A Modern-Day Shakesperean tragedy with a Tolstoyian Twist and Camusesque Finale
À la Shakespeare
The sun shone its radiant glow upon the warm grass outside the anatomy building casting a golden shadow on Ziegfried or Ziggy as his mother affectionately called him until she ran off to join a Manchurian circus as the Incredible White Beached Whale. The last letter Ziggy received from his mother was on his 12 birthday, when she mailed him a birthday card which played hava nagila when opened and in which he she inscribed in yak butter “Dearest Ziggy, remember to floss. And don’t get any tattoos. Love Mom” He had kept this letter close to his heart for months until the yak butter became rancid and gave him a body odour which made people around wretch. After an old lady sitting next to him on the bus went into a gastro-intestinal seizure upon catching a whiff, Ziggy decided to make a photocopy. The original was framed and hung on a wall in his room next to his bubble-gum origami collection.
Ziggy lay on the grass glaring at an intrepid squirrel who had developed an interest in his liver-wurst sandwich. “I bite my tongue at thee, squirrel.” The squirrel stopped and shot Ziggy a look of pure hatred. Ziggy recognized that look, as it was the same one he got when he contemplated biting Malcomilian his obese arch-nemesis and possibly infecting him with rabies.
As Ziggy lay on the grass, soaking up the sun’s vibrant golden harpoons, his daydream in which he was the Madame at a Turkish steam bath was rudely interrupted by a shock of red hair which blocked his view of the sky. Startled, he sat up and saw a fellow med student shyly smiling, unconsciously wrapping a lock of red hair around her finger, and putting the end into the edge of her mouth. So nervous was she that she had forgotten to remove her latex gloves and was coating her hair with formaldehyde and peritoneal residue, something which Ziggy found strangely erotic.
Jehosapphine Guggenshmeckler or Jegu as her friends called her couldn’t recall the last time her heart pounded so hard. There was the time when she saw her father dressed as a Gambian goat-farmer for a Halloween party making untowards advances towards a still-life photo of Humphrey Bogart but years of psycho-analysis had allowed her to accept that. She fondly thought of her therapist, a short plump bald man with a neatly-trimmed goatie, who had penetrated her innermost subconscious. “You’re bitter at your father for the love he shows to his exotic fish collection.” How clear it was! She immediately went home and destroyed her fathers beloved fish tank howling with glee as the rare striped pumpernikel fish which here father had nick-named Larry flopped around on the floor in the throes of death. Her father upon seeing his massacred sea friends was inconsolable for weeks, but came around eventually although he inexplicably continued to buy fish food which mounted in his bedroom and could often be heard wailing at three in the morning “Larry, larry, you were too good for this cruel world.”
For months Jegu had her eye on Ziggy, adoringly gazing at him as he deftly dissected the vas deferens from his cadaver, then pumped his arms in the air in a Rocky-esque expression of victory. His thick black hair, slight chest, and distinctive gait made her heart pitter-patter and she would sit gazing at him for minutes, memorizing the oily pores on his hooked nose. He of course was oblivious of her, as he was of most people in his class although he seemed to spend a disproportionate amount of time staring at Loraliza Morkenthal the most beautiful girl in the class while humming “if I was a rich man”.
As Jehosapphine looked at Ziggy sitting on the warm lush green grass, she thought that this was the most daring thing she ever did. Ziggy unaccustomed to having people look at him for any length of time was shocked silent for a few seconds before haltingly commencing to speak, using pick-up lines he remembered from the Fresh Prince of Bel-Air. How he loved that show. After that initial meeting, the two were inseparable and after 6 months of exchanging love haikus decided to get married.
Ziggy decided though right before the wedding to get himself tested for STD’s as he worked last summer as a bartender in a trangendered cowboy-and-princess themed nightclub and did a lot of ecstasy while there in order to deal with the mind-crushing boring repetitiveness of making Shirley Temples and listening to his drunken clientele raving about the sublimeness of Brokerback Mountain.
Ziggy sat in the doctor’s office his palms sweatier then a Puorto Rican maid suffering from hyperthyroidism. The doctor looked at the results and reflected that this was the second saddest moment he could remember, the first being his wedding night when his wife revealed that she had been wearing a Victorian corset throughout their courtship and that she was in fact three dress sizes larger.
“Im sorry Ziggy, but you have HIV” He frowned “And you’re insurance won’t cover it”
Ziggy started crying, “I knew I shouldn’t have trusted those insurance salesmen who came to her our class and bribed us with falafels and camel milk.”
After tolerating Ziggy’s acidic tears spilling on his baby leather couch for exactly 87 seconds, the doctor gently pushed Ziggy out the door with a long Zulu spear.
Ziggy ran home to Jigu and told her his viral predicament. After contemplating this unexpected situation, Jehosapphine kissed him and bravely said
“Whereforth shall you go, shall I follow. And to thou shall I never forsake for our bond has been sealed in my heart and yea shall thou knowest the grandeur of mine. For is not my love for you greater then any fear of immunological destruction?”
Overcome the couple embraced and got married three months later by a reform rabbi. Jegu’s father was crying, but was quickly overcome by happiness when he realized that the kippas that were given out would cover his bald spot.
À la Tolstoy
The two became a married couple and nine months later commenced retroviral therapy. On their first anniversary, Ziggy was deeply touched when his mother sent from Mongolia matching his-and-hers triple drug cocktail pill boxes as a wedding present. However the years past, and the old spark was flickering. Jegu became a nagging shrew and acquired a new york yiddish accent. In order to escape her constant complaints about indigestion Ziggy would often spend hours away from home knocking back iced cappuccinos at the Tim Hortons where he was a regular. When he would finally come back in a caffeine-induced stupor, his wife would start screaming, “Ziggy, oy, after everything ive done for you this is how you treat me. I got HIV for you, you shmo. The least you could do would be to massage my corns.”
Ziggy finally couldn’t take it and ran away from home, taking with him only a spare pair of underwear and pair of novelty handcuffs he enjoyed playing with. Jegu, overwhelmed with the loss of her beloved husband in a fit of passion overdosed on baby aspirin.
À la Camus
On the way to her funeral, Ziggy was run over by a taxi driver.
The End