Bottom's Last Dream

On Midsummer’s Eve, Bottom the Weaver opened the door of his hut to see the last crescent of sun dropping behind Theseus’s castle. He still thought of it as Theseus’s castle even though Theseus’s son Duke Hippolytus reigned there now. He stepped out into the warm evening, turning to take one last look at the loom that was his livelihood. For years, he had been the best weaver for miles around, but now, with his failing eyesight, he found it hard to make fabric with the fine details that had been his signature, and he was relegated to weaving coarse blankets and shawls.

The sounds of revelry wafted from the town center, but Bottom turned away from the heart of town toward the Duke’s Oak where, many years ago, he and his friends had rehearsed for their triumphant performance at the nuptials of Theseus and Hippolyta. Every year since then, the six players met there at Midsummer to spend the short night sharing a bottle or two of sack and reliving the memory of that day.

His friends were all gone now. Quince the Carpenter was first to go, falling from a roof two years after their triumph. His saintly wife passed into heaven five years ago. Snout the Tinker, who played the Wall, had died in his sleep this spring.

Bottom, carrying bottle, bread and cheese in a pouch, planned to visit the Oak one last time. Henceforth, he would celebrate Midsummer in town with sons and daughters and grandchildren of the players. He would try to tell them of the wonder of that day. None would want to listen to the ramblings of an old man, but that wouldn’t stop him. Bottom only needed an audience of one, even if that one was a dog or a donkey.

He followed the narrow path up the hill around the castle. His knees and feet ached from years of standing at his loom. The hand that held his walking stick ached from too many throws of the shuttle. He had to rest below the castle’s south turret. The pain in his chest was new, probably caused by the eggs he borrowed from Snug the Joiner’s daughter. He was sure that hens that complained so loudly laid eggs that continued to complain after he cooked them.

The Oak stood proudly on a low hill on the north side of the castle. Over the years, its trunk had grown broader, and its branches hung lower, matching the changes in Bottom’s own body. He sat with his back against the wood looking into the forest on the slope below him. He ate bread and cheese and drank the wine. He drank more wine because the bread was dry.

Soon the sun set and with it, the moon rose. It was a rare Midsummer Night with a full moon, like the one when he had his dream of a queen and her fairies, a dream that was beyond the wit of man to comprehend and beyond the patience of his friends to hear again. Every year at this time he remembered that dream, and he longed to have one of his friends believe the story, but every year they forbade him to tell it. Last year, when only two men came to the Oak, Snout barely let him get started before objecting.

“Stop it, Bottom,” he had said. “If there were fairies, why would they choose you?”

It was a question that Bottom had asked himself all these years.

Before the moon rose above the trees, the bread and cheese were gone, and the wine followed closely. He had vowed to stay up all night to honor the long-standing tradition, but until this year, he had always had friends to help pass the time. He needed someone to talk to. A barn owl landed on the lowest branch of the Oak.

“Good Barney, let me tell you a story.”

The owl screeched and spread its wings. The wind from its flight tousled Bottom’s hair as it flapped twice and then glided away into the forest.

He peered after it. Maybe a fox would wander by, or a cat in search of a mouse or vole. Nothing moved, and he fell asleep.

Something soft touched his cheek.

He raised his fingers to his face, expecting to find a moth. Instead, he clasped a small hand. He started awake to see a sprightly face with big brown eyes and with pointed features that glowed faintly with purple.

“I have come here every year

When the veil is thin and easy to cross.

Finally, I have found you here

Alone atop the spongy moss.”

“Peaseblossom? Is that you?”

Before she could answer, another fairy pushed her aside. This one had hair the color of a sunflower and diaphanous wings like faded daffodils. She smelled of lemons.

“Mustardseed?”

“We have come, the three of us,

To take you home where you belong.”

“The three of you?” Another sprite floated from the branches of the tree, almost invisible in the dark. She seemed barely solid. “Cobweb?”

“Come along without a fuss

To dance along and hear our song.”

“You remember us from years gone by,” said Mustardseed.

“When you came to be our guest.”

“Touch my hand and we can fly,” said Peaseblossom.

“To see our Queen and join our fest,” they all said together.

Peaseblossom took his right hand and Mustardseed his left. Cobweb wrapped the hem of her gown around his feet. Together, they lifted him into the branches of the Duke’s Oak. He flinched as they crashed through the canopy into the sky above the forest. He turned his head to look at the Duke’s castle from above, but it was gone. He had traveled to the land of magic in the blink of an eye.

All his life, Bottom had wondered if his visit with the queen and her fairies was real or a dream. His friends said that there were no fairies and that those who saw them were not right in the head. But he had had many dreams in his life and none of them included such vivid flavors and textures. He remembered the taste of apricots and dewberries, the smell of honey wine and jasmine, the soft bed of moss where he lay with the queen. He remembered these three sprites who, unlike Bottom himself, had not changed at all. Now, as he soared above the trees of the forest, he knew that his dream was real.

Bottom’s flight ended with the fairies lowering him into a clearing about the size of his town’s square that teemed with dancing fairies and animals. In the center of the clearing, a bonfire raged, lighting the surrounding woods with flickering flames. Around the edges, he saw deer and rabbits, foxes and cougars, pheasants and lizards. A barn owl perched on the low branch of a chestnut tree.

“Good Barney, did you follow me here?”

“Who.”

“Me. Did you follow me?”

Peaseblossom took his elbow and escorted him across the clearing to a beautiful fairy wearing a gown of wildflowers who sat in a throne woven from the live branches of walnut tree. How could he forget Titania, the hostess of the revery of his youth? As he approached, she rose and stepped toward him with open arms.

“My dear Bottom,” she said, embracing him. “Welcome to our Midsummer celebration. Eat. Drink. Dance. Then come spend time with me as we did so long ago.”

“Miss Queen, I am happy to be here and to see that you haven’t aged a whit.”

“A fairy’s life is long and full.

We have no time for growing old.

Let the big folk gather wool.

Their worries speed their lives eightfold.”

She raised his hand and passed it to Cobweb who swirled around him. “Now dance,” Titania said.

Cobweb drew him into the dance. Three satyrs formed the band. One played the pan pipes, another played an instrument with a single string of vine, and the third played a drum fashioned from a tortoise shell. When the tortoise moved, the satyrs followed. The one who played the pipes had a face like Flute the Bellows Mender who had performed the part of Thisbe in their triumphant production. He had been gone for more than ten years. Bottom waved, but he played on, watching the other dancers.

As Bottom danced, the aches in his limbs subsided. He felt better than he had in years. The pain in his chest was still there, maybe slightly worse than earlier. That was the last egg he would borrow from Miss Snug.

After dancing, Mustardseed guided him to mounds of fresh berries and stone fruit: apricots, cherries and peaches. The sleeves of his shirt showed stains of pink and yellow from the juices that his lips could not contain. His daughter Blossom, who did his laundry, would tell him for the hundredth time that he should use a bib when he ate. But tonight was not a night to be careful. He would burn the shirt to avoid her wrath.

Mustardseed nudged him toward the Queen’s throne.

“Go now, good sir, to see our Queen

Who waits for you in leafy bower.

You may hide behind her screen

And love her for a splendid hour.”

The Queen rose again and with one hand lifted them both into the branches of her tree. Bottom wanted to speak, for speaking was his nature. Most days, he could talk the ears off a marble statue, but the sight of the Queen’s gown sliding to the floor left him without words. When she stepped forward and kissed him, he wasn’t sure if he had ever spoken in his life.

When they returned to the celebration, another fairy met them. He was an odd little fellow with a pot belly and a friar’s tonsure. He wore pantaloons with ragged ends that stopped just below the knee and a loose shirt with sleeves that rippled in the breeze. His eyes glowed blue and reflected the golden flames of the bonfire.

“I am Puck, a sprightly sprite.

Welcome to this festive night.

Can I make your time more bright?

If aught is wrong, I’ll set it right.”

“I feel great,” Bottom said, “except for this pain in my chest. Is there anything you can do about that?”

Puck looked at Titania who nodded. Puck frowned and took a deep breath.

“The only way to ease your pain

Will keep you here and close the door.

It means you can’t go home again.

You’ll stay with us forever more.”

“I want the pain to go away,” Bottom said. “I’m afraid it’s killing me. I want to stay here. I’ve wanted to return since my first visit years ago. I have so little pleasure left in my home.”

Puck stepped away to a table filled with food and returned with a piece of bread and a wooden cup overflowing with water. He dipped the bread in the cup and held it out for Bottom.

“Master Bottom, weaver of thread,

Weaver of tales, weaver of dreams,

When you taste this slice of bread

Dipped in water from elfin streams,

You will change into a fairy.

With that change your pain will go.

Your face will be as bright as cherry,

You’ll sprout a tail and horns will grow.”

Bottom took the bread from Puck’s outstretched hand. As he held it to his mouth, he felt a pulse of intense pain in his chest.

“This might hurt a little,” Puck said.

It couldn’t hurt more than his chest. Bottom took a bite but felt nothing, so he crammed the entire slice of bread into his mouth and forced himself to swallow it all. The pain grew more and more intense and then stopped. A strange sensation replaced the pain as his feet bent into the shape of goat hooves. He felt his forehead and found two short horns growing there. The rope that held up his pants was much too loose, and the pants fell to the ground. A red tail whipped around haphazardly. He grabbed the end and traced it hand over hand to the bottom of his spine.

He jumped and danced. He felt like he was seventeen again. He chased down the musicians and grabbed Flute by the elbow.

“Bottom, is that you? Have you come to join us?”

Bottom’s daughter Blossom – her father claimed she was named after a fairy called Peaseblossom – opened the door to Bottom’s hut expecting to hear him snoring, but the hut was empty. He had left a blanket nearly finished on the loom. The bread and cheese she had brought for the celebration was gone.

She knew where to find him. She had told him not to go alone to the Duke’s Oak this year, but he was as stubborn as he was dense. Mama had always said his weaving was perfect, but the weaver had a few threads loose. She better go get him. With his bad knees, he would have trouble coming down the hill from the castle.

She followed the narrow path and found the place where he had sat in the heather to rest below the south turret. As she approached the Oak, she saw him sleeping with his back against the trunk. His shirt was mottled with red and yellow stains. Strawberries? Peaches? Where did he find them? Why did he refuse to wear a bib? That shirt would be hard to clean.

He was very still. She looked for the rising of his chest, but it didn’t move. She ran the last few steps and picked up his cold hands.

“Papa,” she whispered. “Papa,” she said louder. “Papa,” she screamed.

She sat beside him, put her head on his shoulder and cried.

“Papa,” she said between sobs, “I hope you are finally with your fairies.”