What is that boy thinking?what does he know?
When I sat down to experience my dear nephew’s efforts on stage, I did not expect to see my own guilt staring back at me. Rather than sit through an innocuous set of poor players strutting and fretting their hour upon the stage, I found Hamlet mocking me with my own demons. The Mousetrap indeed! I feel as though the walls have closed around me and there is no escape. I wanted the King’s death to be clean, effortless – my easy way to the throne, and to Gertrude. The action itself was terrible enough, O Lord! Why wound me further with this mocking charade?
Of course, the question is: did he mean it? Was it just my own frantic eyes seeing ghosts on that stage? Is the murder of a king simply a dramatic enough occurrence that I would see it dramatized before my eyes mere weeks after I did the same? If so, then my sudden exist simply indicates a mere bout of indigestion. But if it was a trap.I have revealed my hand, and it is weak at best. I know not what is in Hamlet’s mind; he has been acting with an antic disposition of late, and his actions cannot be predicted. It could very well be he acts out the torment of his father’s death in whatever therapeutic way theatre provides – or he could be showing me that he knows. I saw his eyes focused on me, not the performance, the entirety of the play. Horatio too. Am I so blinded by guilt that I cannot see revenge staring at me in the face? And do I not truly deserve the fruits of Hamlet’s vengeance?
