Margaret Atwood - Hag-Seed

“Where do you get all that?” says Leggs. “About him feeling guilty?”

“It’s here,” says Felix, rooting through his playbook. “He says, ‘Let me not dwell / In this bare island by your spell.’ Prospero has undone his charms and is about to break his magic staff and drown his book, so he can’t perform any more magic. The spell is now controlled by the audience, he says: unless they vote the play a success by clapping and cheering, Prospero will stay imprisoned on the island.

“Then he says he also wants them to pray for him. He says: ‘And my ending is despair, / Unless I be relieved by prayer, / Which pierces so that it assaults / Mercy itself, and frees all faults.’ In other words, he wants a divine pardon. The last lines of the play are ‘As you from crimes would pardoned be, / Let your indulgence set me free.’ It has a double meaning.”

“Yes, it’s in the notes,” says Bent Pencil.

“I forget that part,” says SnakeEye.

“An indulgence was a get-out-of-hell-free card,” says Felix. “You could buy those once.”

“Still can,” says SnakeEye. “It’s called a fine.”

“It’s called bail,” says Leggs. “Only that’s not free, right?”

“It’s called early parole,” says 8Handz. “Only you don’t pay for that. You’re supposed to kind of earn it.”

“What was the guilty thing?” says Anne-Marie. “What’s Prospero done that’s so terrible?”

“Indeed, what?” Felix asks rhetorically. More of the cast have gathered around. “He doesn’t tell us. It’s one more puzzle in the play. But The Tempest is a play about a man producing a play — one that’s come out of his own head, his ‘fancies’—so maybe the fault for which he needs to be pardoned is the play itself.”

“Elegant,” says Anne-Marie.

“I don’t get this,” says SnakeEye. “A play’s not a crime.”

“A sin,” says Felix. “Not a legal lapse. A moral one.”

“I still don’t,” says SnakeEye.

“All those vengeful emotions? All the anger?” says Felix. “Making other people suffer?”

“Well, yeah, maybe,” says SnakeEye.

“Okay, but what about the ninth prison?” says 8Handz.

“It’s in the Epilogue,” says Felix. “Prospero says to the audience, in effect, Unless you help me sail away, I’ll have to stay on the island —that is, he’ll be under an enchantment. He’ll be forced to re-enact his feelings of revenge, over and over. It would be like hell.”

“I saw a horror movie like that,” says 8Handz. “On Rotten Tomatoes.”

“The last three words in the play are ‘set me free,’ ” says Felix. “You don’t say ‘set me free’ unless you’re not free. Prospero is a prisoner inside the play he himself has composed. There you have it: the ninth prison is the play itself.”

“Okay, cool,” says 8Handz. “That’s neat.”

“Crafty,” says Anne-Marie.

“I’m not sure I’m entirely convinced,” says Bent Pencil.

“What play’re we doing next year?” says Shiv. “You’re coming back, right? We saved the program?”

“I promise you there will be a play next year,” says Felix. “That’s what we all worked for.”

“I feel kind of weepy,” says Anne-Marie as they walk down the corridor together. “Because it’s over. The revels now are ended. And that was a fucking good revel!” She takes Felix’s arm. The security door locks behind them with a dull thunk.

“Revels end,” says Felix. “But only these revels. You’ll have others. How’s it going with Freddie?”

“Not bad so far,” says Anne-Marie, understated as ever. He surveys her profile: there’s a definite grin.

They pass through Security, where Felix says goodbye to Dylan and Madison. “It’s been awesome,” Dylan tells him. “Fantastic cookies,” he says to Anne-Marie.

“See you soon, Mr. Duke,” says Madison. “Same time next year?”

“Triple merde, eh?” says Dylan.

“Looking forward,” says Felix.

In the parking lot he thanks Anne-Marie once again, then drives out through the gates in his wheezy car and winds down the hill. Dirty heaps of snow line the road, meltwater trickling from them. All of a sudden it’s the beginning of spring. How long has he been inside Fletcher Correctional? It seems like years.

Did his Miranda leave the cast party too, did she come out through Security, is she in the car with him? Yes, there she is in the back seat, over in the corner: a shadow within the shadow. She’s sad to have seen the last of all those wondrous people inside their brave new world.

“ ’Tis new to thee,” he tells her.

Sunday, March 31, 2013.

Felix is in his shanty, packing; not that there’s much to pack. Some odds and ends. A few elderly clothes; he folds them neatly, lays them in his black wheeled suitcase. It’s officially spring; outside, the ice is melting, the birds are already tuning up. Sunlight streams through the opened door, which is just as well because Felix’s electricity has been cut off.

When he’d trudged over to the farmhouse through the damp snow to ask about that, he’d found it deserted: the Maude family had decamped, leaving — presumably — a stack of unpaid bills. They’d made a clean sweep. It was as if they’d never been there at all; as if they’d manifested themselves only as long as Felix had needed them, then turned to mist and blended into the fields and woodlots. Ye elves of hills, brooks, standing lakes, and groves, he murmurs to himself. But most likely they’re in Bert’s truck, heading west to better pickings.

He got his revenge, such as it was. His enemies had suffered, which had been a pleasure. Then Felix had strewn forgiveness around while listening to the clenching of Tony’s teeth, which had been a greater pleasure. And as long as he keeps that video footage in the cloud where he’s stowed it, Tony won’t be able to cross him any time soon, much though the conniving asshole would like to. But he’s resigned from his position, so he’s lost his credibility. He has no leverage, no power platform; he’s no longer among those who matter. Tony is out and Felix is back in, which is as it should be.

Specifically, Felix has his old job back: Artistic Director of the Makeshiweg Theatre Festival. He can stage his long-lost Tempest of twelve years ago, if that is his pleasure.

Strangely enough, he no longer wants to. The Fletcher Correctional Players version is his real Tempest : he could never better that one. Having pulled it off so spectacularly, why would he bother with a lesser attempt?

As for Artistic Director, he’s accepted the position but in name only. He’ll be an éminence grise, he’ll work behind the scenes. He’ll break his staff, he’ll drown his book, because it’s time for the younger people to take over.

He’s hired Freddie as Assistant Director: let him learn by doing. Felix will help him out for a while, though in essence he’ll be handing over the keys, a process he’s already begun. The boy’s a fast learner. Freddie can’t thank him enough, and that too is a pleasurable feeling: never to be thanked enough.

Anne-Marie has been taken on as the chief choreographer for the musicals Freddie wants to add to the Makeshiweg repertoire. Crazy for You is the first one they’re doing: it’s got enough dance numbers to stretch Anne-Marie’s talent. She can go to town on it, raise the roof, and he has no doubts that she will.