Macbeth

‘I haven’t forgotten anything. I haven’t forgotten that Hecate said you’ll be the chief commissioner, and that means he has a plan. We take care of Duncan and he’ll take care of Malcolm. And I haven’t forgotten the evening you took care of Ernest Collum. Duncan is Collum, my sweet. He’s holding a pistol to the head of our dream. And you have to find the courage you displayed that evening. You have to be the man you were that night, Macbeth. For me. For us.’ She placed a hand on his cheek and softened her voice. ‘Life doesn’t give the likes of us that many opportunities, darling. We have to grasp the few that offer themselves.’

He lay there. Silent. She waited. Listened, but no words drowned out the beating of her heart now. He had ambition, dreams and the will, she knew that, they were what had raised him from the mess he had found himself in — they had turned a youth addicted to drugs into a police cadet and later the head of SWAT. That was the affinity they had: they had both made good, paid the price. Should he stop now, halfway there, before they could enjoy the rewards? Before they could enjoy the respect and admire the view? He was courageous and a ruthless man of action, but he had failings that could prove costly. A lack of evil. The evil that you needed, if only for one decisive second. The second when you have to cope with not having restrictive morality on your side, when you mustn’t lose sight of the bigger picture, mustn’t torment yourself by asking if you’re doing the right thing in this, the smaller one. Macbeth loved what he called justice, and his loyalty to the rules of others was a weakness she could love him for. In times of peace. And despise him for now, when the bells of war were ringing. She ran her hand from his cheek to his neck, slowly over his chest and stomach. And back up. Listened. His breathing was regular, calm. He was asleep.

Macbeth breathed deeply, as though he were sleeping. She took away her hand. Moved to lie down along his back. She was breathing calmly too now. He tried to breathe in time with her. Kill Duncan? Impossible. Of course it was impossible.

So why couldn’t he sleep? Why did her words persist, why did his thoughts whirl around in his head like bats?

Life doesn’t give the likes of us that many opportunities, darling. We have to grasp the few that offer themselves. He thought of the opportunities life had given him. The one that night in the orphanage, which he hadn’t grasped. And the one Banquo had given him, which he had. How the first one had almost killed him and the second had saved him. But isn’t it that you don’t take some opportunities that are offered because they will condemn you to unhappiness anyway, opportunities that will cause regret for the rest of your life whether you take them or not? Oh, the insidious dissatisfaction that will always poison the most perfect happiness. And yet. Had fate opened a door that would soon shut? Was his courage letting him down again, the way it had let him down that night in the orphanage? He visualised the man in the bed that time, asleep, unsuspecting. Defenceless. A man who stood between him and the freedom every human being deserved. Between him and the dignity every human being should crave. Between Macbeth and the power he would gain. And the respect. And the love.

Day had started to break when he woke Lady.

‘If I did this...’ he said, ‘I would be beholden to Hecate.’

She opened her eyes as though she had been awake the whole time. ‘Why do you think like that, darling? Hecate has only prophesied that something will happen, so there is no debt to be paid.’

‘So what has he to gain by my becoming chief commissioner?’

‘You’d better ask him, but it’s obvious — he must have heard that Duncan has sworn he won’t rest until he has arrested Hecate. And he probably knows it’s not inconceivable that you would prioritise action against the drugs gangs who use violence and shoot each other in the streets.’

‘The Norse Riders, whose back has already been broken?’

‘Or against establishments that cheat good people out of their savings.’

‘The Obelisk?’

‘For example.’

‘Hm. You said something about the big things we could do. Were you thinking of something good for the town?’

‘Of course. Remember the chief commissioner decides which politicians need to be investigated and which do not. And anyone who has any knowledge of the town council knows that everyone in a position of power during the last ten years has paid for services in ways that would not bear close scrutiny. And that they in turn have demanded payment. Under Kenneth they didn’t need to bother to camouflage their corruption, the evidence was there for all to see. We know that, they know that, and it means we can control them as we wish, my love.’