THE SHAKESPEARE ROOM

Giovanna Palauro Silva

“The psychotic drowns in the

same waters in which the
mystic swims with delight.”
(Joseph Campbell)

She says I’m getting crazy. Oh, darling, what is craziness after all? Ill. I’m
getting ill. And that's all. It is true though, that my senses are now stronger than
ever and my sight is getting clearer as the days go by. The colors seem brighter
as if they were dancing around me and filling me with joy and energy. Although
all of these colors fade away when she comes, and everything becomes so
dark, and sad and lost in this ocean of despair. Almost as I was seeing a vision
of hell. But even the devil would like to have some colors to cause fear.
I suppose my illness started years ago. It was a boiling summer day. My
sweat was smudging the pages of my newest piece of work: The Taming of the
Shrew. My room was filled with a musty smell and my old furniture crackled
once in a while. I felt dizzy, my legs started to shake. It appeared that some sort
of presence entered the room that moment and never left. Even now I feel her. I
see her. She whispers in my ear. Judges me. Makes me feel small. Suffocates
me. I can barely breathe.
Hopping I could get away from this feeling, I left my room and went out
for a walk. I did this so many times that it became a habit. I met the most
extraordinary people in my walkings, met the most extraordinary love stories,
the most extraordinary dramas and nobody seemed to notice. How could they
not see those extraordinary things? The beauty of two lovers dying because
their families didn’t want them together in the middle of the street. Generals
coming back after wars and betraying kings. The colors were so vivid, so alive.
How could they not see or how could they not care about it? I was completely
delighted by the sights I had on the street. I had to write those scenes. And I
did. The public loved them.
 The problem is, every time I got back to my room to write, something felt
wrong. It still feels wrong. That presence was still there. My Dark Lady, that’s
how I started to call her. She used to bring me tea, whisper that I shouldn’t
leave the room. She told me not to believe in those things I was seeing. Silly
her. Something about her never felt right. The way she walks, almost as if she
was carrying cuffs on her feet. The way she talks, almost as if her voice were
stolen years ago. Now she locked me in this room. It’s been 6 years since I left
for the last time. I was right. She ain’t no good.
As I’ve been locked here for 6 years, I had no more ideas to write. All of
the colors faded away. She said I was getting crazy. Oh, darling, what is
craziness after all? Ill. I’m getting ill. And that's all. I feel like I said this before
already. It must be the mold smell. This room is old. And lonely. There are
cracks in the walls. There are cracks in the furniture. I miss Macbeth. And
Romeo and Juliet. I used to go out and meet a lot of interesting people out
there. I wrote about them, but since she locked me here I haven’t been able to
write a single word.
She still brings me tea. And medicine. She said I was getting crazy. Ill.
I’m getting ill. She never told me what my illness was. How could I be crazy if
my senses are better than ever? But I do feel sick. Probably because of the
mold smell. I should try to leave this room, even though the last time I tried, she
left me without food for a week. How could she? She is just a presence.
I don’t remember anymore the color of the walls. They look black now.
Probably because of the mold. I used to have a red carpet here. When I entered
this room for the first time, it felt like I was entering a monumental theater. Now
everything seems so small and old. And lonely. She said I was getting crazy.
Oh, darling, what is craziness after all? Ill. I’m getting ill. And I don’t feel like I’m
getting better.
I feel worse every day. I told her that. She said…What did she say? I
don’t remember. She brought me a special tea this morning. My Dark Lady. The
special tea made me feel better, but all the colors are fading away. I can only
see peaceful darkness. It looks like a void, an emptiness. I don’t feel ill
anymore. I feel peaceful, almost as if I were dying. Oh, that special tea. I was
supposed to get better, not die. Oh, that lady. She told me I was crazy. Why
would she do that to me? Ill. I was ill.
Her vivid eyes looking at me. I had never seen them. White. They were
completely white. Her face was deformed, she had a nose filled with pus. She
was so close, I could feel her breath. The teeth. Sharp and repulsive. They
expelled a black, sticky, viscous goo. She laughed at me, at my despair in the
face of sudden death. Not even the darkest disease of the mind could create
such a repulsive face, such a repulsive creature.
And to think that moments ago I called her mine. Giant nails scratching
the living room walls. She came even closer. I felt the kiss of death. I preferred
death. Kill me at once. Of all the beautiful things I've seen, I never thought I'd
see something so grotesque and so close to me. And to my horror, with those
slimy teeth, she kissed me. I felt my mouth burn, my heart stop. In fact, it had
been the kiss of death. But I didn't die. I continued to see that creature deform.
Tentacles protruded from her breasts. She walked away still laughing at my fear.
Was she right? Am I crazy? Her legs were no longer legs. More tentacles
appeared. She came back towards me. With the stickiness of her new limbs,
she grabbed me and twisted me so tight I screamed. I felt every bone in my
body break. I begged for the end. End it! She laughed and couldn't stop
laughing. Finally, she devoured me. She chewed me like I was a snack, an
aperitif to be served at her feast. Disgusting, but I was finally at peace.