Hamlet noticed Selby approach and called out to her, ‘We are in for a treat. Tonight, these excellent players will perform a scene for us.’

  ‘Cool,’ said Selby.

  ‘Aye, cool and hot and all the emotions man can master in between,’ said Hamlet. He turned to the leader of the acting troop. ‘Come, give us a taste of your quality. Come, a passionate speech.’

  ‘What speech, my good lord?’ asked the actor.

  ‘I heard thee speak me a speech once, ’twas Aeneas’ tale to Dido,’ said Hamlet, ‘where he speaks of Priam’s slaughter.’

  ‘Is he seriously going to make this actor guy perform right now?’ Selby asked Dan.

  ‘He’s a prince,’ said Dan. ‘He’s used to getting his own way.’

  The actor stepped forward and went into performance mode, his voice swelling with gravitas as he spoke . . .

  PLAYER

  Anon he finds him

  Striking too short at Greeks.

  His antique sword,

  Rebellious to his arm, lies where it falls,

  Repugnant to command . . .

  The actor was really milking it. He rolled his ‘r’s and elongated each vowel sound. It would have been silly if it weren’t so brilliant. His voice filled the whole courtyard. He spoke with the strain of someone exhausted from fighting with a heavy sword in a long battle.

  Hamlet was spellbound, hanging on the actor’s every word. Selby felt herself drawn in too. She was standing in a courtyard in Denmark, but as she listened to the actor she felt sympathy with the mythic warrior he portrayed – exhausted in the heat on a North African beach. It was electrifying to have an actor with a rich, powerful voice performing just a metre or two away.

  PLAYER

  . . . On Mars’s armour forged for proof eterne,

  With less remorse than Pyrrhus’ bleeding sword,

  Now falls on Priam.

  Out, out, thou strumpet of Fortune! . . .

  Dan leaned in and whispered in Selby’s ear, ‘Better than your daytime soap operas, hey?’

  Selby elbowed him in the ribs in response. She wanted to hear the rest of the speech.

  PLAYER

  . . . In mincing with his sword her husband’s limbs,

  The instant burst of clamour that she made,

  Unless things mortal move them not all,

  Would have made milch the burning eyes of heaven,

  And passion in the gods.

  Hamlet had tears in his eyes as he listened. Polonius noticed this and muttered to himself, ‘Look where he has not turned his colour, and has tears in’s eyes.’ He called out to the actor, ‘Prithee, no more.’

  Hamlet nodded and wiped his eyes. ‘’Tis well. I’ll have thee speak out the rest of this soon.’ He turned to Polonius, ‘Good my lord, will you see the players well bestowed?’

  The actors left with Polonius but Hamlet hung back. Selby went over to him, but Hamlet began talking, more to himself than to her. ‘I have heard that guilty creatures sitting at a play,’ he began, ‘have, by the very cunning of the scene, been struck so to the soul that presently they have proclaimed their malefactions.’

  ‘What?’ said Selby, totally confused.

  ‘He thinks he can get the actors to perform a play so moving that it will make his uncle spontaneously confess that he committed murder,’ explained Dan.

  ‘Aye, for murder, though it have no tongue, will speak,’ explained Hamlet. ‘I’ll have these players play something like the murder of my father before mine uncle.’

  ‘What?’ said Selby. ‘Let me get this straight. You’re going to put on a show that acts out that crazy poison-in-the-ear story?’

  ‘Aye,’ said Hamlet. ‘Then I’ll observe my uncle’s looks. If he but blench, I know my course.’

  ‘But you’ve already been told by the ghost of your father what happened,’ said Selby. ‘Isn’t that enough?’

  ‘The spirit that I have seen may be a devil,’ said Hamlet, ‘and the devil hath power t’assume a pleasing shape.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Selby. She wasn’t terribly religious herself, but when she imagined the devil, she imagined he had better things to do with his time than impersonate ghosts.

  ‘Yea,’ continued Hamlet. ‘And perhaps out of my weakness and my melancholy, as he is very potent with such spirits, abuses me to damn me.’

  ‘He’s saying he thinks the devil is taking advantage of his deep depression,’ said Dan.

  ‘Yeah, I got that,’ said Selby. ‘I thought psychology hadn’t been invented in the sixteenth century.’

  Dan shrugged. ‘Shakespeare’s own son died very young. Shakespeare sank into a deep depression for months, and that’s when he wrote Hamlet. That’s why there is so much stuff about death and depression, as well as fathers and sons in this play. These are autobiographical chunks of Shakespeare’s own experience, and because he was so intuitive it sounds like modern psychology. Hamlet actually inspired Freud when he was developing his principals of psychoanalysis.’

  ‘The play’s the thing,’ said Hamlet, ‘wherein I’ll catch the conscience of the king.’

  ‘That’s a really crazy idea,’ said Selby. ‘Even Columbo doesn’t have plots that ridiculous.’

  ‘Columbo?’ asked Hamlet.

  ‘An eighties TV show,’ said Selby. ‘It was unusual because the audience always knew the killer at the beginning. The mystery was how Columbo would solve it.’

  ‘I know the killer of my father,’ said Hamlet.

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Selby. ‘This story is similar that way.’

  ‘You’re not going to get an essay question on the parallels between Hamlet and Columbo,’ said Dan.

  ‘It’s a shame,’ said Selby. ‘At least I’d be familiar with one of the stories.’

  7

  R U OK

  Hamlet was very quiet as Selby and Dan walked back into the castle with him. From his silence and the scowl on his face, something was clearly churning in his mind. Selby and Dan had a lot on their minds too, so they were all quiet, locked in their own thoughts. Until Hamlet started to speak.

  ‘To be, or not to be?’ said Hamlet. ‘That is the question.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Selby.

  ‘Whether ’tis nobler in the mind,’ said Hamlet, growing agitated as he struggled to say exactly what he meant, ‘to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, or . . .’ he broke off.

  ‘Or what?’ asked Selby.

  ‘Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,’ said Hamlet.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Selby.

  ‘And by opposing,’ said Hamlet, ‘end them.’

  ‘End your troubles?’ said Selby. She thought she knew what he was getting at, and it was frightening her.

  ‘To die,’ said Hamlet, ‘to sleep – no more; and by a sleep to say we end.’

  ‘Suicide?’ said Selby, clutching Hamlet by the arm. ‘Oh no.’

  ‘’Tis a consummation devoutly to be wished,’ said Hamlet. ‘To die, to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream.’

  ‘No,’ said Selby. She was so shocked. His feelings were so real. She was just a kid. She was not qualified to deal with any of this. She turned to Dan for help. ‘What did they teach us in personal health?’

  ‘Um, I don’t know,’ said Dan.

  ‘I thought you were the straight-A student!’ said Selby.

  ‘There are no grades in personal health,’ said Dan.

  ‘But they talked us through what to do and what to say if a friend is depressed and suicidal,’ said Selby. ‘What was it?’

  ‘Er . . . ring the helpline?’ said Dan.

  ‘There is no telephone here,’ said Selby. ‘We can’t ring a helpline.’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Dan.

  Selby closed her eyes as she concentrated on trying to recall what they had been taught. ‘Don’t judge, don’t criticise, listen,’ recited Selby.

  ‘Yes, I remember that,’ said Dan.

  ‘Okay, I think I’ve got this,’ said Selby. She turned back to Hamlet. ‘It is good that you are telling us this – that you are sharing how you feel. I hear you. I understand that you are in despair and you are desperate and you want the pain to go away. But what you are considering is dreadful. We need to find an alternative that is less dreadful. Let’s come up with a plan, a simple plan, of what you can do instead.’

  Selby gently touched Hamlet’s forearm. He reacted by grabbing her in a hug – crushing her against him – and whispering in her ear, ‘But in the sleep of death what dreams may come when we have shuffled off this mortal coil, must give us pause.’

  ‘Yes,’ agreed Selby. It was a struggle to speak with him squeezing her so tightly. ‘That’s a good point. You should pause. Take a moment. There’s no rush to do anything.’

  ‘There’s the respect that makes calamity of so long life,’ said Hamlet. ‘For who could bear the whips and scorns of time but that the dread of something after death?’

  ‘I know it feels that way now,’ said Selby. ‘But if you can get through this hour, and this day, tomorrow may be better. Focus in on this hour. Let’s get through this hour.’ Selby took Hamlet by the hand. ‘Together we can do this.’

  Hamlet looked down at their intertwined hands, then up into Selby’s eyes. For Selby, it was like looking into twin pools of despair.

  ‘Thus conscience does make cowards of us all,’ said Hamlet, ‘and thus the native hue of resolutions is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of thought.’

  ‘Thinking can be a good thing,’ said Selby. ‘Well . . . depending on what the thoughts are.’

  ‘You are so wise for one so fair,’ said Hamlet. ‘You are the star guiding my way in this night of the blackest darkness.’

  Hamlet started to lean towards her. Selby knew what was happening. She’d seen this in movies. He was going to kiss her. Selby leaned back. ‘This isn’t a good idea.’

  They were interrupted by footsteps at the far end of the corridor.

  Hamlet looked up. ‘Soft you now,’ he whispered as he saw who it was walking towards him. ‘The fair Ophelia.’

  ‘She is very beautiful,’ said Selby. She wasn’t sure why she said this, but it was such a stunning fact it was hard not to voice her thoughts.

  ‘Nymph, in thy orisons,’ muttered Hamlet to himself, ‘be all my sins remembered.’ He let go of Selby and turned to greet Ophelia.

  ‘Good, my lord,’ Ophelia called out to him. ‘How does your honour for this many a day?’

  Ophelia glanced at Selby. It was a sizing-up sort of look.

  ‘I humbly thank you, well, well, well,’ said Hamlet, pulling himself together. He wiped at his eyes. He hadn’t actually cried, but there had been tears welling there.

  Selby took a step back because she did not want to intrude. Talking to Ophelia might cheer Hamlet up. But as she stepped back, Selby stepped on something. Something that said, ‘Ow!’ She looked down to see two pairs of shoes poking out underneath the curtain. She glanced up at Hamlet. He had noticed too. There were two people hiding there, listening in. Hamlet started to look angry.

  ‘My lord, I have remembrances of yours,’ said Ophelia. She held out a handful of letters to Hamlet. ‘That I have longed long to re-deliver. I pray you now receive them.’

  Hamlet looked at the papers, then glanced back at the shoes beneath the tapestry.

  ‘No, not I,’ he said, loudly enough for any eavesdropper to hear. ‘I never gave you aught.’

  ‘My honoured lord!’ protested Ophelia.

  Selby edged over towards Dan. ‘Are they Polonius’s shoes?’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes, and the king’s,’ said Dan. ‘This whole conversation is a set-up, so they can listen in to decide whether Hamlet is mad because of his love for Ophelia.’

  ‘That is so stupid,’ said Selby. ‘Even my daytime soap operas have better plot ideas that that.’

  ‘In Shakespeare’s time, most of the audience at his plays would have been drunk,’ said Dan, ‘and there was no amplified sound. So the plotting had to be really obvious, like a pantomime, so everyone could tell what was going on.’

  ‘And yet every line of dialogue is as confusing as a cryptic crossword,’ said Selby.

  ‘He must have known that a lot of his audience wouldn’t have followed the references to Greek mythology and Roman history,’ said Dan. ‘I guess it doesn’t matter if you don’t get every line, but if you can’t follow the plot, that’s a problem.’

  ‘So we have toes poking out from under a curtain,’ said Selby.

  Dan shrugged. They went back to listening to Ophelia and Hamlet’s conversation.

  ‘You know right well you did,’ said Ophelia. ‘And with them, words of so sweet breath composed as made the things more rich.’

  ‘Get thee to a nunnery!’ snapped Hamlet. Ophelia looked shocked. But Hamlet was angry and unrepentant. ‘Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners? I am myself indifferent honest, but yet I could accuse me of such things that it were better my mother had not borne me. We are arrant knaves, all. Believe none of us.’

  ‘O heavenly powers, restore him!’ prayed Ophelia.

  ‘I have heard of your paintings too, well enough,’ continued Hamlet accusingly. ‘God hath given you one face and you make yourselves another. You jig, you amble, and you lisp, you nickname God’s creatures and make your wantonness your ignorance.’

  ‘Hey, calm down,’ urged Selby, stepping forward to intervene. He was scaring Ophelia.

  ‘But she needs to know,’ said Hamlet.

  ‘Know what?’ asked Ophelia.

  ‘My wretched heart will not stay true,’ said Hamlet. ‘The organ beats to its own drum. When I must throw off all idle follies and devote myself to my father’s service, the gods mock me. Cupid fires his weaponry on my treacherous heart by sending an angel to lead me from my path.’

  ‘I do not understand you, my lord,’ said Ophelia.

  ‘I love another,’ said Hamlet. ‘A woman whose beauty and merit far outshines your superficial gloss.’

  ‘Please don’t do this,’ pleaded Selby. ‘Have mercy on her.’

  ‘Why ought I be merciful?’ said Hamlet. ‘She has shown no mercy as she plays my heartstrings like her very own fiddle.’

  ‘Who is she?’ Ophelia. ‘Who has replaced me in your affection?’

  Hamlet stood back and took Selby by the hand. ‘The fair mistress Selby will one day be my queen.’

  Ophelia let out a wailing noise and collapsed on the ground.

  ‘No, I won’t,’ said Selby, shaking his hand off.

  ‘You are right,’ said Hamlet. ‘I should not make this promise while I have vowed to avenge my father.’

  Ophelia was weeping so loudly now it was impossible to ignore.

  ‘Go to, I’ll no more on’t,’ bellowed Hamlet. He was angry with himself now as well as her. ‘It hath made me mad. I say, we will have no more marriages. Those that are married already, all but one, shall live, the rest shall keep as they are. To a nunnery, go.’

  Ophelia just sat there in shock and sobbed harder. So Hamlet stormed off himself.

  Ophelia looked like she would weep forever. But she didn’t. She suddenly launched into speech. ‘Oh, what a noble mind is here o’erthrown!’

  Polonius and the king emerged from behind the curtain and slipped away. It was pathetic.

  ‘Do they think we can’t see them?’ asked Selby.

  ‘I think so,’ said Dan. ‘It’s probably a theatrical convention. If you slip away in the shadows, the audience understands that they aren’t meant to be able to see you.’

  ‘You’d think he’d comfort his daughter,’ said Selby.

  Dan shrugged. ‘That isn’t in the play.’

  Ophelia looked so pathetic and distraught. Like her heart was crushed. Selby stepped forward to make some attempt to console her, but Dan touched her arm.

  ‘I don’t think she wants to be comforted by you,’ he said.

  ‘Then you do it,’ said Selby.

  Dan looked horrified. ‘What do I say?’

  ‘I thought you were meant to be good with words,’ said Selby.

  ‘Not when they mean something,’ said Dan.

  Selby shoved Dan towards Ophelia, ‘Man up. She needs you. I’m going after Hamlet.’ Selby jogged off in the direction he had taken.

  Dan took a tentative step towards Ophelia.

  ‘Look, you’re better off without him,’ said Dan. ‘This is a toxic relationship for you. It’s better this way.’

  But Ophelia was not really listening. She was caught up in her own troubles. ‘I of ladies most deject and wretched, that sucked the honey of his music vows, now see that noble and most sovereign reason, like sweet bells jangled, out of tune and harsh.’

  ‘You’re being too forgiving. Mental illness is not an excuse for rude behaviour. He’s not nice to you,’ said Dan. ‘I know you want to give him another chance because he’s a prince, which is a big deal, but that would be a hassle you’d soon get tired of.’

  Ophelia slumped sideways onto one hand, so she could hold the back of her other hand against her forehead. ‘Oh, woe is me,’ she wailed. ‘T’have seen what I have seen, see what I see.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Dan. He had no sisters. He had been raised by his father. Essentially, he had no idea how to talk to women. Except what he’d read in books. And real life wasn’t like books. When a girl cried, it was wetter and snottier and so much more awkward than anything in fiction. He had no idea how to react to such wildly dramatic hysteria, but he knew he had to do his best.

  Dan crouched down to put his arm around Ophelia, but this only caused Ophelia to completely break down into wracking sobs. She collapsed forward, face first on the ground. Dan had no idea how to respond to this theatrical gesture. He tried patting her on the back, but that only made Ophelia sob louder. Then suddenly, she flung herself against his chest. Dan put his arms around her and held her until her weeping started to calm, gently rubbing her back and making soothing noises.

  Eventually, Ophelia loosened her hold on the front of Dan’s shirt. He released his embrace. Ophelia leaned back to look up into his face. She wasn’t so pretty now that she was tear-stained and red-eyed. She looked so lost. Dan wanted to comfort her, but he didn’t know how – until instinct took over. He leaned forward and kissed Ophelia gently on her lips. It was brief, but Dan noted her lips tasted of the salt from her tears.