Miranda and Caliban(91)

They do not say anything, the poor dumb animals. But I will take care of them until Miranda does send for me. I milk the nanny-goat and scratch her ears the way she does like.

In the hearth, there is only grey ashes, but I dig in them and find embers underneath the grey. I bring kindling from the woodpile and blow on the embers until they do glow and catch fire.

I will tend the fire.

I will take care of the animals.

All until you do send for me, Miranda; only I wonder how long it will be. But you did promise.

(Oh, but he held your hand in his and you did let him, Miranda.) No.

No, I will not think thoughts that will make my poor empty heart sick with hatred and badness.

I look through the palace to see what else they did leave behind, and waah! In Master’s sanctum—no Prospero’s sanctum, I am free and I will not think that servant-word anymore—the walls are black with soot. All of Miranda’s paintings that were so beautiful are gone.

I wish they were not gone. I would have looked at them every day and thought about Miranda painting them.

Oh, but I go to Miranda’s chamber, and what do I find on the window-ledge? There is Umm’s mirror that I did give to Miranda so long ago, bright and shiny. I know Miranda did leave it here for me to find, and I am glad; only I do not want to look into it and see my face anymore.

No, I do not.

That night I sleep in Miranda’s bed. They did take the linens, but not the pallet that smells of her and the dried grass it is stuffed with.

There is no one to greet the dawn.

It is so quiet.

I gather eggs and milk the goat.

I tend to the fire.

Then I go to the high place.

I am not so foolish that I think there will be anything to see, no. I know that it will be a long time, a very long time. It is only that I do not know what else to do.

Setebos watches.

I watch, too.

“La!” Ariel’s voice says behind me. “Dost thou imagine they’ll return for thee? Surely not!”

I do not turn to look at him. “Go away.”

Ariel steps around in front of me. “Thou art a guileless fool and a dreamer,” he says with pity. “And ’tis only by the grace of God that thou art not a murderer.”

I do look at him then; I look at him and think how much I hate him. “I wish I had never given Setebos’s name to Master,” I say in a hard voice. “None of this would have happened if he had not freed you.”

“Nor would it if thy mother had not imprisoned me in the first place,” Ariel says. “And Prospero would have had the name from thee one way or another. Still, I suppose I do owe thee for it.”

“I want nothing from you,” I say.

“And yet thou shalt have it,” Ariel says. “Do thyself a kindness and heed my counsel: Forget the maiden and put her out of thy thoughts, for she will surely do the same.”

I shake my head. “No. Miranda will send for me. She did promise. One day, she will send for me.”

There is oh, such pity in Ariel’s gaze that I look away again. “As thou wilt, Caliban,” he murmurs. “On thy head be it.”

When I look back, he is gone.

I watch the sea.

Behind me, Setebos laughs at the sky.

Oh, Miranda! I do love you and I will wait for you always. One day, you will send for me.

Until then, I will think of you and remember.

You in the sunlight.

You on the grass.

You with the yellow flowers.