Margaret Atwood - Hag-Seed

They’re working beautifully together, those two. It’s as if they were made for each other, like a pair of ice-dance champions. Watching them as they pore over the costume sketches and solemnly discuss their aesthetics and mess around onscreen with their digital set designs, Felix finds himself choking up, as if at a wedding: that strange mixture of nostalgia for the past mixed with joy for the future; the joy of others. He himself is only a bystander now, a well-wisher, a flinger of virtual rice. Their path won’t be easy because theatre has never been easy, but at least he’s given them a start. His life has had this one good result, however ephemeral that result may prove to be.

But everything is ephemeral, he reminds himself. All gorgeous palaces, all cloud-capped towers. Who should know that better than he?

He’d thought Sal O’Nally would kick up about Freddie: his adored firstborn son snatched out from under his nose by Felix, whisked away from the world of lawyerdom and politics in which Sal had wanted to encase him and matched up with a hoyden like Anne-Marie. But if anything, Sal seemed relieved: the boy’s future had a direction, he was happy, and, best of all, he wasn’t dead! All plusses for such a doting father. But even doting fathers have to let go sooner or later. From now on the boy will be working out his own destiny, as much as anyone can.

Felix pauses in his packing to take stock. Shabby is hardly the word for his wardrobe, and for himself, come to think of it. He’ll get a haircut and eventually some better teeth; very soon he’ll go shopping. He needs fresh garments, because he’s embarking on a cruise.

Estelle has fixed it up for him. Among the many people she knows are some who run cruise companies. Seize the moment! she’d said. Grasp Fortune by the forelock, because after the strenuous time he’d been having, wouldn’t it be a fine idea for him to take a relaxing break? Lie back in a deck chair in the sun? Be restored by the salt air?

No cost to him: all he’d have to do is give a couple of lectures about his wonderful theatre experiments at Fletcher Correctional. He could even show the videos, if he thought it appropriate; people would be fascinated, his approach was so novel! Or if he couldn’t show them due to privacy issues concerning the actors, then at least he could discuss his methods. And the Caribbean would be lovely at this time of year, she said. She herself would be going on the cruise too. They could do some line-dancing and other things together. It would be fun!

At first Felix balked. A cruise ship filled with old people, people even older than himself, snoozing in deck chairs and doing line-dancing — that was his idea, if not of hell exactly, then at least of limbo. A state of suspension somewhere on the road to death. But on second thought, what did he have to lose? The road to death is after all the road he’s on, so why not eat well during the journey?

So he’d said yes, but with one condition. 8Handz had been granted early parole, and Felix could not find it in his conscience — he tells Estelle — to leave the young fellow at loose ends. From what he’s heard, the day after getting sprung from prison is even more terrifying than the day after getting locked up in the first place. So 8Handz must come on the cruise as well. He could recite some of his Ariel speeches during Felix’s presentations; he’s got them down pat, he’s a born performer. And on such a cruise, the boy might well meet some influential businessman — someone in digital tech — who would recognize his extensive talents and give him the creative scope he needed. The lad deserved a break, considering all the hard work he’d done for Felix.

Estelle’s bangles jingled as she gave his arm a squeeze: they were now on definite arm-squeezing terms. No problem at all, she said, beaming full upon him. She would pull the necessary strings. It sounded to her as if young 8Handz deserved some good fortune, and the sea air would be so liberating for him.

Felix folds up his stuffed-animal garment: take it or throw it out? On a whim he packs it into the suitcase. He’ll bring it on the cruise with him, where it will add a colorful and authentic note to his presentations. The aura it once held for him is dimming, like holiday lights at noon. Soon it will be nothing but a souvenir. And there’s his fox-head cane as well. It’s no longer a magic staff, it’s only a wooden stick. Broken. Should he bury it certain fathoms in the earth? That would be histrionic. Anyway, who’d be the audience?

“Farewell,” he says to it. “My so potent art.”

It comes over him in a wave: he’s been wrong about his Tempest , wrong for twelve years. The endgame of his obsession wasn’t to bring his Miranda back to life. The endgame was something quite different.

He picks up the silver-framed photo of Miranda, laughing happily on her swing. There she is, three years old, lost in the past. But not so, for she’s also here, watching him as he prepares to leave the full poor cell where she’s been trapped with him. Already she’s fading, losing substance: he can barely sense her. She’s asking him a question. Is he compelling her to accompany him on the rest of his journey?

What has he been thinking — keeping her tethered to him all this time? Forcing her to do his bidding? How selfish he has been! Yes, he loves her: his dear one, his only child. But he knows what she truly wants, and what he owes her.

“To the elements be free,” he says to her.

And, finally, she is.

In a storm at sea, a ship is floundering. Alonso, King of Naples; his brother, Sebastian; his councillor, Gonzalo; and his son, Ferdinand, are on board, as are Antonio, the Duke of Milan; Stephano, the butler; and Trinculo, the jester. As lightning strikes and the ship begins to sink despite the efforts of the Boatswain and sailors, all fear for their lives. This scene is usually played with the elemental spirit, Ariel, visible in the rigging.

On the shore of a nearby island, fifteen-year-old Miranda pities the drowning ones, but her father, the magician Prospero, says no one has been harmed, and all has been done for her welfare. He then explains why he has raised the tempest. He, not Antonio, is the rightful Duke of Milan. Because Prospero was wrapped up in the study of magic, he delegated the practical affairs of his dukedom to his brother, who took advantage of the situation to league with Prospero’s political enemy, Alonso. The latter invaded Milan, and Prospero and the three-year-old Miranda were put into a leaky boat with nothing but some clothing and Prospero’s books, supplied to him by the good councillor, Gonzalo. They drifted ashore to the island, where they have been living in a cave-like “cell” for twelve years.

Now an auspicious star and the deity Lady Fortune have brought Prospero’s enemies within his reach. He has ordered the illusion of the tempest to land them onshore. His purposes are twofold: revenge and the betterment of the fortunes of Miranda.

Prospero puts Miranda to sleep, dons his magic robes, and calls upon his chief attendant spirit, Ariel. Ariel serves Prospero in return for having been released from a cloven pine where he had been imprisoned by the witch Sycorax because he wouldn’t fulfill her loathsome commands, but now he wants his freedom. Prospero scolds him for ungratefulness, but promises that if his present plan against his enemies works out with Ariel’s help, Ariel shall be free. Ariel then describes the “tempest” he has created. Three groups of travelers have been landed in different places onshore: Ferdinand by himself, Stephano and Trinculo as a pair, though separated, and the court party together.