Ferdinand Jr. ran though the hall, giggling incessantly. Little Maria followed closely after, bumbling into a stack of tomes; they inevitably cascaded to the floor with a weary creak. The entire library was in disarray from the chase. And the play sword fights. And the wrestling. And the ball games. And Prospero himself slipping on the children’s’ detritus and keeling over into the once pristine stacks. An invaluable mystic library, assembled over a lifetime of dedication, had been little more than a playroom for years now; the great mage himself mostly confined to a highbacked chair wedged in one corner. Such was the life of the man who once held gods at beck and call, who could open the doors of death, who could once bend nature to his will with a flourish. And, it was good, he supposed. Today was better than most. In a few short hours, Miranda would finish entertaining the delegation, and they would have their weekly father-daughter lunch. It was the same every time; they would eat a lovely salad of chicory stalk, dressed in a light mixture of sardines, lemon, and olive oil. Then, they would discuss his latest research, though it had been slowing recently. Prospero was always eager to share the tidbits of arcane knowledge his studies has recently divulged, and Miranda was a good daughter, studiously feigning interest. The ritual might be cut short today; the royal couple had a polite appearance of some sort to make, nothing that had ever been of interest to a sorcerer such as himself. That was alright though, as today was the day, the day the Tunisian merchants would arrive. Ever since the marriage, trade between Milan and Tunis had flourished, with a fleet completing the nonstop trip every month. Among the many letters brought over, there was always one for him. No one (not even he) knew how it got deposited in the hold but unloading always revealed a letter from the island. From Caliban. The paper was crude, the handwriting still worse. The prose was slovenly, and the language downright putrid. All were similar in nature, crammed with insults, taunts, threats, and promises. A final attempt at vengeance from the hell spawn. Caliban deserved his torment, Prospero was sure. Attempted rape and murder were not actions to be easily overlooked. That Caliban still was, was good. Miranda was married, Ferdinand was King, even that worm Antonino long gone down to be among his like, but Caliban was still on the island. Caliban was still tormented, he reflected, even 15 long years later. Caliban was still Prospero’s. His Grandchildren tumbled past, but their sorcerer turned sitter was lost in revelry, a grin of pride twitching at his lips.
Analysis:
I based my Tempest short story/fanfiction off two lines which seemed to encompass the Caliban-Prospero relationship and hint at what the future might hold for the pair. Firstly, we have Prospero’s rebuke of Caliban in act one: “Though most lying slave, whom stripe may move, not kindness; I have used thee… with humane care and lodged thee in mine own cell.” This establishes the relationships which existed between the two prior to the play; first as caretake and ward, or even father and son, then later as punisher and punished. This dichotomy and its reconciliation served as the basis for my story. Second, we have Prospero’s declaration in act 5: “this thing of darkness I acknowledge mine.” Prospero takes ownership of Caliban accepting him as his responsibility in a way that’s not done for any other entity in the series (such as Ariel) suggesting a deeper relationship. I wrote a story set after the events of the play, trying to Capture what such a relationship might look like, balancing the hatred and care both have for each other, particularly once Prospero has become alienated from Miranda, the major source of contention between them. To emphasize the importance of their relationship, I imagined Prospero in a waning position, now devoid of magic and replaced as king, he has little to cling to that gratifies his ego and power besides Caliban. Painting him in this light obviously undermines other facets of his character as a schemer and scholar, but in the context of the story, the tradeoff seemed appropriate.