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ds_flashfiction2003-11-10 11:01 pm
chesamus.livejournal.com) wrote in ds_flashfiction2003-11-10 11:01 pm
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Shakespeare Challenge - Brush Up Your Shakespeare
1252 words. Another one of those stories that have hung around for awhile. It started out as a Star Trek story, but I couldn’t get past the “image that doesn’t exist in nature.” I transferred the image to an X-Files story I was working on about five years ago which never got finished (barely got started), and then came Ray and Benton. Perfect fit, I thought, and it made more sense with them anyway, so I’ve been massaging it for a couple months, waiting for the right challenge to come along.
I’m certain it was only a few months into our acquaintance when Ray asked the first of what he called “Island Questions” to break up an otherwise routine stakeout. I don’t remember the question, possibly because I was trying to understand the concept behind it. Ray’s explanation included an island, large enough to support an astonishing variety of plant, animal and marine life, fresh water mountain streams, and subsistence farming, yet small enough to escape detection.
He was enlightening me about the year round temperate weather when I realized this island was a mythical place, neatly packaged so the persons answering the questions didn’t get bogged down in useless details like shelter, food, and other basic necessities. Once that realization was apparent, I entered into the game with enthusiasm. Well, perhaps not always enthusiasm (Ray’s analysis of my answers were perceptive enough to be uncomfortable) but at least interest, if only because his answers in turn gave me insight into the man who had fast become the most important person in my life.
A few questions were simple to answer - anyone stranded on this island would want a good knife, an axe, and a cast iron pot. Ray’s inclusion of a fishing net made sense once he explained his inability to tie a good knot. Other questions were more difficult. I wouldn’t want to be stranded with anyone other than Ray and Dief and was unable to come up with the requisite five names.
Sometimes the questions had nothing to do with the island. We had a discussion that spanned three different stakeouts on what constituted a perfect meal, then nearly came to blows when I put forward my invitation list. Personally I thought a dinner with Edmund Hillary, Ernest Shackleton, Captain Cook, Sir Walter Raleigh, and Franklin would have been absolutely delightful. It took three days to determine that Ray’s anger was based on the fact he didn’t get invited.
The latest stakeout started much like the previous ones. Ray and I reviewed his active cases, I commiserated with the trials and tribulations of his beloved Cubs, he laughed at my dismay with Dief’s latest bad habit.
“Come on, Frase, so he’s developed a taste for baklava - at least it isn’t chocolate.”
“Ray, he’s a wolf - and he has lost all sense of what that means. I am concerned about Dief’s willingness to abandon skills honed by countless millennia of evolution in order to beg shamelessly for pastry at the corner delicatessen.”
“You think too much. Have you considered the possibility that maybe Dief is still evolving? That maybe because he’s trying to survive in Chicago that he’s developing special urban-type hunting skills?”
“Ray, that is the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard.” Urban hunting skills?
“It’s not even close to ludicrous. Ludicrous is - ludicrous is Mr. Spock eating an ice cream cone.”
The image, or rather the lack of image actually made me shudder. I could feel Ray grin next to me.
“Yeah, I thought that would shut you down. Makes your brain hurt doesn’t it?”
“Ray - I - yes.” I shall never be able to watch Star Trek with the same appreciation again.
“Yeah, you see, some images just don’t exist in nature. Like Spock having a tongue.” I shuddered again. “Okay, I’ll change the subject. Hey, I never asked the basic question!”
I was thankful to get my mind thinking on something - anything - else. “What question is that, Ray?”
“Books, Fraser, or writers. We got our tools, and favorite food, and people, and music and everything else on the island but I forgot the books.”
“We discussed books before, Ray. I distinctly remember your insistence on including the Joy of Cooking.” Ray cooked by dialing for carryout. Perhaps that is where Dief had developed his finely honed urban-hunting skills.
“Hey, I gotta learn sometime. But that’s a survival book, a book of necessity. I’m talking about regular books, like reading for fun books.”
“Understood. After all, one must exercise one’s brain as well. Of course, I’d take the complete works of Shakespeare...”
“Aw, not you, too. Why does everyone always take Shakespeare?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Ray. Shakespeare is arguably the greatest writer in the English language.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. And everyone takes him, and the Bible, and something by that Dickens guy. But can you honestly say you like reading his stuff?”
“Ray, surely you’ve seen performances of his plays, a movie. The stories are timeless.”
“God save me from timeless classics. I’m talking about reading stuff for pleasure. When was the last time you said to yourself, ‘Hm, what a wonderful day for a great book. I think I’ll spend the afternoon with Two Gentlemen from Verona?”
“But, Ray--”
“Seriously, when was the last time you read a Shakespeare play for the fun of it?”
That was the difficulty. I had not been raised to consider reading as fun, but rather as an essential ingredient of life. I had finished the complete works of Shakespeare by the time I was sixteen as part of the reading program developed by my grandparents. However much I secretly resented being raised by them instead of my father, not a day went by when I didn’t thank them for engaging my mind. “Perhaps not recently, but that doesn’t negate my admiration for it.”
Ray jumped on that immediately. “Admiration doesn’t make it fun, Frase.”
“I can enjoy something without thinking it fun, Ray. I can think it beautiful.” And I truly did.
“You really like Shakespeare?” He was genuinely surprised, I could tell.
“I really do. Do you dislike it so?”
“Don’t know. I - uh - kinda had problems with Shakespeare at school. If I hadn’t seen the movies I probably would have flunked English.” I nodded my understanding. Ray was a intelligent man, one of most intuitive people I had ever met, and yet he held on to an erroneous belief that he was somehow deficient. “I memorized some of his stuff once, though. Thought Stella would like it.”
I seriously doubted it - Stella never gave me the impression she appreciated anything Ray had ever done for her. “Many women do.”
Ray sighed just a bit, but looking at him, I was surprised that his face was not wearing it’s usual “Thinking About Stella” melancholy.
“I was actually thinking that some parts of it reminded me of you.”
Ray could not possibly mean what I wanted him to mean. With every ounce of control I could muster, I calmly asked, “And which parts would they be?”
“That one about that guy being in disgrace with fortune, and thinking that he’s not worth anything, but then he remembers his friend and realizes that he’s better off than kings. There’s a line in there about larks and heaven, I think.”
“Ray, that’s--” I wanted to pull him into my arms, hold onto him forever. “I - I believe that is Shakespeare’s 29th sonnet Ray. ‘When in disgrace with fortunes and men’s eye’s, I all alone beweep my outcast state’--”
“That’s it! That’s the only one I can remember. You make me feel like that sometimes.”
I reached for his hand, held on tight. “Ray--”
He squeezed my hand. “I’m thinking that it can snow on that island. As long as we got the basics, the weather isn’t all that important, right?”
“Ray--”
He shook his head. “Shh, Ben,” and turned back to the window. He did not take back his hand.
We sat in silence for the rest of the shift.
I’m certain it was only a few months into our acquaintance when Ray asked the first of what he called “Island Questions” to break up an otherwise routine stakeout. I don’t remember the question, possibly because I was trying to understand the concept behind it. Ray’s explanation included an island, large enough to support an astonishing variety of plant, animal and marine life, fresh water mountain streams, and subsistence farming, yet small enough to escape detection.
He was enlightening me about the year round temperate weather when I realized this island was a mythical place, neatly packaged so the persons answering the questions didn’t get bogged down in useless details like shelter, food, and other basic necessities. Once that realization was apparent, I entered into the game with enthusiasm. Well, perhaps not always enthusiasm (Ray’s analysis of my answers were perceptive enough to be uncomfortable) but at least interest, if only because his answers in turn gave me insight into the man who had fast become the most important person in my life.
A few questions were simple to answer - anyone stranded on this island would want a good knife, an axe, and a cast iron pot. Ray’s inclusion of a fishing net made sense once he explained his inability to tie a good knot. Other questions were more difficult. I wouldn’t want to be stranded with anyone other than Ray and Dief and was unable to come up with the requisite five names.
Sometimes the questions had nothing to do with the island. We had a discussion that spanned three different stakeouts on what constituted a perfect meal, then nearly came to blows when I put forward my invitation list. Personally I thought a dinner with Edmund Hillary, Ernest Shackleton, Captain Cook, Sir Walter Raleigh, and Franklin would have been absolutely delightful. It took three days to determine that Ray’s anger was based on the fact he didn’t get invited.
The latest stakeout started much like the previous ones. Ray and I reviewed his active cases, I commiserated with the trials and tribulations of his beloved Cubs, he laughed at my dismay with Dief’s latest bad habit.
“Come on, Frase, so he’s developed a taste for baklava - at least it isn’t chocolate.”
“Ray, he’s a wolf - and he has lost all sense of what that means. I am concerned about Dief’s willingness to abandon skills honed by countless millennia of evolution in order to beg shamelessly for pastry at the corner delicatessen.”
“You think too much. Have you considered the possibility that maybe Dief is still evolving? That maybe because he’s trying to survive in Chicago that he’s developing special urban-type hunting skills?”
“Ray, that is the most ludicrous thing I’ve ever heard.” Urban hunting skills?
“It’s not even close to ludicrous. Ludicrous is - ludicrous is Mr. Spock eating an ice cream cone.”
The image, or rather the lack of image actually made me shudder. I could feel Ray grin next to me.
“Yeah, I thought that would shut you down. Makes your brain hurt doesn’t it?”
“Ray - I - yes.” I shall never be able to watch Star Trek with the same appreciation again.
“Yeah, you see, some images just don’t exist in nature. Like Spock having a tongue.” I shuddered again. “Okay, I’ll change the subject. Hey, I never asked the basic question!”
I was thankful to get my mind thinking on something - anything - else. “What question is that, Ray?”
“Books, Fraser, or writers. We got our tools, and favorite food, and people, and music and everything else on the island but I forgot the books.”
“We discussed books before, Ray. I distinctly remember your insistence on including the Joy of Cooking.” Ray cooked by dialing for carryout. Perhaps that is where Dief had developed his finely honed urban-hunting skills.
“Hey, I gotta learn sometime. But that’s a survival book, a book of necessity. I’m talking about regular books, like reading for fun books.”
“Understood. After all, one must exercise one’s brain as well. Of course, I’d take the complete works of Shakespeare...”
“Aw, not you, too. Why does everyone always take Shakespeare?”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand, Ray. Shakespeare is arguably the greatest writer in the English language.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. And everyone takes him, and the Bible, and something by that Dickens guy. But can you honestly say you like reading his stuff?”
“Ray, surely you’ve seen performances of his plays, a movie. The stories are timeless.”
“God save me from timeless classics. I’m talking about reading stuff for pleasure. When was the last time you said to yourself, ‘Hm, what a wonderful day for a great book. I think I’ll spend the afternoon with Two Gentlemen from Verona?”
“But, Ray--”
“Seriously, when was the last time you read a Shakespeare play for the fun of it?”
That was the difficulty. I had not been raised to consider reading as fun, but rather as an essential ingredient of life. I had finished the complete works of Shakespeare by the time I was sixteen as part of the reading program developed by my grandparents. However much I secretly resented being raised by them instead of my father, not a day went by when I didn’t thank them for engaging my mind. “Perhaps not recently, but that doesn’t negate my admiration for it.”
Ray jumped on that immediately. “Admiration doesn’t make it fun, Frase.”
“I can enjoy something without thinking it fun, Ray. I can think it beautiful.” And I truly did.
“You really like Shakespeare?” He was genuinely surprised, I could tell.
“I really do. Do you dislike it so?”
“Don’t know. I - uh - kinda had problems with Shakespeare at school. If I hadn’t seen the movies I probably would have flunked English.” I nodded my understanding. Ray was a intelligent man, one of most intuitive people I had ever met, and yet he held on to an erroneous belief that he was somehow deficient. “I memorized some of his stuff once, though. Thought Stella would like it.”
I seriously doubted it - Stella never gave me the impression she appreciated anything Ray had ever done for her. “Many women do.”
Ray sighed just a bit, but looking at him, I was surprised that his face was not wearing it’s usual “Thinking About Stella” melancholy.
“I was actually thinking that some parts of it reminded me of you.”
Ray could not possibly mean what I wanted him to mean. With every ounce of control I could muster, I calmly asked, “And which parts would they be?”
“That one about that guy being in disgrace with fortune, and thinking that he’s not worth anything, but then he remembers his friend and realizes that he’s better off than kings. There’s a line in there about larks and heaven, I think.”
“Ray, that’s--” I wanted to pull him into my arms, hold onto him forever. “I - I believe that is Shakespeare’s 29th sonnet Ray. ‘When in disgrace with fortunes and men’s eye’s, I all alone beweep my outcast state’--”
“That’s it! That’s the only one I can remember. You make me feel like that sometimes.”
I reached for his hand, held on tight. “Ray--”
He squeezed my hand. “I’m thinking that it can snow on that island. As long as we got the basics, the weather isn’t all that important, right?”
“Ray--”
He shook his head. “Shh, Ben,” and turned back to the window. He did not take back his hand.
We sat in silence for the rest of the shift.
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