Magdalene's Midsummer Night's Dream
by Terry Collett
Your father, Marlowe Webster, stands overlooking the broad expanse of sea beyond him, his stern brown eyes browsing the horizon like a painter's brush. Your mother, Maylea Webster, stands beside him her loose frock flapping slightly in the mild breeze.
"Can’t beat this for a scene, Maylea," he says. "The Almighty Himself would be pushed to beat this at a second attempt." Maylea nods, but says nothing in confirmation other than a slight hum sound.,
"Magdalene, look, child, look!" your father says to you as you peer over your mother's shoulder.
Your long brown hair is caught in the mild breeze and frees itself from your fingers as you try to hold it in place. You stare out where your father is indicating with his stumpy finger; let your eyes float outward over the horizon like butterflies in flittering flight.
"There, girl," your father bellows jutting his finger into open space. Your eyes stare, but their vacancy of expression frustrates Marlowe and he sighs with a deep exhalation, and stares out with more determination at the seascape as if in compensation for your incomprehension of such beauty.
Your mother gazes at you over her shoulder, her pale-blue eyes expressing mild sympathy as if you were a small child taking its first steps and falling. "She does her best, Marlowe," your mother says, "you must be more patient."
Your father sniffs in dismissal of your mother's suggestion; his stumpy hands grip each other tightly behind his back like two sumo wrestlers in combat. His ample shoulders spread themselves wide as if he wanted to block out the seascape to all but himself.
You move pass your mother's arm and stand a few metres from the cliff's edge and poke out your pink tongue at the spacious scenery. Your eyes glare out at it all, their deep broody brownness threatening to muddy all aspects they see below and beyond.
"Maylea, your child's contempt and rudeness is exasperating me," your father says. "Take her away from the edge before she topples over and we're all sunk."
Your mother takes your hand and draws you back from the edge. Her eyes gape at you, the sympathy gone, taken flight by your father's harsh words. "She’s your daughter too, and she's not a child," your mother says. "She’s sixteen, almost a woman," your mother adds, pulling you away from the scene, down the grassy hillside towards the car by the roadside. Your father ignores her words. His eyes capture a ship on the far horizon, its motion barely discernible in the distance, as if it were immobile, frozen in time on the skyline. His mind is all lost to you and your mother now, he muses on ships, sea battles, large sails and cannon fire, and storms at sea and drowned sailors.
Your room in the hotel where you are staying is small, but overlooks the sea, unlike your parent's room that looks across at the town. You lie in bed with the curtains dawn back, letting the sunlight play weakly on the bed covers. "For if but once thou show me thy grey light, I'll find Demetrius, and revenge his spite," you whisper to the room. Your words anaemically settle back upon your pillow and you gaze lazily at the bright yellow curtains with their orange flowered pattern.
A few minutes later, a knock at the door makes you turn towards the sound. The door opens and Middleton, your brother, enters in. "Come on, Magdalene, soon be breakfast," he says, moving up close to the bed.
You sit up and study his face. "O’ I am out of breath, in this fond chase, the more my prayer, the less my grace," you say softly. Middleton smiles, leans forward, and kisses you on the cheek.
"That may be so, but breakfast is still near, so, come along and dress," says Middleton. He stands back as you move to edge of the bed, his eyes skimming over your long brown hair like bright green dragonflies. You dangle your legs over the side of the bed as if you were on the side of a small lake bathing your toes. Middleton lets his eyes drift down to the dangling legs, contemplates them for a few moments, then turns his head away and moves to the window. He stares out at the sea, listening to you as you walk up behind him by the window.
"It is strange my Theseus, that these lovers speak of," you whisper behind him.
"Strange indeed, Magdalene," says Middleton with a sigh. "I must go; I'll tell them you're on your way." He turns away from the window, gives you a brief kiss, and walks across the room and is gone.
You stare at the door, hoping he will come back, your Theseus. But he does not. You go over to the washbasin and undress. You turn the taps, observing the water flowing into the basin, and when it is almost full, you turn the taps off with a flurry of your fingers. Theseus will return, you muse, washing your face gently with soap and water, letting your hands move over your features as if they were the hands of Theseus himself. Then you wash your body, your arms and legs, all the time your thoughts elsewhere as if they had wings and had taken flight. Theseus, you muse, remembering his dark-brown beard, the deep brown eyes, the full lips, "Theseus, Theseus, Theseus," you say over and over to the small silent room.
Polly, Lisa, and Phil walk with you and Middleton along the beach. Your parents are out visiting local sites with Polly's parents, much to the Polly's relief.
"Thought I'd never get rid of them," Polly says. "Parents should be seen and not heard."
"And not seen too often," Lisa adds, her refined features touched slightly by the sun.
"Be advised, fair maid. To you your father should be as a god," you say, walking just behind Middleton.
"Your sister doesn't say much, Middleton, but when she does she speaks utter tripe," Phil says, giving you a steady gaze.
"She speaks what is truth to her," Middleton replies, giving Phil a flinty stare.
"She had me in fits yesterday," Lisa informs.
"And the hotel manager she spoke to was totally befuddled," Polly says. The group laugh mildly, except your brother, who shakes his head in disapproval.
"Mockery of the afflicted is pretty puerile as far as I'm concerned," Middleton states stiffly, giving you a quick glance, his eyes deep and brown. The group make attempts at apology to your brother, Lisa putting her thin arm through his, laying her head on his shoulder, Phil mutters contrite words, and Polly glaring at Lisa, says she'd forgotten herself, shouldn't have said such things, and how did Magdalene's mind become as it is, granting you a short glance after Lisa.
"I may dispose of her," you say, letting your eyes stab at Lisa's back.
"Of whom?” Phil asks, pausing in mid stride on the beach. The group stops around him and their eyes fall on you as if they were autumn leaves, dull and lifeless.
"She means nothing," Middleton says. "Her mind is in a world of her own, not ours. We judge her poorly, if we judge all she says by our standards."
"How should we judge her?” Lisa asks.
"Why judge her at all?” Middleton says.
"How is it that she's like she is, her mind, I mean?” Polly asks, turning towards your brother, holding his arm close to her.
"She had a complete mental breakdown when she was thirteen, my father sent her away to a special hospital he knew of, but she's not been the same as she was, since," Middleton informs, looking at each member of the group in turn, finally gazing at you, letting his eyes hover over you, as if they were hummingbirds.
"So she's quite safe to be out?” Polly says.
"She was never dangerous," Middleton says, his tone nippy, mildly sharp to an acute ear, which Polly's isn't. The group walk on along the sands, you dawdling behind, sticking your toes in the sand as you go. You stare at the mustard coloured sand, the shells, pebbles, seaweed, and muse on Theseus ahead of you, how that Amazon, that queen of ill speaking, captures his arm.
"Full of vexation come I," you say loudly, kicking at the sand with your naked toes. The group stops, turn and gaze at you collectively.
"What vexes you?” Middleton asks softly, releasing himself from Polly's grip, touching your shoulder with his fingertips. You feel the mild pressure, the slightest of touches, as if a Red Admiral had settled there flapping its wings.
"Complaint against my daughter," you say, pointing to Polly, jabbing at the air as if your finger were a sharp dagger.
"Daughter?” Polly chuckles, "why she's barely sixteen, and I twenty-two."
"Maybe a former life," Lisa jokes, placing her hands on her hips.
"Magdalene," Middleton says, "what is it that vexes you?”
"I know not by what power I am made bold," you say, looking away from the group, staring out at the seascape.
"Perhaps she's possessed," Phil says. "They use to think the mad were possessed by demons."
"And witches too," Lisa adds.
"My sister is not mad," Middleton says. "She’s had a mental breakdown. Time will heal her. She will be her old self again one day." The group nods agreement half-heartedly because Middleton is their friend, and Polly hopes her future husband; at least she dreams such.
You walk on leaving the group behind, your eyes moving over the seascape. You muse on Theseus. He has made you his, has taken you into his care, kissed you, embraced you, entered into your bed. My Theseus, you moan, my Theseus. Your eyes skim along the skyline, the sun sits there, clouds move over it, but Theseus stays behind captured by the Amazon queen in all her dour beauty.
Marlowe strides along the sands, his head lowered, his arms swinging at his side like hanged men. He is looking for you because Middleton his son says you were lost along the beach amongst the crowds.
You stand uneasy on the sands beneath the sea, the water just below your chin. You can hear the sea sounds in your ear as the water rises and falls about you. "O my rebuke to him that loves you so," you whisper.
Marlowe strides faster, his eyes scanning the sea and sands like a seagull. His mood is a compound of anxiety and anger; his body exudes this in motion and sweat. "Where is the vixen," he moans, "where can the child be?” He kicks at the sand, mumbles at the passing bodies, swears at the children playing as he moves. "God blast her behind!" he mutters to himself, as if he himself were another and not himself at all.
You feel the water enter your nose. The sound of the sea roars in your ears. The horizon seems almost an endless sea of blues and greens. Theseus, where are you, where are you? you muse sadly, letting your arms float on the sea's skin; your hands like bemused starfish rise and fall on the surface. "Theseus?” you say, your voice barely audible over the sea's roar. "Theseus? Theseus?”
Marlowe stops and bellows over the water. His finger pointing at you over the sea. The crowds gather around him as if he were the centre of the universe. His voice bellows across the water like the voice of the Almighty, his finger jabbing at the horizon. A lifeguard dives towards you, his arms skimming through the sea's skin like dolphins at play, his body a racing machine of muscle, bone, and sinew.
You recline on the beach, your head pointed towards the sky. Crowds of faces surround you, turning and turning in a circular spin. Voices swim about the air like birds in flight, but all muddled and out of key and nonsensical to you. Theseus? you muse inwardly, your eyes closing, Theseus? Theseus? Theseus?
Marlowe kneels, his eyes brown and deep brood over you, as if God Himself gazed over his shoulder and whispered in his ear. His mood, a compound of mild relief and deep displeasure, expresses itself in huffs, puffs, and curses that fill the hot air like poisonous gases.
Your mother, Lisa, Polly, and you stroll along the beach in the early morning of the following day. Your father, Middleton and Phil have taken a small boat out to sea to fish. Your mother is in front of you with Polly; Lisa is beside you, her mood meditative and quiet.
"You should not have gone off on your own," your mother says to you over her shoulder. "You had us all worried, and you nearly drowned, your father says."
You pause and stare at your mother's back. "Half sleep, half-waking; but as yet, I swear, I cannot truly say how I came here," you say. Lisa frowns, turns to look at your mother, who, in turn, stops and observes you.
"Be that as it may, you should not have gone off. Middleton should have kept you in his sight better," your mother says.
"She was there one minute and gone the next," Lisa informs.
"We looked for her everywhere, but she'd disappeared. Middleton was very concerned," Polly adds.
"The lunatic, the lover, and the poet are of imagination all compact," you say.
"How do you cope with your daughter like this, Maylea?” Polly asks, giving you a quick glance out of the corner of her eye.
"She’s been like this for three years, now. I have grown use to her, but it still pains me to see her like this, "your mother replies.
"Is there nothing that can be done?” Lisa asks. "No treatment?”
"She’s had treatment, but nothing's changed. Time they say may heal, but we have our doubts. Marlowe shuts it out, pretends she's just acting," your mother says. You stare at your mother as if she were someone you thought you knew, but had momentarily forgotten who she was. You study her pale-blue eyes that return your stare, the short chin, the narrow nose; the fair hair tied in a bun at the back. She looks away from you and walks onward; the others follow with you strolling along slowly behind Lisa.
"Where shall we go?" you bellow, your voice echoing along the beach. All stop. Your mother contemplates you for a few moments, then, she beckons you up in front, with her wagging index finger.
"Don’t shout, we're not deaf," your mother states firmly, taking your arm in her hand. "We’re going along to the pier, where we can sit and have refreshments." You nod your head and stare out at the sea, avoiding her eyes, feeling her tight grip on your arm. All of you move on in a calm silence. Lisa gazes at you ahead of her, she wonders how your mother copes, and she herself knows she could never cope with a person like you, even if it were her own child. I'd rather she'd drowned, she muses, if she were mine. Polly thinks of Middleton, can't stop thinking of him, even dreams of him in her restless sleep. Maylea thinks of Marlowe, his brashness, his impetuousness, his foolhardy ideas, but beneath it all she knows him well, knows his weak points, his failures. Yesterday he was almost in tears over Magdalene's near drowning, but hid it all in his bellowing and ranting at Middleton. Yet, this morning, he had forgotten it all and he and Middleton were laughing and joking as if nothing had occurred, as if no words had crossed between them.
You pull yourself free of your mother's hand and run ahead. "Things base and vile, holding no quantity, love can transpose to form and dignity," you shout back at her. She waves her finger at you and you stop. Her pale-blue eyes stab at you as she approaches near.
"Magdalene, what do you know of things base and vile? Or of love?" your mother asks. She takes your hand in hers tightly.
"It is strange, my Theseus...More strange than true," you whisper staring out at the seascape.
"Who’s this Theseus she keeps speaking about?” Polly asks.
"She spoke of him yesterday quite often," Lisa says.
"I’ve no idea," your mother says. "Who knows what or who inhabits her world inside her head," your mother says sadly, looking at you staring out at sea. She squeezes your hand gently, as if you were a child again, as if you were almost lost, but found, but only half found, the rest locked away, the key well hidden. And her eyes water slightly, so she coughs, sighs and points to the pier and you all stroll on in silence across the sand.
It is early evening as you and Middleton walk along the beach: him deep in thought, his eyes downcast, and you staring out at the orange coloured sky sitting on the horizon just above the sea. Middleton muses on Polly and how to escape her; how to avoid her claws and her closeness that almost overwhelms him. You imagining the skyline is on fire and wondering if the sea will put it out, and whether Theseus has noticed or cares.
"How am I to escape from Polly, Magdalene?" your brother asks abstractedly.
"Asleep, my love? What, dead, my dove?" you say, your voice light-hearted. Your brother smiles, takes your hand in his, and shakes his head.
"She wants me all to herself, Magdalene, there's no escaping her without someone getting hurt,” Middleton says quietly, giving you a brief glance, then letting his eyes move over the horizon moodily.
"How come these things to pass?" you ask, stopping suddenly, staring at Middleton with your deep brown eyes.
"If I knew that, Magdalene, I'd know what to do, but I don't. She just collared on to me, became obsessed with me, and here I am now seemingly trapped," Middleton says. He gazes at you, at your brown eyes, at the long hair over your shoulders, the way you hold your head, now, looking at him. "If only you understood, Magdalene, if only you were well again." You say nothing, your eyes look away; stare back at the sky and sea.
You both walk on along the sand. The beach is almost empty now, only a few stragglers here and there combing the sand for shells or walking their dogs.
"Our nuptial hour draws on apace," you whisper.
"If I loved Polly as I loved you, Magdalene, I'd be in heaven. But my love for you cannot be declared to the world. It must hide in secret, not raise it's head," Middleton says quietly. You turn and observe his sad features, his downcast eyes, and sullen look. You squeeze his hand, and stop, hold him back from walking further.
"O’ methinks, how slow this old moon wanes!" you exclaim with feeling.
"Yes, Yes," Middleton says, “too slow, too slow, Magdalene. We love the moon, don't we Magdalene? It shares many a secret with us."
"Four happy days bring in another moon," you inform.
"Countless moons, Magdalene, an endless number to infinity. Long after we are dust and long forgotten, the moon shall wax and wane anew. Why do we care? Why do we worry so much, Magdalene?" Middleton says softly. He kisses your forehead gently as if you were too fragile for rougher kisses.
"Awake the pert and nimble spirit of mirth," you say excitedly, holding Middleton's hand tightly. Middleton smiles again. He turns and stares out at the darkening orange horizon. He feels your hand in his, experiences the warmth and softness of your flesh.
A chill wind blows your yellow dress about your legs, pushes invisible fingers through your brown hair. "Best return, Magdalene, best get back before they worry where you are," Middleton says.
"Should I hurt her, strike her, kill her dead?" you exclaim suddenly, giving Middleton a firm stare.
"Who?" Middleton says.
"I may dispose of her," you say, peering at Middleton seriously.
"God, no, Magdalene, never think of such things, they’ll lock you up forever if you did, and where then would I be? Don't even think about such things," Middleton says firmly gripping your arm tightly.
"You are a tame man," you whisper.
"Think kind thoughts, Magdalene. Dismiss all evil thoughts from your mind. You are all that holds me together: you and your innocence," Middleton informs. He says no more. He releases your arm and walks on back towards the hotel, hearing your soft footsteps in the sand behind him.
Middleton has only recently left your room, but now another knock disturbs you. You sit up in the bed and pull the covers up to your chin. The door opens and your mother enters into the room quietly, closing the door behind her. She turns, stares at you for a few moments, then comes towards you, and sits on the edge of the bed.
"Is there no play to ease the anguish of a torturing hour?" you whisper to her.
"Was that Middleton that just left the room?" your mother asks, gazing at you with her pale-blue eyes.
"You shall know all that you are like to know," you say, bringing up your knees beneath the cover and putting your arms about them.
"It was him wasn't it," your mother says. "What did he want?”
"His speech was like a tangled chain," you inform quietly,” nothing impaired, but all disordered."
Your mother contemplates your brown eyes, the depth of them, the muddiness that lingers there. She wonders how to reach you, to find the key to get through the tangled web that she thinks surrounds. "What did Middleton want?" she asks.
"If we offend, it is with our good will," you state, your voice almost child-like.
"Magdalene, listen to me," your mother says firmly, taking your hand in hers. "Middleton should not be in your room while you are in bed," she adds moving close to you. "Understand, Magdalene?”
You smile. Your eyes gaze into her face, as if she were familiar, but the name and reason for knowing her are lost to you, and he whom she speaks of meaning even less.
"Theseus?" you whisper. "She hath spied him already, with those sweet eyes."
"Who is Theseus?" your mother asks.
You look away; let your eyes drift about the room. Your mother sighs. She is tired of it all. Releasing your hands, she stands, gives you a brief glance, then walks across the room to the door and is gone.
"Theseus?" you whisper. You wonder if Theseus will return and kiss you again, his leaving seeming so short a time ago. You watch the door; let your ears listen. You want Theseus to return again, his presence calms you, his whispering voice leading you into your dream of dreams. Your midsummer night's dream.