really wanted randomly. I paid for it, tucked it under my armpit as I grabbed the crinkly shopping bags, and headed for the privacy of my room. There, standing in the light of the partially open curtains, I read:
Grave Drama at Ophelia’s Funeral
Yesterday morning saw the burial of Ophelia, on-again, off-again, then on-again girlfriend of Prince Hamlet. The proceedings for the recently drowned young woman started off as expected but soon turned strange indeed.
Our beloved queen, wearing a perfectly cut suit and too much concealer under her eyes (one need not hide grief at a funeral, right?), stood by the grave and scattered flowers. King Claudius stood possessively by her side. Ophelia’s father was nowhere, much to this reporter’s surprise. (Has anyone else started to wonder where Polonius is? One could always count on following the hot air, and yet all has been suspiciously cool and proverb-free of late.) Her brother, Laertes, freshly returned from France (and what, our schools aren’t good enough for him?), stood by her grave looking positively sick with grief.
As the gravediggers began to lower the coffin, Laertes actually leaped into the grave. Standing with just his head sticking above the ground, he begged them to bury him along with his sister’s empty coffin! At this point, and I kid you not, our Lord Hamlet came over the ridge of the cemetery and, seeing the open grave of his supposed love (though why hadn’t they been seen together for many weeks?), leaped into the grave himself! The two men began beating each other roundly… though let it be said that Laertes seemed to be the aggressor. The king ordered his men to pull them out while Hamlet’s mother shrieked wildly.
Hamlet came out of the grave shouting to Laertes that his love for Ophelia was greater than that of forty thousand brothers. “What will you do?” shouted the unhinged, yet still dashing, prince. “Will you weep? Fight? Fast? Hurt yourself? Eat a crocodile? I’ll do it! Did you come here to whine? To outdo me by leaping into her grave? Be buried with her coffin? So will I.”
At this, Queen Gertrude screamed, “This is madness!” and tried to go to her son. Her new husband held her arm and asked Horatio, Hamlet’s oldest and dearest friend, to take him away. Horatio did, and quiet, though not peace, reigned at last.
Laertes looked murderous and walked away from King Claudius (who pleaded mysteriously for his patience), leaving violets for the gravediggers to place atop the filled-in grave.
I wonder at the ability of the good people of this kingdom to continue bearing such displays. Our royals were once pinnacles of morality, set examples for their subjects to follow. During these past few months, it has been as if the lunatics were running the asylum.
I reread the article, for I could not believe my eyes. Then I crushed the magazine between my hands and tossed it across the room, as if the distance between me and the printed story might make it less horrible. But it didn’t. My mind reeled. What was happening at the castle at that very moment? Why had Hamlet been allowed at the funeral? Why hadn’t Horatio told my brother that I was alive? How could he let him suffer like that?
I broke the rules and called Horatio.
“Jesus, what if I wasn’t alone?” he asked.
I stared at the crumpled magazine on the floor. “But you are, so can you talk?”
He hesitated. “Yeah. Don’t do it again, though.”
I made no promises. “I read about my funeral. They both jumped into my grave? That’s insane.”
“Yeah,” Horatio said quietly. “Competitive grieving. Not pretty.”
Part of me wanted to laugh, but the larger part of me was completely mystified. And saddened by it.
I guess he felt the same because he added, “It was really hard to watch. They both still love you.”
I considered what he said for a moment. Did Hamlet’s still loving me make him not a murderer? No. Would it bring my dad back or make what he said in the limo less cruel? No. Hamlet thought I was dead, and that fact caused him pain. Good. He deserved it. But my brother didn’t.
“Can you get to my brother and tell him I’m alive?” I asked.
Horatio sighed. “No, Ophelia. We’ve talked about this. It’s not safe yet. And now that he’s back in town, it’s worse. Your brother’s been spending a lot of time with Gertrude and Claudius. If he knows you’re okay and starts acting calm or different, they