New Beginnings

It is not generally realised that Macbeth made a third visit to the witches on the blasted heath, in addition to the two that are recorded in the famous Scottish play by that bloke from Stratford with the receding hairline.

“Hi there”, Macbeth offered in greeting, as cheerily as he could manage under the circumstances.

“You again?” said the chief witch. “What do you want this time?”

“Well”, said Macbeth, “the thing is that I’m getting ever so slightly worried about the way things are turning out”.

“That’s hardly surprising”, said witch number two, “given that you’ve already slaughtered half the cast and your wife has gone completely doolally. On those grounds, ‘ever so slightly worried’ would appear to be something of an understatement”.

“And what do you expect us to do about it?” asked witch number three. “We told you what would happen, but if you chose to conveniently ignore the bits that didn’t suit you at the time, that’s hardly our problem, is it?”

“Yes”, said Macbeth, “I’m sure you’re right, but it looks very much as though I’ll end up dead by the time the curtain falls at the end of Act Five, and I’d quite like that not to be the case.”

“Let’s get this straight”, said the chief witch. “You’re the title character in ‘The Tragedy of Macbeth’ and you expect to still be alive at the end of it? Have you ever seen a Shakespeare tragedy? Hamlet? Othello? King Lear? How many of those plays conclude with a jolly little song and dance number?”

“But that’s just the point”, said Macbeth. “I want you to fix it so that this play is different from the others. How about ‘The Tragi-Comedy of Macbeth’? Everything looks terrible half way through Act Four but it all ends up OK by the final curtain.”

“And just how are we supposed to manage that?” asked witch number two. “We said you’d be king, and your wife decided that killing the guy who was actually king at the time was the way to make that happen. We said that Banquo’s descendants would be kings, so you bumped off Banquo and nearly got his son as well. It’s your own stupid fault you’re in the mess you are now, not ours”.

“That’s what tragedy is all about”, said witch number three. “Some idiot gets above himself, does some stupid things and ends up paying the price. In the current case, that idiot is you.”

“But can’t I make a fresh start?” Macbeth pleaded. “Suppose I go to Macduff and say that it was all a terrible misunderstanding and I’m really sorry that I murdered his entire family, and would he like to go with me for a walking holiday in the Trossachs? I’d even offer to pay his bar bills”.

“And how you think he’d react to that?” asked the chief witch. “You reckon he’d let bygones be bygones, do you?”

"It’s worth a try, surely?” said Macbeth. “Especially if I tell him some of my best jokes, like the one about the Englishman, the Scotsman and the pound of pork sausages?”

“I don’t think I’ve heard that one”, said witch number two, “how does it go?”

Macbeth was on the point of telling her when the chief witch pointed out the fatal flaw in his plan.

“That’s all very well”, she said, “but don’t you think that Mr Shakespeare’s audiences will be just a teeny bit disappointed with all the build-up to the gory battlefield death of the central character, only to end up with the protagonists having a belly-laugh and exiting stage left arm-in arm?”

“OK”, said Macbeth, “how about Plan B?”

“Which is?”

“You suddenly reveal that everything that happened in the first three acts took place in a parallel universe, and that the whole thing was a figment of somebody’s imagination? Duncan is actually alive and well, and so is everyone else.”

“Presumably”, said the chief witch, “your wife is not a raging homicidal maniac but a Sunday-school teacher from a small village in Dorset?”

“Now you’re talking!” said Macbeth. “I like what you’re saying! You simply make a whole new set of predictions and we all live happily ever after!”

“You’ve convinced me”, said witch number two. “Leave it to us and we’ll sort everything out. New beginnings! Don’t you worry about a thing.”

And with that Macbeth marched back down the hill from the witches’ camp, whistling a merry tune. It was just as well that a strong wind was blowing in his face as he walked away, because it rendered him incapable of hearing the guffaws of laughter that came from the trio round the cauldron.