Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow

I’ve never thought of myself as a witch. But no doubt that’s what they will call me.

For me, the future is a blur of form and colour without sharp edges. It is in the shape of the clouds at sunset or the gleam of a blade of grass in the fields; momentary glimmers of what might be, in the same way one might see the shards of a reflection in the ripples of a pool of water.

Understanding the forgotten secrets of nature is both a gift and a curse – for I cannot create the future and I have no influence over what may come to pass. We know that the river flows towards the sea, but it would be futile to attempt to alter its course and direction. Nature doesn’t work that way.

From the moment I saw him riding on the heath I knew that I would love him. He was a tall silhouetted figure on horseback against the radiance of the winter sun and his fair hair absorbed the sunlight like a golden crown. I squinted as he approached and held up my hands to shield my eyes against the glare. It was impossible to know where the sun beams ended and the man began.

My two sisters, who know me so well, sensed the change of tension in my body and stood either side of me, their arms linked with mine to forge a chain. We are much stronger together and my sisters understand the mysteries of nature as well as I do. Witches, all three of us.

‘Good morning ladies, how far is it to the town of Forres?’ His demeanour was confident, in the fashion of a man who is used to getting his own way. The buttons on his coat glinted in the light, manifesting a wealth that myself and my sisters would never know.

How different things might have been if I’d just told him the way and we’d carried on our way home, but from that moment on I could no more change my destiny than I could change the direction of the ocean tides.

At the sound of his voice, I knew not only that I’d love him, but that he would never return my feelings. Like I say, foresight is just as much a curse as it is a gift. I could see the future of Scotland mapped out in front of me, in hazy ripples of sorrow and blood.

I have never claimed to be wise, and my actions on that day are proof of my simplemindedness. I was young and fresh-faced then. More than anything I wanted to impress the magnificent figure before me so that there was no chance of him ever forgetting my face.

‘Hail thee. Thane of Glamis, Thane of Cawdor and King Hereafter,’ I spoke.

My sisters moved closer towards me digging their fingers painfully into the flesh of my arms. But the young man laughed. He was so confident and carefree back then.

‘You are mistaken fair lady. Thane of Glamis, yes – but the title of Thane of Cawdor belongs to another. And as for the king… I can assure you that my uncle is very much alive and I have no interest in being more than what I already am.’

He galloped on without a backwards glance, his hair still shining like a halo, but I knew that my words would take root later on and that the handsome thane would soon seek me out again.

* * * * *

When he returned, as Thane of Cawdor, he had more time for me and even more questions. He was as handsome as ever, but his exuberant laugh had faded and his eyes had become melancholy and haunted.

‘Tell me again what you see,’ he asked me. I could not answer all his questions so instead I took him to my bed which satisfied him for a while.

‘You have bewitched me’, he whispered, as he slid his fingers over my bare skin and opened my legs with his touch. In some ways I had, but certainly not by using any more tricks or enchantments than any other woman my age.

For a while we lay together peacefully entwined in each other’s arms, until he started to ask again.

‘When will I be king?’ ‘Will it be soon?’ I shook my head and wished I could still the troubled waters which were churning within him.

‘I do not know everything,’ I said. ‘Are you not content to enjoy the present and let the future take its course?’

Perhaps these were foolish words but I wanted so much to make him understand the joy of living now.

He frowned and threw on his clothes in haste whilst muttering abuse through clenched teeth. The door slammed behind him and I was left alone, naked and abandoned.

Hot tears stung my eyes. I knew that he was riding home to his wife.

*****

He came back again. By now his eyes glowed with a feverish glaze and his cheeks had drained of colour. Our love-making grew rougher and urgent whilst the questions became more pressing.

‘Will the king die?’ ‘Will he be murdered?’

My blood ran cold at his words, and I asked myself what had happened to the carefree young man I’d met on the heath who had no wish to be any greater than he already was.

Of course, I’d known he had killed before and even been lauded for his bloodthirstiness on the battlefield, but a silent dagger in the night stained with royal blood earns itself a different circle of mortal hell.

Beads of sweat glistened on his forehead and I attempted to cool and sooth his face with my hands, but he batted me away.

What a useless gift foresight was – I would have given anything to have had the power to heal the torment eating away at his heart. I could feel the black edges of his soul rotting and festering like a tumour, but could do nothing but let the disease take hold of him.

Sometimes the present and the future would become confused and entangled but I could already see that he was marked with blood and that not even oceans would be able to cleanse away his sins.

‘Tell me again – what do you see within the seeds of time?’ he asked over and over again. ‘Will I be king?’

I bowed my head in humble assent, and could tell him no more. But I did not need to be a witch to guess his deep and vicious desires.

He left again dissatisfied by my silence.

When I heard the death owl scream in the dark night I knew the king had died, and our love had turned to shame.

What’s done is done.

* * * * *

I had hoped that the fulfilment of his ambitions would eventually bring him the peace he craved, but uneasy lies the head which wears the crown. Its golden weight rarely brings joy and serenity to those who stoop under its load.

When he visited again, it was under the cloth of darkness, for it would be unseemly for the king to visit the house of a common peasant woman.

It was as I feared. His laugh had dried up and his eyes were bleary from endless sleep deprivation. The skin had loosened around his bones and his hands trembled. Refusing to sit he paced the floor in a state of constant unrest.

We no longer made love. Instead he would command me to tell the secrets that nature whispered to me. Forever looking for unseen enemies lurking in the dark, he still wanted to know his fate. Being king had not been enough – only immortality would satisfy him now.

‘But I have no heirs,’ he would cry, tangled up with doubt and fear. ‘That is why they seek to harm me – they want to take the throne from me with their cruel ambition. Tell me I’m wrong! What do you see?’

He imagined death lurking around every corner. What could I tell him? No one lives forever.

Before he left he asked if I believed in ghosts. ‘They walk in the night and haunt my dreams. There’s an old saying my father used to tell me. Blood will have blood. The dead will have their revenge.’

* * * * *

‘My wife is dead,’ he snarled. ‘You witch!’

Tears rolled down my cheeks, but I did not weep at his brutal words or accusations, as much as I did for the dread of losing him. I still loved him despite his vile crimes and withered looks.

I had heard the rumours of an invading army, soldiers camouflaged with boughs of the forest. People said the forces were led by son of the king’s predecessor. They had come to kill the king and take back the throne. There had been too much anguish and bloodshed in the kingdom, and the people clamoured for change.

‘It’s your fault,’ he pointed a quivering finger at me. ‘You killed her. She should have lived hereafter. Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. You poisoned her soul with your foul prophecies.’

I collapsed to my knees and held my head in my hands, my throat choked and sore with sobbing. Was there truth in what he said? I had never meant to hurt anyone.

I had never sought to look into the future for myself. Life is such a beautiful, short-lived thing – a candle in the wind which may be extinguished in a moment – that it does not always serve well for us to keep looking forwards. Yet I had underestimated the vaulting ambition that sometimes pollutes human nature

‘Will I die?’ he asked me when his rage had passed. He raised a finger to my lips. ‘Actually - do not speak. I will hear no more of the future. Besides I begin to grow weary of the sun now anyway.’

It was the last visit. I could already smell the sweet earthy scent of the grave on his breath. I looked into the dead eyes of my past lover, and could see no more hope or ambition reflected there. He walked back out of my world in the same way he had entered it, into the blinding light of the pale sun.

References

William Shakespeare, Macbeth, Act V Scene V (c.1606)

Macbeth:

She should have died hereafter;

There would have been a time for such a word.

To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,

Creeps in this petty pace from day to day

To the last syllable of recorded time,

And all our yesterdays have lighted fools

The way to dusty death. Out, out, brief candle!

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player

That struts and frets his hour upon the stage

And then is heard no more: it is a tale

Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,

Signifying nothing.