Ophelia (11 page)

Neither the election nor the funeral could be delayed for Hamlet's return. Weeks were lost in bringing him to Elsinore, for the messenger who had been dispatched found him not in Wittenberg but traveling in the direction of Italy. He did not arrive until after midsummer, when hard young fruits hung on the boughs that had shed their blossoms at the king's death.

Only with Hamlet's return did Gertrude uncover her face. She was thinner, with pallid skin to match her gray eyes, and her hair had turned more silver than gold. She clung to Hamlet like a vine to an oak tree. The prince wore a suit of black as a statement of sadness. His usually sensitive face was unreadable, as if he wore a mask.

I longed to see Hamlet, but feared to approach him. I hoped for him to seek me out, but he did not. So I went to the great hall, looking for Horatio. It was bare, stopped of King Hamlet's liveries and banners. Garbage was strewn about and dogs scavenged for meaty bones. Courtiers seeking an office waited to meet with Claudius. Among them I recognized Edmund, the bully of my youth, now fat and losing his hair. He played at dice with some rough-looking companions. I also saw my brother, who had come to Elsinore for Claudius's coronation. He was with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern, whom I still despised, so I did not approach him. Instead I beckoned him to come and converse with me, but he only bowed as if I were a stranger and not his sister.

Then Claudius entered the hall. My father hurried after him with rolls of vellum documents spilling from his arms. He had wasted no time in currying favor with the new king. He saw me, shook his head, and continued on his way.

Overlooked by my family, forgotten by Hamlet, and ignored by the queen, I felt as lonely as a leper. Thus I was delighted at last to see Horatio. He was plainly dressed and looking ill at ease among the courtiers hoping to catch the king's eye with their finery.

"I did not think to see you among this eager crowd, Horatio. Do you also come to ask favors of the new king?" I said lightly.

"I do not," he said, with some indignation. "I have no desire for power, no taste for politics, and no skill in base flattery."

I saw that I had offended him, and I tried to remedy the hurt, but only stumbled further.

"A king needs men like you, Horatio, who are humble and true-speaking. But do not think I aim to flatter you. My purpose is to ask you how Lord Hamlet does. He looks most troubled."

"Indeed, sorrow for his father vexes his spirit, making him quite melancholy," said Horatio.

"Then the queen and her son are alike in their passions," I said, "for Gertrude's grief exceeds all bounds. I fear her health is in danger." It was a comfort to speak of my worries to Horatio.

"Truly I have never seen Hamlet in a blacker mood. His thoughts are dire, and it takes all my wit to reason with him."

"Is he angry at the lords' decision? For I have heard him speak of the time when he would be king," I said.

"He has no love for his uncle. You know that much. I cannot say more, for I must keep his counsel," said Horatio, who was always discreet.

"Tell him, please, I long to speak with him . . . . Nay, tell him only that Ophelia grieves with him."

"He shuns the company of all and will see no one," Horatio said, giving me a regretful look.

"Save you," I said, correcting him. "For like a true friend, you are the buffer between Hamlet and the world's sharp blows."

Horatio bowed and took his leave of me, saying he would carry my greetings to Hamlet.

Soon I realized that I was greatly mistaken in believing Hamlet and his mother to be alike in their passions. It was only three weeks after King Hamlet's burial, and the flowers of summer were in their fullest bloom when the news blew through Elsinore like an icy wind. Those who heard it first were numb with disbelief. Some were certain it was a wicked rumor and were afraid to repeat it. Others declared openly that it was an insult to the prince and to King Hamlet's memory. But they vouched for the terrible truth of the news, for the new king himself boasted of it.

Gertrude would marry King Claudius.

Chapter 13

The news stunned me at first. How could this have happened? I thought back on the preceding weeks. When, since her husband's death, had Gertrude ever conversed privately with Claudius? Had grief for King Hamlet weakened her mind? Was her choice of Claudius free or compelled? The matter was beyond my understanding. I gently pried into Elnora's thoughts, looking for an explanation. But she seemed afflicted with the same malady that depressed Gertrude's spirits.

"I am not well, Ophelia; do not trouble me. As for the queen, I do not know her mind. She is worthy to be a king's wife; what else should she be?" Elnora closed her eyes and waved me away. Even when I offered to fetch a tonic, she only shook her head and would say no more.

Thinking that the worldly Cristiana might understand Gertrude's behavior, I mused aloud to her as we sat stitching, "How could the queen marry the brother of her dead husband?"

Cristiana only laughed bitterly.

"How little you know of men, and of the queen, your mistress!" she said, as if she were privy to some deeper knowledge. But she did not share it with me, and I doubted that she understood any more than I did.

I was still perplexed as I helped Gertrude prepare for her wedding. Elnora sniffed constantly as she fitted Gertrude's dress of gray satin. Whether it was sentiment or rheumy eyes that troubled the old woman, I could not tell. As I fixed pearls in her hair and brushed carmine on her pale cheeks, the queen was impassive and did not meet my eye. So distant was she, living in her country of sorrow, that I dared not question her.

The wedding feast was a pretense of celebration. Tables sagged under the weight of venison, roast pig, smoked fish, and every kind of vegetable and desirable fruit. An army of servants clad in bright blue livery for the new king bore jugs of posset and poured spiced wine in pewter goblets stamped with the seal of Claudius. Ladies and courtiers wore their finest silks and jewels, and musicians sounded their tabors, drums, and lutes. Beneath the finery, however, many held themselves in restraint and hid their disapproval, though drunkenness made others loud and careless.

Gertrude smiled and danced with a reserved grace, but I could see that she veiled her pain behind her cool eyes. Toward her new husband she displayed a tame submission I had not seen before, while Claudius strutted like a proud and possessive cock.

Hamlet stood near the entrance to the hall, his arms crossed in defiance. He was alone. From his cap to his boots, his clothing was inky black, and his pale face seemed lined with cares. In both his dress and his manner, he disdained all festivity. I saw him frown darkly, and though he reminded me of a cloud about to burst, I decided to brave the storm and speak to him.

When I was sure my absence would not be noted, I slipped behind the pillars that girded the hall, keeping to the shadows until I stood beside Hamlet. He did not look at me, nor did he greet me, but he stored, as if restless, and sighed profoundly. Claudius raised his cup to Gertrude and drank. Then with his wine-dark lips he kissed her on the curve of her breast just above the embroidered fabric of her bodice. She turned her head to the side, whether to permit him the gesture or to avoid seeing it I could not tell. Her face was now directed toward the dark corner where Hamlet and I stood, but her gaze was impassive and unseeing. I saw Hamlet's scowl deepen.

"There is disease in Denmark. My father is not two months dead, his flesh still clings to his bones, and yet my mother takes a new husband. Indeed it is the cold funeral meats that furnish today's wedding table," he said bitterly, speaking more to himself than to me.

I fumbled for words befitting the strange circumstance, for the wedding had followed with improper haste upon the king's funeral. "Truly, I am sorry for your father's death," I said with earnest feeling.

Hamlet did not acknowledge my speaking. Nor did he walk away or bid me leave, so I stayed.

"Claudius not only wears my father's crown, but he weds my father's wife!" he said in a tone of disbelief. "I always said he was a thief. And my mother! To forsake my father, who was like Hyperion, the sun god, and bind herself to this demon! Where is her judgment, where is her reason?" He appealed to me as if I had an answer. "They are gone!" He flung his hands wide apart.

"The queen is much changed," I murmured. "I do not understand it myself."

"Look now, Ophelia. You see how she hangs on him? It is unnatural. Is there no shame in her? No strength, only womanly frailty?"

Though I shared his confusion, I rose to Gertrude's defense.

"You are unjust, my lord," I said gently. "We women are not all frail. I for one am strong and true." I touched his cheek, turning his face. His eyes were wet and betrayed his anguish. "Test me, Hamlet! I would not fail you."

He reached up and pressed my hand against his cheek.

"Dearest Ophelia, I have so longed for you." He sighed deeply, with a shudder that stirred his whole body. "Let us leave this scene of shame and seek out a quieter place." He took my arm and, looking around to be sure we were not being watched, guided me out of the hall through its vast doors.

"Shall we go to our cottage in the woods?" I asked hopefully.

"No, it is too far. I cannot wait so long." Instead he led me up the stairs to the guardroom outside the king's chambers. No one was there. I followed Hamlet through a maze of corridors to a far tower in a wing of the castle where I had never been. We felt our way up the winding stairs of the dark tower until we emerged onto a deserted parapet overlooking the field and the river below.

It was near dusk. The warm air blew wisps of damp fog about us. The anger in Hamlet's face had melted away, leaving only sadness. I waited for him to speak.

"Now we are alone. What is it you would say to me?" I asked.

"Nothing, Ophelia. Words have no meaning. I would have only silence."

So without speaking, we gazed over the parapet to the fields and hills beyond Elsinore. The mist crept over them and they grew cloudy and insubstantial. Soon we could not see the ground. Then Hamlet spoke.

"What is a man's life but a prelude to his death?" Hamlet's voice was flat, without feeling. The words, as they left his mouth, were scattered by the wet wind. "And what is death but a long sleep, a most welcome forgetfulness."

"You are weary with grief, my lord. Let me fix you a sleeping draught."

"After the sleep of death, we waken eternally," Hamlet continued as if I had not spoken. "But in what land?"

"Who can tell?" I said lightly. "For no one returns from there to tell us tales."

"Thus the fear of that future makes us pause in the present," he said, leaning on the stone ledge that was cold and slicked with damp. The stone face of Elsinore was sheer and high. Suddenly realizing where his thoughts tended, I seized his hands in mine.

"My lord, do not dwell on such things! In time, all that lives must die. It was your father's time, but your time has not yet come." I went on desperately, trying to turn his mind from dire thoughts to loving ones. "In due season all that lives returns to dust, making the earth fecund with life. Smell how the air tonight is pregnant with the flowers' blooms and their bee-sought sweetness." I drew the night's thick air deep into my lungs.

"My senses are black and unfeeling; my mind is dull and stupid. My hopes of advancement are dashed," Hamlet said with bitterness.

"So you are not the King, but you are still the Prince of Denmark."

"I am nothing."

"You are my Jack, and I am your Jill. Do you remember?" I said to lighten his mood and curtsied, playing the shepherdess.

"That was child's play. Now my father is dead, and I am no longer young," he said despairingly.

I looked up at Hamlet's noble countenance, his wide, intelligent brow now furrowed with grief. "I wish I had a glass where you could see yourself. For you put me in mind of the psalm:
'You have made man a little lower than the angels, you have crowned him with glory and honor, you put all things under his feet'"

"But the very ground has been taken from beneath me," Hamlet said.

My eyes were wet with tears. I fell to my knees before him.

"Hamlet, you are a piece of God's work, the glory of Denmark, and my beloved," I whispered.

He knelt, too, and his arms came around me. We clung to each other as if we would save ourselves from drowning.

"No, Ophelia. You are the marvelous work, so noble in your reason." His hands cupped my face. "The beauty of the world." His voice broke with emotion as his fingers traced the outline of my lips. "You, too, remind me of a divine song, for you are fearfully and wonderfully made, and most curiously wrought." His fingers on my side numbered my ribs. Beneath my skirts they found the scars on the backs of my legs. Gently he lowered me to the earth.

There, with the cold stone at my back and my arms about his neck, I tasted the salt of his tears and I consoled him with all the strength of my body. I understood that grief and love were close cousins, for from his loss Hamlet finally spoke the words I had longed to hear.