William Shakespeare, having shuffled off his mortal coil, was stuck in Purgatory awaiting the final decision as to whether his soul should spend eternity upstairs or downstairs. He was approached by one of the demons-in-charge with a job offer.
“Hi there, Will”, he said. “How’s things?”
“To be honest”, said the former Bard, “It’s getting a bit wearisome. Hanging around here for hundreds of years is – not to put too fine a point on it – dead boring.”
“Good point – well made”, said the demon, whose name was Bert. “And that’s why I’ve popped along to see you. You’ve got at least another 500 years to go, so you might like something to do to fill in the time.”
“You bet I would”, said Will. “What did you have in mind?”
“Well”, said Bert, “How would you like to write another play?”
“What’s the point of that?” Will asked. “Who’s going to perform it and who will watch it?”
Bert was happy to give him the lowdown.
“There’s a batch of souls just coming up for assessment. As you might expect, it’s an anxious time for them, not being sure how it will turn out, so I reckoned that it would be a nice gesture to put on a bit of entertainment for them the night before, and who better than you to do the honours? We’ve got hundreds of dead actors round here, so getting a cast together should be no problem at all. What do you reckon?”
“What sort of play did you have in mind?” Will asked. “I’m pretty versatile, you know.”
“I certainly do know”, said Bert. “I’ve seen all your plays.”
“You have?”
“But of course! There’s always a demon around at every stage performance. Whenever somebody fluffs a line or falls over the furniture that’s because one of us has been having a bit of a laugh. In your case, the demon was me.”
“I’m not sure if I should be grateful or not.” said Will. “But I still don’t know if you want me to write a comedy or a tragedy.”
“Oh, a comedy of course”, said Bert. “You gave me some great giggles when you were in your prime, and more of the same would be fantastic.”
“So which of my plays did you enjoy the most?” Will asked. “Was it, perhaps, ‘A Midsummer’s Night’s Dream?”
“On no”, said Bert. “All those daft fairies floating about? Far too soppy for me.”
“OK, so how about ‘All’s Well That End’s Well’? ‘As You Like It’? Twelfth Night’?”
“Not really my scene”, said Bert. “I can’t say I was convulsed with laughter at any of those.”
“So what did make you laugh, then?”
“I just loved it when that dopey git stuck his sword through the curtain and stabbed the wrong guy.”
“That”, said Will, “was in Hamlet – one of my tragedies.”
“But it was great”, said Bert. “The way he slowly went mad. I also loved it when that old codger went completely doolally and wandered over the heath saying stupid things. I creased up watching that.”
“You mean King Lear?”
“That’s the one. Pure comic genius!”
“Another tragedy, need I say? Did anything else take your fancy?”
“The Scottish play, of course – those witches had me rolling in the aisle, not to mention the Queen losing her marbles. Just brilliant!”
“I dread to think what you made of ‘Titus Andronicus’”.
“The best of the lot, my friend! Throats slit, hands cut off – and when the Queen of the Goths eats that pie with her sons baked inside it? The tears were rolling down my cheeks!”
“So you want me to write something along similar lines?”
“Absolutely!” Bert replied. “Some of those souls will need a good chuckle. They won’t get many where they’re going.”
“Yes”, said Will, “All that fire and brimstone doesn’t sound like much fun.”
“What do you mean?” said Bert. “I’m talking about the poor mutts who are forced to spend eternity in Heaven. All that praying and genuflecting – not too much to amuse anyone there. On the other hand, Hell is a very jolly place, not to mention a darned sight warmer.”
“And where do you reckon that I’ll be sent to?”
“Hell, of course. No problem there. All playwrights and actors end up in Hell. They love it. Do you remember all those times people kept telling you to go to Hell? That was me and my fellow demons congratulating you for a job well done!”
© John Welford
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