Fool Chapter 17

ACT cardinalJesters do oft prove prophets. pansy Lear, Act V, Scene 3, Regan 17REIGNING FOOLS, HAILING NUTTERSBlow, wind, crack your cheeks Rage Blow blasted Lear.The gaga service human race had perched himself on the top of a hill step to the foreside Gloucester and was shouting into the wind like a bloody lunatic, even as lightning raked the sky with white-hot claws and thunder shook me to my ribs.Come in from there, you bloody decrepit venerable weirdy say I, huddled under a holly provide nearby drenched and cold and at the end of my patience with the old man. Come suffer to Gloucester and ask shelter from your daughters.Oh, ye punkless paragons Send your oak-cleaving thunderbolts d cede on me fl ar me with your sulfurous and life-ending finishsSinge my white conduce and reduce me to a newspaper column of ash bash me wild tout ensembleow your wrath address uncultivated form and smite meTake me, spare no violenceI do non blame thee, thou art non my daught ersIve given over you no involvement and expect no quarterDo your horrible fun direct,To a suffering, infirm, despised old man smirch the sky Strike me deadThe old man paused as a thunderbolt riptide a tree on the h occupyh with blinding fire and a noise that would send statues to shitting themselves. I ran out from under my bush to the kings side.Come in, nuncle. Take some shelter under a shrub, if yet to take the sting out of the rain.I need no shelter. Let nature take her naked revenge.Fine, thusly, verbalize I. Then you wont be needing this. I took the old mans heavy fur cape, tossed him my sodden woolen garb, and re handle to my shrubbery and the congenator shelter of the heavy animal uncase.Hey? tell Lear, bewildered.Go on, verbalise I. Crack the sky, fry your old head, mash your balls, et cetera, et cetera. Ill prompt you if you lose your place.And dispatch he went againMighty Thor, send your thunderbolts to cease this weary heartNeptunes waves, impulse these li mbs from their inwardnesstsHecates claws, spud my liver and sup upon my soulBaal, blast my bowels from their unhealthy business firmJupiter, strew the land with my shredded muscleThe old man stop his tirade for a moment and the madness went out of his eyes. He looked to me. Its really fucking cold out here.Like organism struck by a bolt of the bloody obvious on the road to Damascus, innit, nuncle? I held open the great fur cloak and nodded for the old man to join me in it under my shrubbery. He crept d own the hill, careful not to slickness in the rivulets of mud and water that cascaded by, and ducked under the cover with me.The old man shuddered and put his skeletal arm around my shoulders. Rather closer than were aband aned to, eh, boy?Aye, nuncle, did I ever grade you that you are a real attr symboliseive man? say Jones, poking his puppety head out of the cloak.And the old man began to laugh, and he laughed until his shoulders shook and the laughter broke into a clash co ugh, and that continued until I thought he might expectorate decisive organs. I caught some freezing rain in my cupped hand and held it for him to sip.Dont take up me laugh, boy. Im mad with grief and rage and Ive no stomach for jests. You should stand clear, lest a thunderbolt scorch you when the gods heed my challenge.Nuncle, begging pardon, scarcely, you arrogant old tosser The gods arent going to strike you down with a thunderbolt simply be originator you asked them. why would they accommodate you with a thunderbolt? More likely a carbuncle, festered and done for(p) fatal, or perhaps a thankless child or two, being how the gods love their irony.The cheek verbalize Lear.Oh yes, cheeky gods they are, tell I. And you named hit a bushel of them, too. Now if you are struck down we wont even accredit who to blame unless lightning brands a signature in your old hide. You should accept dared one, because waited an hour perhaps before calling fire down from the completely lot a t a go.The king wiped rain out of his eyes. Ive snip a thousand monks and nuns to pray for my forgiveness and the pagans slaughter goats by the litter for my salvation, moreover I fear it is not enough. Not once did I act in the interest of my people, not once did I act in the interest of my wives or my daughters m early(a)s I contract served myself as god and I see to it I am little forgiving. Be kind, Pocket, lest you one day face the darkness as I do. Or, in absence seizure of kindness, be drunk. except, nuncle, utter I. I do not need to be cautious for the day when I become rickety. I am frail straight off. And on the bright side, there may be no paragon at all, and the evil deeds youve done will be their own reward.Perhaps I dont even rate a righteous slaughtering, sobbed Lear. The gods have displace these daughters to suck out my life blood. It is punishment for how I treated my own father. Do you know how I became king?Pulled a leaf blade out of a stone and slayed a dragon with it, didnt you?No, that never happened.sod convent education. Buggered if I know then, nuncle. How did Lear become king?My own father, I slay him. I do not deserve a noble death.I was speechless. I had been in service of the king over a ten and never had I heard of this. The story went that old King Bladud had give the domain over to Lear and went to Athens, where he learned to be a necromancer, then re turned to Britain and died from the plague in service of the goddess Minerva at the temple at lavatory. precisely before I could gather my wits for a reply, lightning cracked the sky, light a hulking creature that was making its way across the hillside toward us.Whats that? I asked.A demon, express the old man. The gods have sent a devil to take their revenge on me.The thing was cover in slime, and walk of life as if it had just been constructed from the rattling earth over which it slogged. I snarl for the daggers at the small of my back and pulled one from its sheath. Thered be no natural language throwing in this downpour I wasnt even sure I could hold up the blade steady for a thrust.Your sword, Lear, express I. Draw and defend. I stood and stepped out of the shelter of the shrubbery. I spun Jones so his stick end was at the ready, and force a flourish in the air with my dagger.Come hither, demon Pockets got a coach ride back to the underworld for thee.I crouched, thinking to climb up aside as the thing lunged. Although it described the shape of a man, I could reveal long slimy tendrils dragging from it, and mud oozing off of it. Once it stumbled Id leap on its back and see if I could cause it to fall and slide down the hillside, away from the old king.No, let it take me, said Lear. Suddenly the old man shrugged off his fur cloak and charged at the monster, his arms wide, as if offering his very heart to the tool. Slay me, ye merciless god rend this black heart from Britains breastI could not stop him and the old man fell into the beasts arms. except to my surprise, there was no tearing of limbs or bashing of brains. The thing caught the old man and lowered him gently to the ground.I lowered my blade and inched forward. Leave him, beast.The thing was kneeling over Lear, whose eyes were rolled back in his head even as he twitched as if in a fit. The beast looked at me and I saw streaks of pink through the mud, the whites of its eyes. answer me, it said. Help me get him to shelter.I stepped forth and wiped the mud away from the things face. It was a man, covered with mud so thick it even ran out of his mouth and surface his teeth, but a man just the same, vines or rags, I couldnt tell which, trailed off his arms. Help poor Tom bring him out of the cold, said he.I sheathed my dagger, retrieved the old mans cape, and helped the muddy, naked bloke carry King Lear into the wood.It was a tiny cabin, barely enough room to stand in, but the fire was warm and the old woman stirred a sight that smelled of b oiling meat and onions, like breath of the Muses it was, on this dank night. Lear stirred, now hours since we brought him in from the rain. The king reclined on a pallet of straw and skins. His fur cloak still steamed by the fire.Am I dead? asked the old man.Nay, nuncle, but ye were close enough to lick deaths salty taint, said I.Back, foul fiend said the naked fellow, waving at the very air before his eyes. I had helped him wash away often of the mud, so now he was merely filthy and mad, but no long misshapen.Oh, poor Tom is cold So cold.Aye, we can tell that, said I. Unless youre just a crashingly large bloke what was born with a willie the size of it of a raisin.The fiend makes Tom eat the swimming frog, the tadpole, lizards, and ditch-water I eat appal dung for salads and swallow rats and bits of dead dogs. I drink syndicate scum, and in every village I am beaten and impel into stocks. Away, fiend Leave poor, cold Tom aloneBlimey, said I. The loonies are in full bloom ton ight.I offered him some stewed mutton, said the old woman by the fire, without turning, but no, he had to have his frogs and cow pies. Right fussy eater for a naked whacko.Pocket, said Lear, clawing at my arm. Who is that large, naked chap?He calls himself Tom, nuncle. Says hes pursued by the devil.He mustiness have daughters. See here, Tom, did you give all to your daughters? Is that what drove you mad and poor even until you are naked?Tom crawled across the floor until he was at Lears side.I was a vain and inconsiderate servant, said the nutter. I slept with my mistress every night and woke thinking of putting it to her again in the morning. I drank and caroused and do merry, even while my half brother fought a crusade for a Church for which he held no faith. I took all without thought for those who had nothing. Now I have nothing not a stitch, not a crumb, not a coin, and the devil dogs me to the ends of the earth for my selfishness.You see, said Lear, only a mans cruel daugh ters could drive him to such a state.He didnt say that, you daft geezer. He said he was a selfish libertine and the devil took his kit.The old woman turned now. Aye, the fools right. The younger nutter has no daughters, tis his own unkindness that curses him. She crossed the cabin with two locomote bowls of stew and set them before us on the floor. And its your own evil hounds you, Lear, not your daughters.The old woman, Id seen her before. She was one of the crones from the Great Birnam Wood. Different raiment and somewhat less green, but this was surely Rosemary, the cat-toed witch.Lear slid to the floor and grabbed poor Toms hand. I have been selfish. I have thought nothing of the weight of my deeds. My own father I imprisoned in the temple at Bath because he was a leper, and later had him killed. My own brother I did eat up when I suspected him of bedding my queen. No trial, not even the value of a challenge. I had him murdered in his sleep without proof. And my queen is dea d, too, for my jealousy. My kingdom is the fruit of treachery, and treachery have I reaped. I do not deserve to even wear vesture on my back. You are true, Tom, that you have nothing. I, too, shall have nothing, as is my just rewardThe old man began to tear off his clothes, ripping at the collar of his shirt, tearing more of his parchment-like skin than the linen. I stayed his hand, held his wrists and tried to catch his eye with my own, to pull him back from madness.Oh, I have wronged my sweet Cordelia the old man wailed. The only one who love me and I have wronged her My one true daughter Gods, tear these clothes from my back, tear the meat from my bonesThen I felt claws clamp on my own wrists and I was pulled away from Lear as if I had been cadaverous by heavy iron shackles. Let him suffer, hissed the witch in my ear.But I have made this pain, said I.Lears pain is of his own making, fool, she said. With that I felt the room spinning and I heard the voice of the misfire ghost telling me to sleep. Sleep, sweet Pocket.Whos the muddy naked bloke buss the kings noggin? asked Kent.I awoke to see the old knight standing in the doorway with the Earl of Gloucester. The storm still raged outside, but by firelight I could see the naked nutter Tom OBedlam had wrapped himself around Lear and was kissing the kings turn head as if blessing a newborn babe.Oh majesty, said Gloucester, cant you find better company than this? Who is this rough beast?He is a philosopher, said Lear. I will spill the beans with him.Poor Tom OBedlam, is he, said Tom. confluent of tadpoles, cursed and damned by demons.Kent looked to me and I shrugged. Both mad as cat herds, said I. I looked around for the old woman as a witness, but she was gone.Well, snap to, majesty, I bring news from France, said Kent.Hollandaise sauce, excellent on eggs? I inquired.No, said Kent. More urgent.wine-colored and cheese complement one another nicely? I bring forward queried.No, you rasp-tongued rascal, Fra nce has landed an army at Dover, and theres rumor theyve forces hidden in other cities around the British coast, ready to strike.Oh, well, that does trump the wine and cheese news, then, doesnt it?Gloucester was stressful to pry Tom off King Lear, but having a securely time doing so while keeping mud off his cloak. Ive sent word to the French camp at Dover that Lear is here, said Gloucester. Ive made the case to the kings daughters to let me bring him in from the storm, but they will not relent. Even in my own home my power has been usurped by the Duke of Cornwall. Regan and Cornwall have taken command of Lears knights, and with them, my castle.We come to bring you to a hutch at the city wall, said Kent. When the storm breaks, Gloucester will send a stroller to take Lear to the French camp at Dover.No, said Lear. Let me talk to my philosopher friend in private. He pawed at mad Tom. He knows much of how life should be lived. Tell me, friend, why is there thunder?Kent turned to Glo ucester and shrugged. Hes not in his right listen.Who can blame him? said Gloucester. afterward what his daughters have done his very flesh rising up against him. I had a beloved son who conspired to murder me, and just the thought of that around drove me mad.Do you nobles have any reaction to hardship anyway going bloody barking and running off to eat dirt? said I. Hitch up your bollocks and get on with it, would you? Caius, what of Drool?I left him hidden in the laundry, but Edmund will find him when his mind turns full to the task. Right now he is distracted by attempt to avoid the sisters and conspiring with Cornwall.My son, Edmund, he is still true, said Gloucester.Yes, right, milord, said I. And mind you dont journey on the honeysuckle sprouting from his bum when you adjacent see him. Do you have means to get me into the castle without Edmund knowing Im there?I suppose. But I take no commands from you, fool. You are but a slave, and an impudent one at that.Youre still angry over my communicate about your dead wife, arent you?Do the fools will boomed Lear. His word is as mine.A slight breeze then would have knocked me off my feet, so blow out of the water was I. Oh, there was still madness glowing in the old mans eyes, but so was the fire of his authority. A feeble, babbling wretch one moment, the next a dragon deep inside the old man barked fire.Yes, your majesty, said Gloucester.Hes a good lad, said Kent, by way of easing the confidence game of Lears command.Nuncle, bring your naked madman and let us go with Gloucester, to this hovel by the city wall. Ill retrieve my nitwit apprentice from the castle and off well be to meet up with the bloody frog King Jeff at Dover.Kent rubbed my shoulder. A sword in support then?No, thank you, said I. You stay with the old man, get him to Dover. I pulled Kent over by the fire and bade him bend down so I could whisper in his ear. Did you know that Lear murdered his brother?The old knights eyes went wide, the n narrow as if he were in pain. He gave the order.Oh, Kent. Thou loyal old fool.