I, Iago Part 25

"I'm taking mess with the captains at the citadel."

"Well, then," Desdemona said comfortably, unshakably confident of her power to soften him. She raised her arms to his neck, clasped her hands behind his head, and began to coo to him: "Tomorrow night, or Tuesday morning, or Tuesday noon, or Tuesday night, or Wednesday morning-"

"Desdemona!" Oth.e.l.lo said, trying halfheartedly to disentangle himself. It was hard to tell if he was laughing or scolding. I moved a step closer to Emilia, and she held out her hand; I moved closer yet so that our shoulders brushed against each other. We clenched hands.

"That's it, then," she whispered. "Even if he does not like it, he'll say yes to her, because it's her."

Desdemona was continuing to list all the possible times that Ca.s.sio might be received over the course of the next decade, and Oth.e.l.lo continued to make a noise that was half laughter, half chastis.e.m.e.nt. Desdemona pushed him further: "I would never deny you anything, love, so how can you deny me something so easy to grant? This is Michele Ca.s.sio, after all-the man that helped you woo me! I would not now be standing with my arms around you being so annoying, were it not for his kindnesses! If my words will not convince you, believe me, I have other ways-" And she began, in front of us, to reach toward his groin. Oth.e.l.lo pulled her arms off him and stepped back.

"Enough! Enough" he said sharply, and then, with impatient resignation: "Let him come when he will."

Emilia turned her head into my shoulder, muting a sigh.

"Stop that," I said fiercely into her ear. "That's your mistress and my master-do not embarra.s.s me with personal pettiness in front of them." She glanced up at me, stung.

Oth.e.l.lo had wrapped his arms around Desdemona and was squeezing her in a hug. "For G.o.d's sake, I cannot deny you anything."

Emilia and I exchanged brief, unhappy glances. "Contain yourself," I warned in a whisper. Chastened, she lowered her gaze.

Desdemona, enjoying her power, continued to ply her husband. I realized with mixed emotions that this suited me. "It's not as if you're doing me a favor," she insisted. "Any more than you'd be doing me a favor if you listened to me when I told you to wear your gloves or eat your dinner. It's a favor to yourself."

"Is it really?" he asked, releasing her, wearied from being henpecked in front of friends.

"Oh, yes," she a.s.sured him, smiling. "When I ask you a favor, for myself, you'll know it, because it will be impossibly difficult for you to grant it."

"I cannot wait. In the meantime, for now, leave me alone," he said, with a firm smile that made it clear he would brook no more flirting this morning.

"I shall disappear at once," she declared, victorious, and held her hand out to Emilia. "Come, we're leaving." Emilia gave my hand a final squeeze, then released it and followed her.

Oth.e.l.lo, looking immediately regretful, called out as they headed toward the door, "I'll be in to see you in just a moment."

"Surely, surely, surely," Desdemona said gaily, knowing she took his heart with her in her palm. "Whatever pleases you."

I watched Oth.e.l.lo watching her as she disappeared into the building. He held his hand over his chest and murmured something to himself, his face radiant with love. He would give her whatever she asked for, even if she asked for something wrong or dreadful. I would never get that sash if I did not act immediately.

"General?" I said carefully. "Shall we to the fencing yard?"

He started from his reverie and turned to face me. "Did you say something, Iago?"

I gestured him toward the pa.s.sageway in the far wall, and together we began to cross the courtyard.

This was the moment. Into the comfortable silence between us, I asked, "Oth.e.l.lo, pardon, but your lady said that Michele helped you to woo her?"

"Yes, of course. Why?"

I shook my head. "I was just wondering."

"And why were you wondering?"

"I did not realize he knew her so well."

"Of course he did-he was our go-between."

I shot my eyebrows up. "Really?"

Oth.e.l.lo frowned at me. "Iago, surely you knew that."

"I did not realize-" I looked away and brushed it off. "Never mind. I knew you were sending her letters. I did not realize they went through him, that he was so directly intimate with her."

Oth.e.l.lo gave me an inquisitive look. "What does it matter? He's an honest man, is he not?"

I blinked twice, rapidly. "Honest?"

Oth.e.l.lo stopped; I took one step more, then squinting into the glare of morning sunlight, pivoted to face him as he retorted, impatiently, "Yes, honest. It was a rhetorical question, Iago, it does not require a response."

I avoided his gaze for not quite one heartbeat, then met his glance and smiled comfortingly. "You're right, of course. I'm sure he is perfectly honest, as honest as any man who has any honesty in him. Come, there is a rapier with my name on it-" and I turned again in the direction we'd been traveling.

"Iago," Oth.e.l.lo said from behind me, in a tone that stopped me again. "Why did you say it like that?"

Again a hesitation, then I looked over my shoulder at him. "Like what, sir?"

Oth.e.l.lo s.h.i.+fted his weight back onto his heels. "Is there something you are not telling me, Iago?"

I glanced away quickly, then again looked at him, with an uncertain smile.

Oth.e.l.lo frowned. "Tell me your thoughts, Iago."

"My thoughts?" I said with a nervous laugh, and my gaze darted away again from his face.

"Yes, your thoughts!" Oth.e.l.lo huffed. "Why are you echoing me? Come, Iago, I know you too well. There is something going on behind those eyes that you are not telling me. That is unlike you. I want you to tell me."

I lowered my gaze and s.h.i.+fted my weight from one foot to the other. Oth.e.l.lo sighed with impatience. His left hand resting on his sword hilt, he glanced back in the direction we'd just come. "Just a few moments ago you said you did not like the way Ca.s.sio was sneaking away from my wife when we approached. And then you said you did not realize how well they knew each other when I was wooing her. And now you are obviously avoiding telling me something you think about his character."

As he glanced toward me, I again glanced away. All of this felt genuine to me: I did loathe Ca.s.sio's character; there was no wrongness at all in letting Oth.e.l.lo know it.

"Iago, if you love me, tell me what you're thinking."

I glanced at him and regarded the warm, commanding eyes. This man had been my best friend for years now. "You know I love you," I said simply.

"Yes, I think you do," Oth.e.l.lo said with quiet satisfaction. He crossed his arms and settled back even farther on his heels. "And I know you well, Iago-you have a deserved reputation for extreme bluntness, but I also know how careful and weighty you are with your words. So your little hesitations, your glances away-like that!" he interjected as I looked down at my boots. With guilty speed, I raised my eyes to meet his again. "Just like that, Iago-when you, of all men, behave like that, I take it very seriously."

"My lor-"

"No, listen to me," Oth.e.l.lo ordered, pointing a finger like a chastising father. I closed my mouth and put one finger to my lips. Oth.e.l.lo crossed his arms again. "Usually when men cannot meet my gaze it is because they are up to something unsavory and they are afraid I'll be able to tell. But that is not you. There is something strange going on here with you, and I want you to tell me what it is."

I looked at him, and wished Michele Ca.s.sio did not exist. "I'm . . . I will swear that . . . I think Michele Ca.s.sio seems honest." How ironic: that was a lie, for I knew Michele Ca.s.sio was not honest.

"I think so too," Oth.e.l.lo said quickly-but studying me. He also knew Ca.s.sio was not honest; he had relied on that to woo his bride.

"Good," I said, and clasped my hands together with finality. "Men should be what they seem."

"Mmm," Oth.e.l.lo said, staring at me intensely, not moving. "Yes, men should be what they seem."

"Well, then," I said, glancing away from him. "I think Ca.s.sio's an honest man. Time for some swordplay." I took a step into the shadowed pa.s.sageway that would lead out to the exercise yard.

Oth.e.l.lo did not move. He kept staring at me, and I continued to avoid the gaze. "No, there is more to this. Iago, there is something you're not saying here. Do not deny it-" he ordered, seeing me open my mouth. "Tell me what you're thinking. Out with it. Give the worst of your thoughts the worst of words."

I pressed my lips together nervously. It was real nervousness. He was taking the bait, and I could not now dismiss the moment even if I wanted to. I was committed. "General, pardon me, but I won't do that."

Oth.e.l.lo looked like he'd been slapped. "What?" he said. "Why not?"

"It is my duty to perform whatever action you command, but my thoughts are my own, and I prefer to keep them that way."

"Why?" he demanded. "It is me, Iago, not a stranger. I am not ordering you as your commander, but asking as your friend. What on earth would you not want me to hear?"

"They're just my thoughts," I said. "They are not reality. They could be wrong. They could be, they could be . . . evil."

Oth.e.l.lo laughed stiffly. "Iago, that is ridiculous, you are not an evil man."

"But I can be a nasty one," I warned.

"Nasty is not evil," he retorted. "Yes, you can be nasty with your frankness, but that does not make you evil."

"Is there any man so saintly that he never has an evil thought?" I shot back. "Can you think of any soul alive-yourself included-who has never harbored thoughts they wished they did not have?"

Oth.e.l.lo's stare intensified. "If you're having such thoughts now, Iago, and you do not tell me what they are, then you're doing me a great disservice. Both as your general and as your friend."

I leaned in closer to him. "Please," I said. "As you said, you know me well. You know I can be vicious. And jealous. And suspicious. Even when I am behaving well, it does not mean the vicious, jealous, suspicious thoughts are not plaguing me inside." How absolutely honest I was being. "As long as I have my thoughts under control, why should I have to tell you about them? It serves no purpose. It just humiliates me, to admit I have such unseemly thoughts. So, no, I am not going to tell you what my thoughts are." I meant it. Sincerely. Every word of it.

"Iago, what in h.e.l.l are you talking about?"

I had no choice now; I had to go beyond the genuine. I turned away from him and leaned against the stone wall of the pa.s.sageway. Again with a nervous pursing of the lips, and a small anxious shake of the head, I glanced at him and then away. "No man's good name should be trifled with. And no woman's, either."

Alarm flashed across his face. He had taken the meaning. "Whose good names? For the love of heaven, Iago, tell me your thoughts."

I leaned back against the wall, my arms crossed over my chest. "Sorry, but no."

He looked at me. I looked back at him. The stare seemed to last forever. I watched the subtle workings of the skin around his brows and mouth, and wondered what was happening behind those bright-dark eyes. I kept my gaze as neutral as I could, a blank slate onto which he might draw whatever fears lurked within.

"I cannot believe you will not tell me," he said quietly. "It must be something very, very dark indeed, if you will not share it with your closest friend."

In a voice resonant with experience, I warned softly, "Beware of jealousy, my lord. It is the green-eyed monster that mocks the meat it feeds on."

"What are you saying?" he demanded sharply.

"You know the parable of the rich man who worries so much about losing his fortune that he is too miserable to enjoy it?" I smiled sympathetically. "Do not be that man. You have a treasure of a wife. Enjoy her, and do not worry about losing her."

He stared at me uncertainly. "What are you talking about, Iago? Why should I worry about losing her? Do you think . . . do you think I'm jealous over Desdemona?"

"I did not say that-" I began, straightening up.

"I a.s.sure you," he said with a chuckle. "I am not jealous. Why should I be jealous? Because others admire her? There's nothing suspicious about that-she is easy to admire! I love that about her, it does not make me jealous. How ridiculous. If all your anxiety is just about Ca.s.sio's admiring her, never mind, I am sorry to have wasted both our time. Come, let's to the yard."

He started to stroll again, with something close to a swagger; I walked beside him. For a moment there was silence. I contemplated what I should do next.

"After all," Oth.e.l.lo said suddenly, in a boastful voice, "she had eyes, and she chose me." He glanced at me sideways. "No, Iago, I'm not jealous," he went on expansively. "I would never let myself hover in that awful unknowing place you speak of. I am too practical a man for that."

He was protesting too much against being jealous. Only jealous men do that.

"I'm glad to hear it," I said.

"But you know that of me already! I would need to see something, concrete, to even doubt her loyalty. If I doubted her, I'd demand proof immediately. If there was proof, I would stop loving her; if there was none, I would stop being jealous. Very simple." He looked c.o.c.ky, but it was the kind of c.o.c.kiness that strains to cover insecurity. Or so I guessed.

Perhaps I was not baiting him as I'd thought. It would perhaps take more brazenness than I'd antic.i.p.ated. I sighed, cheeks puffing, as I considered my next move.

He looked at me again and slowed. "Iago?"

"I'm glad you said that, General," I said, turning my head away for a moment, and then looking back at him directly, blinking a few times. "The remembrance that you are not prey to jealousy . . . encourages me to speak more freely."

"Freely about what?" Oth.e.l.lo demanded and came to a halt, grabbing my arm to make me stop too.

I took another deep breath and rubbed my hands together awkwardly. I almost spoke, then let the breath out, then drew another breath, then looked at Oth.e.l.lo, then looked away again- "Freely about what?" he demanded impatiently.

He would not make the leap on his own: I would have to push him. And now indeed I truly must push him, for if I did not, I left myself exposed. I felt a chill.

I put my free hand over his, where he gripped my arm. "Look to your wife, when Ca.s.sio's around," I said, apologetically.

His eyes widened, and the grip around my arm tightened.

"I am not telling you to be suspicious," I added quickly, "but do not be too c.o.c.ky either. You are a trusting soul, and I would not have you abused for that. As I have often lamented, it is commonplace for Venetians to lie and keep secrets-and I am sure it may be so in Florence."

His face went slack as he released my arm. "What exactly are you saying?"

I shrugged, and averted my gaze. "Nothing. Only . . . remember, she deceived her father when she married you."

Oth.e.l.lo blinked.

"So she did," he said. He looked confused.

"Completely deceived him," I emphasized. "With a skill that belies how young and innocent she seems. And she deceived him even though she loved him-" I cut myself off, seeing Oth.e.l.lo's expression. He looked queasy. "I should not have said anything-forgive me, I should have kept my mouth shut, but I value your friends.h.i.+p and I worried-"

He made a brus.h.i.+ng-away gesture. Then he took one of my hands in both of his. "For the insight you've offered, I am forever in your debt," he said, and attempted a wan smile.

"I have upset you," I said, frowning.

"Not a jot," he insisted. "Not one jot." He pulled away and walked past me into the shadow of the pa.s.sageway.

"Yes I have, dammit," I said, moving toward him.