Julius Caesar Reimagined | Scene Four

 

SCENE 4 

(Casca’s courtyard)

Casca (sitting in a fancy chair, turned away from the stage. He slowly turns the chair as Cassius comes in. He is stroking a cat): Yes, yes my child, I thought you would come to me. They always come back. And that too on the day of my daughter’s wedding –

Cassius: Casca you don’t even have a daughter.

Casca (looking somewhat insulted): I could have a daughter.

Cassius: Casca you’re not even married!

Casca (yelling): MARRIAGE! Marriage means nothing. Do you think one needs to be married to have children! Look at me. I am the product of love – nothing but love between two individuals. Love is everything. ‘Marriage’ (spits) is nothing. If I wanted a daughter I could have one.

Cassius: But Casca you don’t even like women!

Casca stops mid-stroke (on cat). Scratches chin: A fair point. Yes, your problem my child – no – let me guess… you and the little Brutus had a falling out didn’t you? I’ve told you before child, you need to stop being so overprotective about that man.

Cassius: Casca hear me out would you? Look I’m telling you, the situation is out of hand. You heard Caesar’s speech this morning.

Casca (looking serious): That I did.

Cassius: Well? What do you think of it? I was right all along about that two-faced dried neat’s tongue. 

Casca (covering his sleeping cat’s ears): Watch the language would you? I don’t want Esperanza to learn all this.

Cassius (aside): And people say I’m dramatic.

Casca: What was that?

Cassius: Nothing, just wondering what Caesar is up to now…

Casca: What he is up to is very clear to me. I have known him since our days together in (school) ludus. He and Pompey were classmates, many of us thought they were best friends too. Then time came and did its job – ruined relationships. By the time we were adolescents, Pompey was quite the Cassanova (even though he’s still a few thousand years away). All the girls would line up to have a look at him. The teachers loved him, ah, he seemed to be the incarnation of the masculine spirit. Broad, strong, ripped, handsome and oh, so charismatic. I can tell you it wasn’t just the girls who had their eyes on him (blushes at the memory). Not surprisingly, he broke many hearts. And child, do you know who was the first to have his heart broken?

Cassius: No!

Casca (laughing): Yes my child, it was Caesar.

Cassius: I knew it! So that’s where this whole thing comes together. Caesar was in love with Pompey and was too much of a coward to act on it and as revenge for his unrequited love, he wants to be the cause of his downfall.

Casca: Nearly. But you got one thing wrong. Caesar wasn’t that much of a coward. He made his love for his dear friend and comrade pretty conspicuous and as a result, a horrified Pompey inched further and further away from his best friend until they became enemies. He couldn’t stand the sight of Caesar. He tried whatever he could to throw Caesar off: humiliation, anger, mockery the works, but Caesar didn’t stop loving him. Until THE incident.

Cassius (cringing): Oh that incident. I’d rather not talk about it. My mother – I mean some friend had told me about it. A homosexual’s worst nightmare I’d say.

Casca: Indeed it is. (pause) But it does not justify this behaviour. Look at the damage it’s doing to the lives of people like yourself and the noble Brutus. We must do something about this.

Cassius: This is the way things are Casca, what could we do? Kidnap the great Caesar? (laughing) or better – assassinate him and restore peace to humanity?

Casca (laughing hesitantly at first but loosening up): Haha, what would we do? Dip that wreathed head in a vat of hot oil?

Cassius (laughing even harder): Or – or make it the perfect crime, catch him in the early hours of the morning, hold a senate meeting and the stab the old sot to death!

Both laugh but as they stop laughing, they exchange very grave expressions, realising that they have literally just come up with a successful murder plan.

Cassius: But enough of these fanciful jokes, honestly Casca, what needs to be done?

Julius Caesar Reimagined | Scene Three

 

SCENE 3

Casca shifts from left to right and watches, amused

Brutus and Cassius sitting at Brutus’s inner courtyard

Brutus: I simply can’t understand it Cassius! Caesar is such an honourable man. He is a liberal and a visionary. For him to do something like this… it’s just so unexpected.

Cassius: It really isn’t. You are naïve my friend. Caesar has always been cunning and ruthless, it was your admiration that deluded you all these days. But after his speech today, you are finally beginning to see him for what he truly is. 

Brutus: But there has to be another explanation! He never had a problem with this kind of thing before. You know what I’m talking about. He seemed, in fact, even enthusiastic when I told him about my being….

Cassius: But he is Brutus, don’t you get it? This is all part of a bigger plan. It’s all just a game for him. It’s always been.

Brutus: What on earth do you mean?

Cassius: Look, this may be hard for you to digest, but it’s the truth and you’re going to have to accept it sooner or later. Caesar is just like us –

Brutus: You mean he also likes…

Cassius: Men. Yes my dear Brutus. Caesar puts men before women in more ways than you may think. 

Brutus: But this is a grave accusation. How can you be so sure?

Cassius: You wouldn’t believe me if I told you my love.

Brutus: You underestimate my faith in you Cassius, I trust you as much as I –

Cassius: He loves you

Brutus: Ok fine. I overestimate my faith in you.

Cassius: See? This is exactly why I don’t tell you things like this. You never believe me. You brush them of as possessive jealousies.

Brutus (going over and putting his arm around Cassius): But they are endearing– I never said I dislike them.

Cassius (pushing him away): You just don’t get it, do you? You think I’m being paranoid and jealous but I’m not.

Brutus: Look Cassius I feel very deeply for you, but you have to admit that the accusation you are making is fanciful.

Cassius (in a low and aggressive voice): Why do you think Caesar is obsessed with Pompey?

Brutus: Enough. No more of your conspiracy theories. Please.

Cassius: What is it Brutus? Are you afraid to hear the truth? You can’t bear the thought of your oh-so-honourable Caesar being a goddamn fraud?

Brutus: Goodbye Cassius. (exits)

Cassius angrily watches him go, then sits down and puts his face in his hands. Lights out.

Casca (laughing condescendingly): I bet he’s going to end up coming to me.

Julius Caesar Reimagined | Scene Two

 

SCENE 2

Caesar: Antony come here I need to ask a favour of you.

Antony: Anything for my excellency, my star-

Caesar: Yes, yes, I know that grovelling is your sole talent. That’s why I am coming to you and not anyone else. Look, er, the matter is quite sensitive. So don’t blow your stack. See… er… I need you to sleep with my wife – again.

Antony: Your majesty’s wish is my – wait what now?!

Caesar: Oh come on don’t make a big deal out of it. I know you love her, you know she is as libidinous as the day is long. Just man up and go and lay with my wife for Christ’s sake.

Antony: Respected highness, Christ won’t be coming along for another forty four years…

Caesar: OUT! Out of my sight. Go find her and do it now!

Antony: Of course, yes sir. Yes your grace!

On the other side of the stage Calpurnia and Portia are eavesdropping and talking amongst themselves.

Portia: How can you let them treat you this way? This is outrageous!

Calpurnia: Oh it’s alright my dear Portia, Caesar is doing this as a favour, not as a sign of disrespect. And frankly, I’m at a point in my life where I don’t even care. I’d spend the night with a bear if Caesar set it up for me (winks) if you know what I mean.

Portia: Why Calpurnia, someone’s quite the tramp.

Calpurnia: Certainly, I pride myself in it. Why should men have all the fun? And besides, with walking incarnations of honour and dignity like you, we need some floozies to create some balance in the world.

Portia: Something should be done about the marriage laws in the state of Rome. You’re absolutely right about the fact that men have developed an obscenely loose character. We must enact some policies, some laws, otherwise this ‘male-supremacy’ will carry on for thousands of years – and what a shame that would be. Imagine the world being run by the dumber sex for a century more than it should. It’s been long enough I tell you.

Calpurnia: You should run the State.

Portia: Oh shut up.

Calpurnia (serious): No. I mean what I say. There is no one –

Portia: Shhh… look, they’re discussing how he should approach you this time.

Both laugh and watch as the men discuss across the stage and the lights slowly dim and fade. The light focuses on Casca who watches from his perch.

Casca: Would you look at the pathetic state of ‘affairs’ Esperanza? (laughs at own pun). Women planning and plotting to take over the world with their fragile little hands. Ha! When will they understand that they were only created to continue the race? They are nothing more than farmhouses. How funny they are, thinking about politics and marriage laws. Don’t you find them funny Esperanza?

Julius Caesar Reimagined - A Play | Scene One

Frau Heinrich

‘Wake up, Arthur’, Mrs. Heinrich cooed at her husband as a little dribble fell from his mouth which could be mistaken for any of the other wrinkles on his pale, sad face. Startled, he coughed and gagged, sitting up in his wheelchair as straight up as his scoliosis would allow him.

“Und wie geht’s dir?”

I ask him gently, with as much kindness as I can muster.

He stares blankly, incomprehensively, studying my face desperately for clues to understand what was being asked of him.

“Come on darling, the nice doctor is asking how you are feeling today. Let’s give her an answer shall we? Are you well? Yes?”

With herculean effort, his face clouded with sweat, from the depths of his belly he uses all his energy to say “J…Jaaaaaaa”.

“Sehr gut darling!” his wife congratulates him at his monumental effort and then allows him to drift back into his stupor. We then go back to discussing the extent of his encephalitis – which I believe to be the misdiagnosis of some ancient doctor who would not have bothered to go over his symptoms before deciding his fate. As my mind wanders, trying to come up with a new differential diagnosis, I see Mrs Heinrich offering me an extremely detailed explanation of how many times her husband wakes up during the night. They’ve suspected Parkinson’s, cancer and whatnot. But it looks like nothing more than dementia to me. How am I going to say this nicely to this – “…do you think that is not alright doctor?” Mrs Heinrich stares at me with concern. Her pretty eyes are tired from all the sadness and effort she has had to endure, but they tell me she’s not giving up. I’m impressed with her, and yet I feel terrible for her unfortunate situation. Being stuck like this for the rest of your life – trying to be positive for two people – and at this age!

“No Frau Heinlich. There is no new reason to worry. It is too soon for me to offer a diagnosis, but let us discuss his speech.”

“Oh that’s no problem. I suppose he’s being a lazy brat now,” she adds, batting at his shoulder, “But he has no problem saying ich liebe dich five times a day”, her pleasant smile is interrupted by a gurgle that turns into a cry of anguish, as her husband bursts into tears. “Go back to sleep darling, let me do the talking for now ok?” she says, kindly”. She turns back to my surprised face and continues to describe his food intake in excruciating detail.

***

I’m on my way out, two patients later. And I briefly see her struggling at the reception. She has to handle her husband’s mood, his wheelchair, all her things – it’s too much for a human being, I think to myself as I send a nurse to help her. Poor lady. She’s so strong.

But internally I wished I’d never have to suffer her fate. Medicine can only make you so strong. Finally, we are all human.

***

Robert is not really interested in my heart-wrenching story about this couple.

“Why must you always bring your cases home? I know it’s depressing, but you knew what you were getting into when you took medicine didn’t you? – Look I know it’s sad, but all I’m saying is there’s nothing more you can do! You’re already helping them more than anyone else can at this point. Just forget about it ok? Anyway, what’s for dinner? It’s your turn to cook.”

***

The next week is not spectacularly different. Which is surprising because I get to perform surgery on an aneurism patient – something I know my peers are extremely jealous of me for. Ordinarily I would have been over the moon about it. I might have even rubbed it in their faces – take that you jerks. I know you talk about me when I’m not around. I know the stories you’ve spread about me sleeping with the surgery resident. Well who’s fucked now? Ha!

But a deep sense of sorrow has overtaken my pettiness. I can’t get Frau Heinrich out of my mind. I keep picturing those eyes, filled with hope and joy – and love for her husband. How does she fake it? I wonder. What an immense sense of responsibility this woman must have. Would Robert do this for me? I laugh out loud in the elevator at this thought triggering some giggles amongst some young medical students. He’d leave me in a second. But me? Would I do this for him?

“Dr. Sharma you’re here is your schedule for today – I had to add some patients because Dr. Lachmann is on leave again” – a piece of paper is shoved in my face, interrupting my risky train of thought as I exit the elevator.

“Um.. thanks Laura. You can start sending them at once.”

“Dr. Sharma actually I was wonderi – “

“Not now Laura I’ll discuss your issue with you later”, I feel guilty for snapping. But I know she just wants to ask me for yet another set of prescriptions for some in law or distant relative who has some godforsaken malady. I simply don’t have the time to deal with her nonsense. She scurries away, head down.

A whole day of seeing restless leg syndrome goes by and I am beginning to question why I chose medicine when suddenly my door opens tentatively and a shy Mrs. Heinrich asks me politely whether she can come in.

“Of course!” I rush to hold the door open as she struggles to wheel her shell of a husband into the room. I am appalled as she speaks to him lovingly, cooing like a teenager “We are entering the doctor’s office my love. See how pretty she is. Yes, now someone’s not so sleepy anymore are they?” She laughs jovially as she tells me how he would only speak to the female physiotherapist during his first onset of symptoms. We chat as though we are in a café, discussing her husband as though he is completely fine and the empty feeling begins to fill me once again. I feel so devastated for this woman. So compassionate. Her life is so sad and she’s doing everything she can to hold herself together.

The feeling follows me as I switch off the lights and leave an hour later. But there she is, struggling by the reception again, with her papers, her husband and her life.

 This time the sorrow has nearly reached my throat and so I briskly walk over to her to ask why on earth they are still here.

“Oh I think today was a busy day so they might’ve forgotten to call our number for the forms – or maybe my ears are not as adept as they once were huh Arthur?” she laughs “Your wife is old and deaf Arthur, you won’t leave her for a young blonde now will you?” She tickles his ear as she gathers up her purse and begins to put his feet on the pedals of the chair.

“Oh no! Please allow me. Wait right here I’ll just be a second”

I sprint to the reception and give Laura a good understanding of what a worthless excuse for a human being she is. Running back to the elderly couple, I apologise profusely for the wait – they live three hours away from Berlin. I wonder whether I should order them a taxi. It would cost over 50 euros but I can more than afford it since I got this position. I’m so lost in thought that I realise that I miss seeing Mrs Heinrich hobble over to the reception and hand Laura a 5euro bill and a little handkerchief to wipe her tears. I look down at my phone pretending not to notice.

“Mrs. Heinrich I really do apologise for the wait, please allow me to order you a taxi…” I start but am cut off

“Oh you are a sweetheart dear but we have taken a little place in Berlin for times like these. This is not the worse thing to happen to us” she laughs, “and Arthur here has no regrets I’m sure”, she bends down and caresses his heaving cheek as we approach the elevator, “Arthur, look the pretty Sri Lankan came back for you! – ah you are from Sri Lanka if I am not wrong?”

“India, but close enough”

“Ah pardon me. You look very similar to our Sri Lankan friend. Incidentally we are meeting her for drinks in an hour. Haha, yes –“ she laughs at my not-so-subtle surprise, “Arthur and I have always loved going out. We have visited all the hip and happening places in Berlin. Oh there’s this one Italian place that is our favourite. In fact, we try a new restaurant every week…” she goes on onto a long monologue during out 27 floor elevator ride about how they live to the fullest. But I am sceptical. It’s not possible. She’s pretending. Is there any way that they are actually … could it really be that she isn’t pretending? Impossible!

“… I would ask you to join us tonight, we are quite a fun pair. But I know you doctors have busy lives so I will not impose”, she smiles.

I want to say yes. I want to join them. I want to make them happy. Contribute and make her sad life better for a few hours- “Maybe not today. But thank you. I have to fill in the monthly paperwork but maybe next time”, I lie.

“Of course, I understand dear”, the elevator doors open, “Goodbye dear, have a nice night and get some rest. You look like you need it!”

There’s a storm inside me. Something just does not add up. How can she be so happy? I mean, there’s no way she could be faking this. But then why am I overcome with that empty feeling once again? Why did I lie? If I truly felt bad for her, I should have gone with them… and that’s when it hit me.

I wasn’t sorrowful for her. I was sorrowful for me.

-

 Being a food critic is a highly overrated profession; granted, you get to eat in the fanciest of places, but it involves a lot of waiting and pondering. It was in such a situation that I found myself sitting in one of the most posh restaurants in town, ‘The Blue Dragon’ awaiting my next opportunity to express my cynicism and wit about how and why particular dish, or service hadn’t satisfied my taste and to get a good deal of appreciation and money for it. ‘Food takes long to arrive’ I jotted down in my little notebook and I felt the entire staff take in a collective breath and widen their eyes. One of the waiters tripped and almost split a bottle of expensive-looking red wine on a young gentleman sitting a few tables across me in the corner of the room.

Something about that man stood out and I hid my curiosity behind a cynical smile as I raised my eyes to look at him. The bottle would have spilt had he not reacted faster and grabbed it halfway through its fateful fall. My phone beeped unexpectedly and I found a message from my wife, ‘Dana is out with friends tonight, I suppose I’ll be eating alone’. Again, a message to which it wasn’t particularly easy to find an answer and yet I had to forage through my mental drawers to obtain one as hard experience had taught me never to ignore her messages. As I leafed through my short supply of socially correct responses for my wife, my attention was drawn once again to the young man by the corner as he whispered something into the ear of the waiter who had almost caused the unfortunate demise of a bottle of wine and handed him a ring. He motioned with his hand, to put it in a glass as he slipped him a $5 dollar bill and sent him back inside lest someone notice.

‘How very cliché’, I thought to myself, ‘So old and overused, and yet this demeaning sort of proposal does its job as it doesn’t fail to produce fat tears and squeals of exaggerated and over-practiced surprise from the ladies.’ The young man looked about 25 and was wearing a black suit with a white shirt and black tie. His attire wasn’t particularly classy, or new for that matter but his astonishingly good looks made up for it. He would glance at the door then at his watch and then back at the door again. He picked up a spoon and looked at his reflection; ran his fingers through his sandy yellow hair and then looked at the door again.

I do not approve of youngsters these days –with the exception of my daughter of course whose only flaw is her complete disrespect for punctuality - I find them loud, boorish, perverse and extremely uncultured; this young man however, in his own, self conscious, nervous and childishly chivalrous manner somewhat amused me; pleased me I daresay. That was when my phone beeped for the second time and I realized I had been staring. A wave of great mortification washed over me as hastily looked down my impatient wife’s second message. Luckily for me, the waiter appeared before me at that very instant bearing not only the unfortunate dish that was to be dissected in every possible way that night, but a way to restore my confidence as a familiar air of superiority filled me. His face was contorted with tension and his brow was in dire need of mopping. I made him stand there just a moment longer than was necessary to increase my hold over him and the rest of the staff that cast what it felt were inconspicuous glances in my direction. I then allowed him to serve me and dropped a small suggestion that he might consider wiping the sweat off his face, as it was extremely unhygienic. I congratulated myself for having sent him red-faced, almost running to the kitchen, humiliated, and on the verge of tears. Content, I started my meal.

The food was better than average, far better and as I signed for the check, I began searching for anything that had been wrong during the night. Anything that could be criticized or mocked. I suddenly remembered the young man; he still sat there, seeming to be playing some sort of video game on his phone. He almost jumped from his seat when his phone rang and began blushing as he spoke to the soon-to-be-wife I assumed. He began frantically straightening his collar, redoing his hair and looking desperately at the door.

The door opened, and an elegantly dressed woman in her mid-forties walked in. I raised my eyebrows and stole a glance at the man. He had been in the process of getting up, but he let out a sigh of relief and sat down again. The woman strode across the room and joined a distinguished-looking man at the back. The door opened the second time and this time I looked at the man first; he straightened up, flashed the smile he had been practicing in the spoon and turned tolerably pink. Now, feeling a twinge of excitement, I looked to the door and saw Dana walking in nervously.

04/04/14