her hair. PPod, Shiv, TimEEz, Leggs, and Red Coyote are dressed as sailors, with their black ski masks rolled into cap mode. Otherwise they’re in black, as is everyone else in the room.

8Handz is behind the folding screen that hides the computer screen, the control panel, the central microphone, and the two sets of headphones — one for himself, one for Felix.

There’s a tension, familiar to Felix from dozens of opening nights. Dancers, waiting in the wings, first foot already poised. Divers, on their springboards, bending their knees, raising their arms. Football players before the whistle. Racehorses before the pistol shot. He smiles encouragingly.

“This is it,” he tells them. “We’ll never be more ready.” There’s a gentle clapping. “To remind you,” he continues, “these are the politicos who want to destroy our Fletcher Correctional Players.” Soft boos.

“Shame,” says Bent Pencil.

“Yes,” says Felix. “They think it’s a waste of time. They think you’re a waste of time. They don’t care about your education, they want you to stay ignorant. They aren’t interested in the life of the imagination, and they have failed to grasp the redemptive power of art. Worst of all: they think Shakespeare is a waste of time. They think he has nothing to teach.”

“Double shame,” says Phil the Pill. The secret directions Felix has been rehearsing with all of them over the past week have made Phil nervous. He’s been raising objections to it — isn’t it illegal, what they intend to do? — but the majority of the class is in favor of it, so now he’s going along. Felix hasn’t stationed Phil among the lead Goblins, however: he might lose his nerve and break the charm.

“But together we can stop their cancellation plan,” says Felix. “We can set things right! What we’re doing today — we’re giving them some excellent reasons for why they need to reconsider. We’ll be showing them that theatre is a powerful educational tool. Yes?”

Assenting murmurs, nods. “Right on, dude,” says Leggs. “Beetles light on them! Blister them all o’er!”

PPod says, “They’ll be thinking poxy twice, after we get through.”

“We’re on it,” says Red Coyote. “Moon-calfs won’t know what hit them.”

“Thank you,” says Felix. “Okay, ready to roll. First part, they’re escorted here by the sailors, they come in and sit down, you serve the refreshments. Blue cups, green cups. Don’t get the colors mixed up! Green for O’Nally Senior, and also for Lonnie Gordon. Blue for Tony Price and Sebert Stanley. Popcorn for all of them. Remember that!”

“The chalice with the palace is the potion with the poison,” says Bent Pencil. Nobody gets it.

“The clear cups are for the rest of us, and Freddie. You’ve got your black gloves?” says Felix. “Great. Your ear buds? Keep them out of sight. As soon as the screen goes dark, stick in the ear buds, roll down the ski masks, put on the gloves. Then you’ll be virtually invisible. Watch for the marks on the floor, you’ll see them as soon as 8Handz turns on the black light. TimEEz, we’re counting on you to remove their security alarms.”

“Be not afeard, the isle is full of fingers,” says TimEEz.

“It’ll be exactly the way we’ve been rehearsing it,” says Felix. “I’ll be with 8Handz, behind the screen. Listen for our cues. We’ll be able to hear you, so if you run into trouble we’ll send a backup. The password for trouble is ‘scurvy monster.’ Got that?”

Nods all round. “I hope nobody’s going to get hurt,” says Bent Pencil. He’s been fussing over this: snatch-and-grab is not his modus operandi.

“Not so much as a hair,” says Felix. “Unless they try to fight. Which they won’t. But PPod and Leggs and Red Coyote are ready to keep them under control, if necessary. They’ll use a bouncer hug, not a wallop. No excessive use of force, no matter how tempting. Promise?”

“You got it,” says PPod.

“There’s ways,” says Red Coyote.

“Now, locations,” says Felix. “In half an hour, the dressing room will no longer be the dressing room: it will be Prospero’s cave. The fifties demonstration cell will be Ferdinand’s rock-and-log ordeal site, so young O’Nally will be placed in there. It’s the one with the older toilet. Anne-Marie will babysit him for us: she’s well prepared.”

“Are you sure this is ethical?” says Anne-Marie. “I know you’ve got some scores to settle, I get it, but the O’Nally son never did anything to you.”

“We discussed this,” says Felix. “He won’t be injured. Remember, it’s partly his dad who crapped up your career twelve years ago. The palm trees are already on location, correct?”

“Correct,” says WonderBoy. “Plus the mermaid.” He’s looking sulky: Anne-Marie in a locked cell with another man doesn’t sit well with him.

“The other demonstration cell, the nineties one, will be the nap-time location for Alonso and Gonzalo — sorry, for O’Nally and Lonnie Gordon,” says Felix. “It’s the one with the cactuses. It’s important to slot the right people into the right rooms. When they’re all in the main screening room, and just before we push the Start button, Shiv will be outside in the hall, sticking up the signs on the doors: palm tree, cactus.”

“Got it,” says PPod.

“Excellent. Timing is everything. Goblins, we’re depending on you: nothing in this play can work without the Goblins.”