That Scottish Play
Is this a dagger “Is this a dagger which I see before me, The handle toward my hand? Come, let me—” “Stop what you’re doing, BAGEE.” DAGEE rose from his folding chair in the darkened theater and rubbed the bridge of his nose. BAGEE froze mid-gesture, one enormous metallic paw extended into empty air. “Why?” BAGEE said, his voice modulator flattening the word into something halfway between confusion and irritation. “What did I do now?” “It’s not what you did,” DAGEE sighed. “It’s what you’re not doing.” BAGEE slowly lowered his paw. “Like what? I’m reading the soliloquy exactly as requested.” “That’s the problem. You’re reading it. You’re supposed to emote it. Macbeth is—” BAGEE abruptly straightened. “I thought you said we weren’t supposed to say his name. Something about bad luck.” “You can say his name if you’re referring to the character,” DAGEE replied patiently. “You just can’t say the name of the p...
