Epilogue

Lands Acknowledgement: I ACKNOWLEDGE THAT THIS PROJECT WAS CREATED ON THE TRADITIONAL LANDS OF THE WACCAMAW (WOCCON), CHICORA, AND CATAWBA PEOPLES.

It is mid-day; the sun blazes his heat on the island. There is a slight breeze in the air. Leaves shuffles in the distance. Feet of wild boar can be heard follow by the rising heartbeat of Prospero’s. Prospero whispers to himself; he is manic. He can hear Caliban taunting him with hymns. He lies down near patches of indigo, right underneath the pine tree’s shade – today, it seems, that sun the is harsher than ever. Sweat drips down his aged and weary face. His speech is weak, toneless, and trite.

PROSPERO: Odd. The climate’s changed. It’s hotter on this island. Boars and opossums are everywhere – all unclean nature. It’s vile, that is what it is. I’ll have to rest soon. (shouting) Caliban, quiet! I need to rest, enough of your ignorant songs.

With every passing of the wind’s cool breeze, Prospero’s eyes begin to feel heavier. He cannot hear Caliban’s song anymore. His body relaxes as his mind takes him to a place, somewhere along the horizon – where the unconscious mind meets. (In the distance, an unusual sound is heard— Sycorax is here. Sycorax is here. Sycorax is here.)

PROSPERO: Where am I?

He stirs and jolts awake to the sound of drums beating. He begins to follow curiously to the music. It is similar to Caliban’s song. He sees an arch made of indigo and rocks in the distance. There is coffin in the middle – though his eyes are fixated on the woman preparing to speak.

She is dressed in black. Rope-like strands of braids cover her face and shoulders. Her skin reflects the warm colour of clay. could this be a funeral? He wondered.

SYCORAX: You are late. Take a seat on that rock. You will want to hear this, King Prospero.

PROSPERO: Who are you? Why are you on my island? I will not do such a thing unless you tell me what you are.

SYCORAX: I am Sycorax. I am a Caliban’s mother. I am a native inhabitant of ‘your’ island. Have a seat for the ceremony will begin shortly.

PROSPERO: Caliban’s mother? That blue-eye hag of a witch? I thought you were dead. Where is Caliban? What trick is he playing on me now? What in the hell is he up to? (shouting) Caliban! Come out! You can’t fool me!

SYCORAX: Caliban is here, though I am afraid he is playing his song again. That one – Freedom Hi-Day, Freedom Hi-Day.

Propero. The mighty hero of the play. The man that can do no wrong. What say you? Are you ready to hear my story? Prospero take a listen, oh please take a listen – rather, just sit on that rock and lend me your ear.

PROSPERO: The ear I’ll lend is yours. Yes, entertain me with your magical stories. It is rather dull on the island, now that is just me and fellow Caliban. Do me the trouble go, go tell the story. (whispers to himself) This will be fun. A wicked witch story to pass the time away.

SYCORAX: Very well so I shall begin.

Prospero, apologies, I may have forgotten to tell you the context of my story. You see, you are here for my funeral. You, Prospero, have given me the pleasure of telling you my very own eulogy. Your actions have silenced me, no rather -- your story that you told have silenced me. You degrade my son and you force him as a captive on my island. You ignore his songs and you made his freedom your own. You ruin my island with every step, every breath that you take. You curse Caliban’s existence – you deny his citizenship on my island and call it your own. So, hear this Prospero.

PROSPERO: (his aged face now carries a thousand lines of frustration. Prospero turns to Sycorax, his eyes flamed of anger.) How dare—

SYCORAX: No. Prospero, you do not get to silence me anymore. I will not be silence. I had enough. You say you’ll lend me your ears; I did not ask for you wretched mouth as well. Listen closely, listen to my devilish tone, my wicked words, call it black magic, but I call it the truth.

Sycorax. The Foul Witch. The Damned Witch Sycorax. She and her memories dearly passed when Prospero’s story began. From the mouth of Prospero himself, Sycorax was known as merely as a witch – perhaps Caliban’s mother as well. She was never to be remembered. She was a threat, the she-devil herself. She and her son were to be remembered and spoke of as ‘savages’ -- as something you should fear, violent, and dangerous. No. I am here to tell you the truth. No, Prospero. It is rather you and your kind that one should fear. You, Prospero, bring

chaos to her island. You have caused the mountain to tremble. You have claimed that is it your duty to stay on her island – as sole owner. You tear away her island’s beauty and you make those native inhabitants your slaves. You thrive on their work – you eat away their freedom. You fear that should you no longer have Caliban as a captive, you will starve. For who will worship you now? For who will accompany you and your guilts?

Sycorax stands by helplessness. She cannot protect her son. She is disgraced with herself. She wallows away while you mistreat Caliban – She laughs when you tell yourself that you are ‘saving’ Caliban, for what will a savage do without someone to control them? Someone to teach them humanity. She will not be silenced any longer. Sycorax hears Caliban’s cries, his song. She wonders when he will be deserving of freedom in your eyes. Prospero listen closely now. Listen to her words.

Prospero, what you fear should be yourself. You are the savage. You are not a master. You are not God. God fears you – he fears what he has created. The savagery that you speak only exists for your kind. You come onto her island and disrespect the native inhabitants. You deny Caliban of his maternal succession to the island. You only speak with violence. You cannot save what is never meant to be saved. Prospero hear her frustrations! Prospero heed her words! You ignore your morality – you are damned.

What say Sycorax is not of God’s creation too? What say she does not belong on her island? You call on her witchcraft and black magic out of fear. – She questions your patriarchal power does she not? She symbolizes everything you lack. You attempt to condemn her as a witch or a whore, but instead you create a powerful woman that breaks your misogynistic restrictions. You know for Syrocax is your greatest enemy.

Sycorax stops abruptly, the sounds of Caliban’s song overpower her voice.

FREEDOM HI-DAY, FREEDOM HI-DAY

FREEDOM HI-DAY, FREEDOM HI-DAY

Sycorax joins the music as she begins to hum a strange and unfamiliar tune –

I AM MY MOTHER’S SAVAGE DAUGHTER, I AM MY MOTHER’S SAVAGE DAUGHTER, I WILL NOT LOWER MY VOICE

Prospero eyes shifts to the coffin, he cannot bring himself to speak. The air is engulfed in smoke. He can feel the smoke in his lungs, nose, and mouth. The sun’s rays covered by ominous dark grey clouds. His mouth droops to let out a cough.

SYCORAX: Poor Prospero. Come. Come and look in the coffin.

Prospero is being led by Sycorax, he no longer has control of his legs. Sycorax leads him to the steps of the arch – she opens the coffin. Prospero bends his neck to look.

He sees his reflection staring at him. Shifting his eyes, he sees a smirk on Sycorax’s face. Caliban’s songs play blaringly in his ears – the smoke slowly trapping his reflection.

SYCROAX: (singing loudly) I AM MY MOTHER’S SAVAGE DAUGHTER – I WILL NOT LOWER MY VOICE

Credit: The song that Sycorax’s sings is My Mother’s Savage Daughter by Wyndreth Berginsdottir's album “I Have Wedded This Blade”