After the Trial of Hamlet, Chicago, 1994

After the Trial of Hamlet, Chicago, 1994


Did Hamlet mean to kill Polonius? Diane and I sit
at a table with the rich, who have the luxury to
discuss such things over a veal dinner. The vegetables
are beautiful! We have just come from the mock Trial
of Hamlet, which is more a fund-raiser and social
gathering, but we must render a verdict. I am here

because I wrote a book which nobody here has read,
a book that Diane reads because she loves me. My
book has nothing to do with Hamlet. My book is
filled with reservation Indians. Maybe my book has
everything to do with Hamlet. The millionaire
next to me sets down one of his many forks
to shake my hand.

He tells me that the poor need the rich more
than the rich need the poor. Abigail Van Buren
eats corn at the next table. I read this morning
she has always believed homosexuality is just as
genetically determined as heterosexuality. Finally,
somebody tells the truth. Dear Abby can have all
the corn she wants! I'll pay. She wears a
polka-dot dress

and is laughing loudly at something I know is not
funny. Did Hamlet really see his father's ghost?
Was there a ghost? Was Hamlet insane
or merely angry when he thrust his sword through
that curtain and killed Polonius?
The millionaire tells me taxicab drivers, shoe
shine men, waiters, and waitresses exist

only because the rich, wearing shiny shoes, often
need to be driven to nice restaurants. A character
actor walks by with a glass of wine. I recognize
him because I'm the type of guy who always
recognizes character actors. He knows that I
recognize him but I cannot tell if he wants me
to recognize him. Perhaps he is afraid that I am

confusing him with another character actor who is
more famous or less famous.
He might be worried that I will shout his name
incorrectly and loudly, transposing first and last
names, randomly inserting wild syllables that have
nothing to do with his name.
Did Hamlet want to have sex with his mother, Gertrude?
Was Hamlet mad with jealousy

because Claudius got to have sex with Gertrude?
When is a king more than a king? When is a king
less than a king? Diane is beautiful. She wears
red lipstick which contrasts nicely with her
brown skin. We are the only Indians in Chicago!
No, we are the only Indians at the Trial
of Hamlet. I hold her hand under the table,
holding it

tightly until, of course, we have to separate so we
can eat our food. We need two hands to cut our veal.
Yet Diane will not eat veal. She only eats the
beautiful vegetables. I eat the veal and feel guilty.
The millionaire tells me the rich would love a
flat tax rate. He talks about interest rates
and capital gains, loss on investments

and trickle-down economics. He thinks he is smarter
than me. He probably is smarter than me, so I tell
him insecurely that I wrote a book.
I know he will never read it. My book has nothing
to do with Polonius. My book is filled with
reservation Indians. Maybe it has everything
to do with Polonius. A Supreme Court Justice

sits at the head table. He decides my life! He eats
rapidly. I want to know how
he feels about treaty rights. I want to know if he
feels guilty about eating the veal. There is no
doubt in my mind the Supreme Court Justice
recognizes the beauty of our vegetables.
Was Hamlet a man without logical alternatives?
Did he resort

to a mindless, senseless violence? Were his actions
those of a tired and hateful man? Or those of a
righteous son? The millionaire intro
duces his wife,
but she barely acknowledges our presence. Diane
is more gorgeous, though she grew up on reservations
and once sat in a tree house for hours, wishing she
had lighter skin. Diane wears

a scarf she bought for three dollars. I would ask her
to marry me right now, again, in this city where I
asked her to marry me then and has, in fact,
married me. Marriage causes us to do crazy things.
She reads my books. I eat veal. Was Hamlet guilty
or nhot by reason of insanity for the murder
of Polonius?

The millionaire tells me how happy he is to meet me.
He wishes me luck. He wants to know what I think
of Hamlet's case. He tells me
Hamlet,
insane or not, is responsible for what he did. There
is always something beautiful in the world at any
given moment. When I was poor I loved the five-dollar
bills I would unexpectedly find in coat pockets.
When I feel

tired now, I can love the moon hanging over the old
hotels of Chicago. Diane and I walk out into the
cold November air. We hail a taxi.
The driver is friendly, asks for our names,
and Dianes says, I'm Hamlet,
and this is Hamlet, my husband.
The driver wants to know where
we're from
and which way we want to go.
Home, we say, home.


Sherman Alexie.........from The Summer of Black Widows