Othello

Excuse me, do you know which room Lieutenant Cassio lies in?

I wouldn’t dare say he lies anywhere.

Why do you say that?

He’s a soldier. If I accused a soldier of lying, he’d stab me.

Oh, come on. Where does he sleep?

Telling you where he’s sleeping is like telling you where I’m lying.

What on earth does that mean?

I don’t know where he’s staying, so if I told you he’s sleeping here or there, I’d be lying.

Can you ask around and find out?

I’ll go ask questions everywhere.

Find him and tell him to come here. Tell him I’ve spoken to my husband on his behalf, and I think everything will be all right.

I think I can do that. It’s not too much to ask.

Where could I have lost that handkerchief, Emilia?

I don’t know, madam.

Believe me, I’d rather have lost a purse full of gold coins. This would be enough to make my husband suspect me, if he wasn’t so free of jealousy.

He’s not jealous?

Who, him? I think all tendencies to jealousy were burned out of him by the sun of his native land.

Look, here he comes.

I won’t leave him alone until he gives Cassio his job back.—How are you, my lord?

I’m fine, my lady.—(to himself) Oh, it’s so hard to pretend!—How are you, Desdemona?

I’m fine, my lord.

Give me your hand. Your hand’s moist, my lady.

It’s moist because it’s still young and inexperienced.

It says you’re fertile, and you’ve got a giving heart. Hot, hot and moist. With a hand like this you need to fast and pray to stave off temptations. Someone with a young sweating hand like this one is bound to act up sooner or later. It’s a nice hand, an open one.

You’re right to say that. This was the hand that gave you my heart.

This hand gives itself away very freely. In the old days, people used to give their hearts to each other when they joined their hands in marriage. But these days, people give each other their hands without their hearts.

I don’t know about that. Now, don’t forget, you promised me something.

What did I promise, my dear?

I sent for Cassio to come talk with you.

I have a bad cold that’s bothering me. Lend me your handkerchief.

Here, my lord.

No, the one I gave you.

I don’t have it with me.

You don’t?

No, my lord.

That’s not good. An Egyptian woman gave that handkerchief to my mother. She was a witch, and she could almost read people’s thoughts. She told my mother that as long as she kept it with her, my father would love and desire her. But if she lost it or gave it away, my father would start hating her and looking at other women. When she was dying she gave it to me and told me to give it to my wife when I got married. I did. So pay attention. Treat it as something precious. Losing it or giving it away would be an unspeakable loss, a loss like none other.

Is that possible?

Yes, it’s true. There’s magic in its fabric. A two-hundred-year-old witch sewed it while she was in a fevered trance. The silk came from sacred silkworms, and it was dyed with fluid made from embalmed virgins’ hearts.

Really? Is that true?

It’s absolutely true, so take good care of it.

I wish I had never seen it!

Ha! Why?

Why are you yelling at me so angrily?

Is it lost? Is it gone? Tell me, is it missing?

God help me!

What do you have to say for yourself?

It’s not lost, but what if it were?

What do you mean?

I’m telling you, it’s not lost.

Then bring it here. Let me see it.

I could, sir. But I don’t want to now. This is just a trick to take my mind off what I’m asking you for. Please hire Cassio again.

Bring me the handkerchief—My mind is full of doubt.

Come on. You know you’ll never find a more capable man.

The handkerchief!

He’s counted on your friendship for his success. He’s shared dangers with you—

The handkerchief!

Really, I don’t think you’re behaving very well.

Damn it!

And you say he’s not jealous?

I never saw him like this before. There must be some magic in that handkerchief. I’m miserable that I lost it.

Men are all the same, but it takes longer than a year or two to see how bad they are. They’re like stomachs and we’re just the food. They eat us up hungrily, and when they’re full, they vomit us up. Look, here comes Cassio and my husband.

There’s no other way. She’s the one who’s got to do it. And what luck, she’s here! Go ahead and ask her.

Hello, Cassio. How are you?

Nothing, madam. Just my earlier request. I’m begging you to help me get back on his good side. I’m devoted to him with all my heart. I can’t wait any longer. If my wrongdoing was so serious that I can’t get back into his good graces either by my past service, or my present situation, or the promise of devoted service in the future, just knowing that would help me. Then I could stop wondering, and find some other career.

I’m sorry, dear Cassio, but now is not the right time to bring up your case. My husband’s not himself. If his face changed as much as his personality has, I wouldn’t recognize him. God knows I have done my best to argue for you, and made him angry at me for being so aggressive. You’ll just have to be patient for a little while. I’ll do what I can, more than I’d do for myself. Let that be enough for you.

Is Othello angry?

He just left, clearly upset about something.

Can he even get angry? It’s hard to believe. I’ve seen him stay calm when cannons were blowing his soldiers to bits, even killing his own brother without him batting an eyelid—is he really upset? It must be about something important. I’ll go talk to him. If he’s angry, there must be something seriously wrong.

Please, do so.

There must be some political news from Venice, or some dangerous plot here in Cyprus has ruined his good mood. Men always get angry about little things when they’re really worried about bigger ones. That’s the way it goes. When our finger hurts, it makes the rest of the body hurt too. We shouldn’t expect men to be perfect, or for them to be as polite as on the weddingday. Oh, Emilia, I’m so inexperienced that I thought he was being unkind, but actually I was judging him harshly.

I hope to God it’s something political, like you think, and not jealousy involving you.

Oh no! I never gave him reason to be jealous.

But jealous people don’t think like that. They’re never jealous for a reason; they’re just jealous. It’s like a monster that just grows and grows, out of nothing.

I hope God keeps that monster from growing in Othello’s mind!

Amen to that, lady.

I’ll go look for him—Cassio, stay around here. If he’s in a good mood I’ll mention you again, and do everything I can.

I thank you, lady.

Hello, Cassio!

Why are you so far from home? How are you, my pretty Bianca? To tell you the truth, I was just going to your house.

And I was just going to yours. You’ve kept away from me for a week? Seven days and seven nights? A hundred and sixty-eight hours? And lovers’ hours are a hundred and sixty times longer than normal ones! What a tedious wait!

I’m sorry, Bianca. All this time I’ve been depressed and had problems on my mind. When I get some free time I’ll make it up to you. (he gives her DESDEMONA’s handkerchief) Sweet Bianca, would you copy this embroidery pattern for me?

Oh, Cassio, where did you get this? This is a gift from another woman, a new lover! Now I know why you’ve been staying away from me. Has it come to this? Well, well.

Oh, come on, woman. Stop jumping to silly conclusions. Now you’re jealous, thinking that this is from some mistress of mine, but I swear it’s not, Bianca.

Well, whose is it?

I don’t even know. I found it in my room. It’s pretty. Someone is certainly looking for it, and I’ll have to give it back. So I’d like it copied. Take it and do that for me, and leave me alone for a while.

Leave you alone! Why?

I’m waiting here for the general, and I don’t want him to see me with a woman.

And why’s that?

It’s not because I don’t love you.

But you don’t love me. Please, just walk with me a little ways, and tell me if I’ll see you later tonight.

I can only walk a little way with you, since I’m waiting here. But I’ll see you soon.

All right, have it your way. I have to make do.