Margaret Atwood - Hag-Seed

“So Prospero sets him up as a musician, back in Milan. Once he gets a break, the kid does really well. He can bring out, like, the darkness emotions in people, but in a musical way. He has to keep away from the booze though, it’s poison to him, turns him crazy. So he makes the effort, and he stays clean.

“Next thing you know he’s a star. Prospero’s really proud of him. The kid is top billing at all the duke-type concerts. He’s got a stage name, he’s got a band: HAG-SEED AND THE THINGS OF DARKNESS. He’s, like, world-famous.

“That’s our report. We hope you like it.”

This time the class is in full agreement. There’s a chorus of “Yeahs” and “Way-to-gos,” and a round of applause that swells to a rhythmic clapping, then a stamping of feet. “Hag-Seed! Hag-Seed! We want Hag-Seed!”

Felix stands up. This shouldn’t get too far out of control. “That was excellent, Team Hag-Seed. Full marks! A very creative interpretation! And a fitting end to the formal part of this class. Next up, cast party! Are we ready?”

The bags of potato chips and the cans of ginger ale are handed out. There’s talk, the clinking of ginger ale cans, an air of muted celebration. In a few minutes they’ll sidle up to Felix one by one and cough up some form of bashful thanks. It’s what happens at these parties, every time. That, plus the opening of the chip bags and the swift pocketing of the cigarettes.

The number of cigarettes in each bag is the same, and why not? They’ve all done so well. Once Felix is out of sight, the bargaining and trading will begin: cigarettes are an unofficial currency, desirable for bribes and the obtaining of goods and favors.

“Not my usual brand,” says Bent Pencil. Chuckles: everyone knows he doesn’t smoke.

“If there’s a hole in one end and fire at the other, I smoke it,” says Red Coyote.

Shiv: “You’re talking about my woman.” Laughter.

“Yeah, but which end is which?” More laughter. “Sorry, Anne-Marie.”

“Watch it,” says Anne-Marie. “Don’t forget, I’ve got that goddess power.”

“By the way, well done, Anne-Marie,” says Felix. “I didn’t see that coming.”

“You always say magic should be unpredictable,” says Anne-Marie. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“And you did,” says Felix.

“We’re really grateful to you. Me and Freddie. It’s—”

“No need for gratitude,” says Felix. “I was pleased to help out.”

“We got a surprise for you too,” says Leggs, who has ambled over to join them.

“Oh?” says Felix. “What kind of surprise?”

“It’s an extra number we wrote,” says Leggs. “Me and the Hag-Seeds. We all wrote it together. We’re working on, like, a musical.”

“A musical?” says Anne-Marie. “About Caliban?”

“Yeah, about what happens after the play’s over. Doing that report got us thinking: why shouldn’t Caliban have a play to himself?”

“Go on,” says Felix.

“Okay, so, it begins at the part where Stephano and Trinculo put him in a cage and show him off for money. But in the musical, he gets out of the cage. That’s this number we did — where he gets out, and he says he’s not doing any more slave work or living in a cage.”

Boom boom boom, the Hag-Seeds start the beat. Leggs chants:

“That’s powerful,” says Felix. “Very powerful.”

“More than powerful!” says Anne-Marie. “It’s got — it could be really — but what happens after he escapes from the cage?”

“We figure he might go after everyone who used to treat him in such a bad way,” says Leggs. “Do a whole revenge thing, sort of like Rambo. Pick them off one by one, beginning with Stephano and Trinculo.”

“What about Prospero?” says Felix.

“And Miranda?” says Anne-Marie.

“Maybe they’re not in the musical,” says Leggs. “Or maybe they are. Maybe Caliban forgives them. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe stalks them, jumps them, goes to work with his claws. We’re still working on it.”

Felix is intrigued: Caliban has escaped the play. He’s escaped from Prospero, like a shadow detaching itself from its body and skulking off on its own. Now there’s no one to restrain him. Will Prospero be spared, or will retribution climb in through his window one dark night and cut his weasand? Felix wonders. Gingerly, he feels his neck.

“Think you’d maybe direct it, Mr. Duke?” says Leggs. “When we get it done? You’d be, like, our first choice.” He smiles shyly.

“If I’m still alive,” says Felix. He’s absurdly pleased by the offer, though of course this will never happen. Or will it? “It’s possible. You never know.”

As Felix is finishing his ginger ale, 8Handz, Leggs, and SnakeEye come over to him.

“There’s one more thing,” says SnakeEye. “About the coursework and all.”

“What’s that?” says Felix. What has he forgotten?

“The ninth prison,” says 8Handz. “We only counted eight. Remember?”

“You said you’d tell us if we didn’t guess,” says Leggs.

“Oh. Yes,” says Felix, gathering his scattered wits. “It doesn’t come out all that well for Prospero at the end, does it? He gets his dukedom back, but he’s not very interested in it any more. So he wins, but he also loses. Most importantly, he loses the two beings he loves: Miranda, who is now paired with Ferdinand and will live far away in Naples; and Ariel, who leaves Prospero’s service without even a backward glance. Prospero will miss him, but Ariel himself shows no sign of missing Prospero: he’s happy to be free. The only one who might stick with Prospero is Caliban, hardly a big treat. Still, why would Prospero need him, now that he’s leaving the island? He will have other servants back in Milan. Maybe he’ll take the thing of darkness with him out of some feeling of responsibility: it’s his, not anybody else’s. But at this moment Prospero’s feeling guilty about a different thing.”