Playing Puck
By Scott Williams
Copyright 2012 Scott Williams
Cover Art by Digital Donna Book Covers
For my wife Kathy, my greatest encourager and encouragement. Thank you for your support, prodding, and always great love.
Special thanks to Professor Maureen O’Leary, one of the most creative and wonderful teachers I have had the pleasure to study under. She gave me the “A,” even when this gave her the nightmare.
To God, who saw fit to create me to love exploring His creative history through reading and writing and loving humanity.
Preface
A word about the following writing may be useful. In the spring of 2002 I was attending an English course on Shakespeare at my local Junior College, Diablo Valley Junior College (DVC). During the course of this course (of course), our instructor gave us an assignment that proved to be entirely fascinating.
We were to take a character out of Shakespeare’s “Midsummer Night’s Dream” and completely re-write them. By that was meant we were to completely change the character’s personality. Add all the lines and scenes we wanted while retaining every single line our character originally spoke as well, and make the whole thing believable. Needless to say, it turned quickly from a horrifying assignment to one of the most fascinating English pieces I’ve worked on.
To me, the obvious choice of character to work on was Puck, but I worried most every student would make this so obvious choice of character. So I knew from the outset I’d need to write something a little extreme if it was to get its deserved notice.
What struck me about Puck was that he was this quirky little bumbling fairy creature, who went about constantly making a mess of anything he put his hand (or claw, in my rendition) to. Often, these bumbling efforts of Puck’s would irritate King Oberon and Oberon’s queen, and this would cause some little damaging effect on nature, the very forest these characters lived in.
Add my strong sense of Christian faith, with a slight sprinkling of Paradise Lost, and I had it – Puck would be sent by Satan himself to purposely annoy Oberon and the rest, which would cause some disruption in the world itself. Something Satan’s always interested in! And so it began...
A word of warning before we begin – if you are unfamiliar with the play, perhaps well removed from your last reading, you will most enjoy this in the context of your renewed knowledge. Remember: this is but a wedge of Shakespere’s original. It may be a bit difficult to fully appreciate playing Puck if he’s less clearly seen…
So enjoy this reading, either as a re-writing of an already well wrought work, or as a stand alone writing of itself! Either way, remember, the play’s the thing!
Chapter One
My name is Robin. Robin Goodfellow. Rather, this is one of my many names, of which there are legion. Some call me fairy, some hobgoblin, some slave. My favorite names, however, are those of pestilence, of quarrel, of hate. You see, I have many titles, each serving but a facet of my existence. You men seek to put words to that which is nameless, so many things am I called.
Here, I will tell you the story of “Servant,” better known to you, perhaps, as “Puck.” It occurred some time ago, in a midsummer night’s festival of earth. Though memories of existence outside of Hell’s boundaries are apt to enrage a sensible demon, I will seek to relate Puck nevertheless.
It begins with a pleasurable assignment near Athens. Walking through the horribly beautiful surroundings of the forest, I often sought out ways to temper my disgust with this place by corrupting where and what I could. Though commanded by the nameless one, my master, to serve Oberon, I was only to appear the servant, destroying where I could. Master, in His wisdom, had seen an opportunity to corrupt the earth at its source, nature’s fairy king. That the fairy queen would inadvertently foil me was a complete surprise, which almost led to my destruction. My natural service to master resulted in my current imprisonment of fire instead. I get ahead of myself though…
While running errands for Oberon, twisting and warping the weakling’s orders where I could, I had been working on the minds of several so-called “lovers” of Athens. My efforts were finally coming to fruition as these simpletons were brought before the local government for judgment of their actions.
The local leader, Theseus, is a strange man. I say strange in that he seems to walk between fancy and fairness. While he often can be riled and harassed by our forces, through his fallen emotions, quite often we are repulsed by his attempts at fairness and righteousness. An interesting project, to say the least.
Hippolyta, his conquest, his mare, is where we often focus attention. Her anger and sadness, lurking under her strange affection for Theseus, is where we are best able to muddle with Theseus’ life.
And then there’s this love pit. Almost delightful in its twistings and potential twinings, sex seems to enslave these damageable and damned humans. First we have wonderful Egeus (I say wonderful in the sense that the man is so irrationally hostile, it is wonderful to work on him), Hermia’s father, desirous of his daughter, Hermia, wed to Demetrius. Desire is such a fertile soil. For Hermia loves Lysander, who in turn loves her back (much to my disgust). Methinks I may distill a lovely Helena into the equation and see how this war of roses might become a proper battleground.
We might also travail upon Hippolyta, illuminating her own circumstances in her nobel bedfellow Theseus’s misplaced efforts. Force her memory to return to her own bondage of love, and how tainted this love is. By the time Theseus calls to her, she will have moved beyond affection to the truer emotions of anger and pain. Anger and pain at her life; her situation. Anger and pain that needs an outlet. Too bad her slavery forces her strongest response to be ignoring and retreating from her captive; her “love”. We shall have to spend more time with her.
Lysander and Hermia have gone alone to the woods. I hear Hermia’s call to us, “O Hell!” With an evil grin of smoldering hatred, I hurry to respond to her inadvertent call.
Seeing an opportunity for sin, I whisper to Lysander, “Run away.”
As Lysander unfolds the elopement of my design, I gaze in hatred at Hermia. What a selfish, ignorant child. I can see the red glare of my eyes reflected in her pale skin as I watch her petulant expressions of hope with Lysander. I have wreaked havoc on her life. Perhaps soon, I will add chaos to her dreams as well.
“What’s that noise?” I wonder, hearing the breathing of another human close by. Angered over the interruption of my thoughts, I spread my leathery wings and launch myself towards the sound.
Ahh. It’s Helena. Perfect. I can turn this to my advantage.
“Come, Helena. Follow.” I whisper into her mind.
Turning in confusion, she inadvertently moves towards the young lovers, following a path of my making.
Clenching my fists and flexing my talons in anticipation, I follow.
“God speed fair Helena! Wither away!” says Hermia.
Twirling an ethereal claw in Helena’s mind, I smile as she replies in anger, “Call you me fair?” Wonderful jealousy works the rest. With simple prods to their simple minds, they hurl responses back and forth between each other.
“You sway the motion of Demetrius’ heart!”
“I frown upon him.”
“O that your frowns…”
“I give him curses…”
Chuckling, I move on. Human emotion will take over where my machinations have left off. As I walk away, I trail my hairy disfigured arms through this hated landscape. All that comes into contact with me curls and dies, leaving a glorious trail of blackened waste to mark my passage.