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If you like this story, you can read more at mindofbryan.com, where you canget news and podcasts covering many more projects. You might also leave acomment for me at authonomy.com, a site that HarperCollins uses to findnew writing talent. It is part of a collection called “Strangely Familiar”. Youmight also enjoy instructionslistsandnotes.com. The Oral History of Hamlet, Prince of DenmarkBy Bryan Lee PetersonPolonius paced the dressing room space nervously, trying to pull his linesback up from memory. He'd been going like this for the hour since he'darrived with Fortinbras, who lay asleep on a hard wooden bench."And keep these precepts in memory: Look after your...thy character.Give your ...thy thoughts no tongue, and no unappropriate thought an act.Be familiar, but in no way vulgar. The friends you have, their adoption tried,Bring them into thy soul, and hold them like steel. Do not dull thy palm withthe entertainment of every new hatched, unfledged comrade. Bewareentrance to a quarrel; but, finding yourself there, bear it in mind that theopposed may be wary of thee," Polonius said. He scratched his head andthen started over. He'd never been this nervous before a performance in allhis time in performance."I hardly remember these lines. How long has it been?Fortinbras lifted his head only enough to directly address Polonius."Too long," he said, and put his head back down. He had large bagsunder his eyes, they hadn't let him sleep either."I've lost track of the last time we did this. When was the last time wewere even together? I was in the camp for months, I know. Before that, therewas a time where I never saw day or night, and I lost track of time. None of us knew what day it was. There were only days."He shook his head."I lost track as well. After a while I stopped wondering, it caused toomuch pain.""There are so many lines to recall. Why was I cast as Polonius, anyway?He just goes on and on. He's a prattler, and I'm not a prattler by nature.""Sure you're not," Fortinbras said."Maybe a bit when I'm nervous."1
 
"Sure," Fortinbras said with a sly nod, and a slight wink. "When you'renervous.""But there's so many lines to remember. It just feels so much like it wasanother age when we last did this. So much has happened to us.""Hm," Fortinbras grunted in agreement. "Last time we had betteraccommodations.""We'll never get back to that, will we? This performance can't possiblychange anything for us, right? I'd like to think that we could somehow makeit out, but that doesn't seem very likely.""To thine own self be true," Fortinbras said."Is that the next line? I wish I had a book somewhere.""No. There's no book lying around. Hasn't been a book of this in countryfor fifteen years probably."Fortinbras resigned himself to not being able to get to sleep a wink withPolonius about. He'd just have to find some energy somewhere that theyhadn't taken from him."I wouldn't worry about lines. This audience won't know them, and theywon't be critical either. They've all but forgotten the name of the play bynow. I hope the rest of the world remembers Shakespeare, because theywon't here soon."The door opened, and Claudius walked in, carrying a folded costume inhis arms. They pushed him in the door and closed it behind him. For amoment the three stared at each other, then Claudius dropped his kinglyrobes, and stepped to Polonius, arms outstretched in embrace."I can hardly believe it," Claudius said.Fortinbras stood, and they hugged as well, patting each other on theback."My god, it's good to see you.""To see you both alive and well...I haven't got words," Claudius said."Is it possible that we're all alive," Polonius said. "We're all going to bereunited? What do you know of their plans? Please tell us what you've heard,and we'll collect our knowledge. I have to tell you, we're both ignorant of whywe've been brought here."Claudius smiled and held up his hand, silently asking Polonius to hold hisspeech."I'm as ignorant as you are. They've only told me we've been ordered toassemble and perform. Perhaps they are rethinking their stance.""Not likely," Fortinbras said."Where do they have you?""North I think. There are times where I can smell the sea air. That's aboutall any of us there know. And you?""South, near farms. All we smell is cow shit and hog shit."The door opened again, and Hamlet was pushed in before it crashedclosed again. He almost tripped over his feet, as they dragged so much. Hemade it to one of the benches and collapsed."Son," Polonius said, and ran to his side. He took Hamlet's hand, and2
 
kissed it, breaking into tears. "I never thought I'd see you again. Where havethey had you?""Dad," Hamlet said, breaking into tears. After a moment, he regainedcomposure and could speak. "I don't know. I don't want to talk about it.""If we don't talk about it, they've won," Claudius said."After, or during. I want to rest now.""Do you have it in you to perform?""I don't think I have a choice," he said."I don't think we can postpone," Fortinbras said, a sardonic tone to hisvoice.Polonius beamed with fatherly pride."I can make it through. Help me up."They lifted him to his feet, and he took off his shirt. His chest and backwere covered with welts, some of them fresh, some having healed forseveral days."Son, did you resist?""Of course. If it hadn't been for this command performance, they'd havekilled me."The rest of the players began arriving, sometimes alone, sometimes ingroups. Each one was met with a tearful reunion, and immediately followedby a question, usually starting like 'any word of my mother?' or, 'have youseen my brother?'Hamlet’s real life uncle played the ghost of Hamlet’s father. Of all of thepeople who had been assembled in the dressing room, he looked theweakest of all; he was gaunt, and moved stiffly. In the camps, his hair hadmade the transition from a light brown to gray, and the lines in his facelooked deeper. He'd aged considerably in the time they'd all been apart, thekind of aging that happens more with hard times rather than just plain times.He looked like his part, a specter on two legs. He spoke in a stage whisper,and gasped in weakness with every gesture. He'd learned an economy of movement from this weakness, wherever he'd been placed, it was stark, anddifficult. The others wondered if maybe his punishment had been harsherbecause he'd been their director, he'd been the instigator.If he was asked about his health, he'd dismiss the questioner, "I'll be finecome showtime." In truth, he felt that this would be his last performance if given the choice of it. He'd been broken, and his heart couldn't take muchmore. He'd tried to will it to stop during the interrogations, during thesessions, but it never happened. He still commanded respect, but he felt theshame of having brought this on all of them, his family and friends. It hadbeen such a great goal, keeping the stories alive as oral traditions, and he'dbeen foolishly optimistic about his ability to keep it secret. There was nosecret anymore, not in their country.Their productions had been fun, Hamlet, Caesar, Much Ado aboutNothing, A Midsummer Night's Dream, but he never wanted to have hisfriends and family put into this situation. He was torn between the hardtimes he'd spent since apprehension, and the excitement of what was3
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