Hamlet, Macbeth and Elsinore
APPROACHING Konventum in Helsingør (Elsinore- the home of Hamlet’s castle) with my three sons at the height of summer, we prepared mentally for the day of chess ahead.
We were on our way to the children’s Politiken’s cup event, an annual international chess tournament.
As we approached the building complex, an unusually handsome black middle-aged man was standing alone on the lawn shouting and gesticulating.
I smiled and when he smiled broadly back to me I felt reassured that he was not mad.
Shortly afterwards I read in the newspaper that he was an English actor, one of the few non-whites to play Hamlet in Helsingør. He had been rehearsing.
You don’t know for sure that I am not of the clan.
I might have a Macbeth in the DNA woodpile. I haven’t done the test yet. My uncle is said to have initiated a vicious rumour that we have an English ancestor.
Let’s hope that Denmark dosen’t rot in my story either, the story told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.
There is no dagger. It was the false creation of a heat-opressed mind.
This was originally a response to a piece by Thin Man, who has since left Medium. I have decided to let this piece stand.
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