Simple pleasures

Evening drew its cloak around the earth’s shoulders, creating a gust of cutting wind which drove through the flesh of the few stragglers. Its bitterness was surpassed by only one man. He scuffed his boots against the cobblestones lining the Venetian causeway and sent a rogue, black cobblestone skittering off the path and into the canal.
“Ungrateful Moor. I almost gave my life to save his life from the wretched Turks and he promotes Cassio. That man is but an old woman, he knows nothing of war. I should be Othello’s lieutenant, I who has served so faithfully.”
Iago paid no heed to the wind which continued to tug at his clothes like an insistent lover. He stood, forlorn. Wooden shutters banged against the windowsills of the humble houses. The only source of light on this treacherous night came from a lantern in the house at the end of the cobbled causeway. It spilled onto the ground, pooling and flickering, draining into the path like the blood of a wounded animal. It was Iago’s house; it was Iago’s livelihood the ground was guzzling so eagerly.
“Emilia must still be waiting for me,” Iago said and hastened home.
The door opened a crack. Iago stepped outside the lantern’s circle of light. A black figure stole outside, guiltily. It merged into the shadows of night and disappeared into the folds of evening’s cloak. A stout woman appeared in the doorway. “Othello, my lord, you forgot this,” Emilia said, looking around, holding a small package.
Othello melted out of the darkness. The wind stole most of the conversation. Iago heard but a morsel. “I thank you, Emilia. I hope you understand the decision I made. I care for him deeply and would not like to see him wounded in battle again at my cost. Now, I must away to fair Desdemona, she awaits me and our forthcoming marriage.” Othello departed for the second time. Emilia prepared to close the door.
“What are you playing at, whore?”
Iago stepped out from the pocket of the black celestial cloak. The wind swirled about his feet, a mini-tornado of dust particles and leaves. It swept his hair back and his coat billowed about him menacingly.
“The lantern you place in our window may as well be red,” Iago continued. “How dare you see the Moor behind my back?”
Emilia’s eyes widened, her hand clutched at her heart, whether it was a symbol of outrage or wounded honour, it was difficult to tell, by Iago’s reckoning. All women react in the same way to the same accusations. As if the wide eyes of innocence can convince me to think otherwise Iago thought.
“You suspect me with the Moor? Well, whatever turned your wit the seamy side without – pff,”Emilia’s shrill voice punctuated the air like an exclamation mark.
But its emphasis was lost on Iago. He faded into the night’s embrace, his only companion the howling wind.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Damned woman. She’s a parasite, a flea. No, a leech – leeching and feeding off my livelihood. Oh, it’s not enough that our esteemed general had poured my life’s blood into the canal by promoting Cassio over me. My wife with her claws and hookers – I itch and scratch yet I cannot dislodge her. And there’s that fool, Roderigo.”
Iago’s thoughts were a miasma of poisonous hate and envy, born in his heart. With every footstep, his heart pumped the venom through his arteries. Every cell of his body was drowned and starved of any human goodwill. It was dark that night, and to the darkness the man once known as “good Iago” returned. Out of the windy, starless night a monstrosity devoid of human emotion was spawned. The battering wind and starless sky heralded his coming, the squalid tavern was present to christen him with the devil’s drink.

~~~~~~~~~~

Light was a rare commodity inside, befitting a man of shady status. Rats of the four and two-legged persuasion fought over scraps of food and the comeliest of the tavern wenches. Acrid smoke from pipes contributed to the charms of the establishment. Undercurrents of body odour eddied in the centre of the tavern. The stools at the bar counter were empty and there Iago sat, nursing a tankard of beer and the seeds of his revenge. Revenge, such a simple pleasure, Iago thought.
A rough hand clapped his left shoulder. Its dead weight dragged him downwards. “Iago,” a slightly slurred voice said in his ear.
The man fell into the stool beside Iago. The foul stench of his breath indicated alcohol and vomit. It competed for dominance with his bloodshot eyes, swollen from crying and more alcohol.
“Roderigo, what a surprise to find you here,” Iago said by way of greeting. Truthfully, it was no surprise – the man spent his daylight hours mooning over Desdemona and his nights with his hand in the bodice of a common whore. Iago signalled to one of the serving girls for a bowl of broth and meat. Roderigo was intolerable when sober, impressionable when drunk.
“Surprise? The only surprise is the elopement of Desdemona with the thick lips. I paid you coin and jewels…” Roderigo’s rant continued. He swayed on his stool. Just one push, Iago thought, and he’d fall, crack his head open, and I’ll be rid of one of my leeches.
Two bowls of brown sludge was served to them. Unidentified chunks of brown meat floated about on the top layer. The appetites of both men waned and even threated to regurgitate their lunch and breakfast. Roderigo clutched his spoon feebly and toyed with his food. Iago eyed the brown sludge suspiciously. “Woman, I want something else. Fetch me something palatable.”
The serving girl’s eye twitched. With a huff and a ruffle of skirts, she disappeared into the kitchen and reappeared shortly thereafter with a sandwich of stale bread and a more pale, suspect meat. He shrugged and took a bit. Deliciously tender.
The unmistakable sound of metal slithering out of hidden pockets permeated the air. A gangly man with black hair and a short blonde youth circled each other, the most mismatched pair of mongrels to ever cross daggers. All attention was diverted to the two men.
“Ten silver coins say that Shorty sticks Black Gangly in the guts,” Iago hollered, his mouth full of sandwich, spraying his spittle and food on drunken Roderigo. No one took him up on his bet – they were entranced by the dance of death. Even moping Rodering was deriving a perverted pleasure from watching the ensuing fight. Part of Iago’s job was to keep the senate’s peace. He let out a sigh and leaned back with one elbow on the counter, the other clutching his sandwich.
Black Gangly had longer arms and a farther reach. His dagger slithered into the inside of Shorty’s left arm. He only nicked Shorty’s armpit, staining the brown tunic a dark red. The smoke obscured most of the fight but Iago caught glimpses. People cheered and yelled for their favourite. Others hurled the suspicious brown fare at the fighters in the hopes of hurrying the fight along. The four-legged rats ran between their legs and up their trousers, complicating matters as each man fought to fend off the armed competitor while preventing the vermin from making a meal of their manhood.
A flickering lantern was brought in, the better to illuminate the room. Amidst all the smoke, it cast a ghastly light upon everyone, creating two faces for every person – that of the decent human, and the other of the beast hungering, drunk on bloodlust and gore. Flicker. Blood gushed like a fountain from an opened gash on Shorty’s cheek. The skin just below his right eye hung loose where he was cut. It flapped obscenely as he closed in on his opponent, dripping tears of blood onto the wooden floorboards.
In the commotion, Iago could easily push Roderigo off his chair and crack open his head. Maybe then he could see if there’s anything in that idiot’s head besides lust and hot air. He has become too annoying, Iago thought. “Now that Desdemona has eloped, Roderigo will question what I have done with his money which I have hoarded. I must be rid of him,” he muttered in between bites of his delectable sandwich of which he decided was probably a mixture of rabbit and human meat.
Flicker. Shorty’s dagger punched through Black Gangly’s left eye. Screams, shrieks and distorted howls emanated from the back of his throat. His dagger clattered on the floor. His hands clutched and clawed at his face. The jelly of his destroyed eye trickled lazily down his sallow cheek and was smeared all over his face by his groping hands. It mingled with the blood, snot and tears, congealing on the front of his tunic in a lumpish red mess.
Flicker. A dark red rose blossomed on Black Gangly’s stomach, so dark it was almost black. The man hunched over and groaned piteously, a dying animal uttering its final rattling breaths. Shorty edged closer. And drove his dagger through the back of his neck, all the way to the hilt. Black Gangly made a chocking, gargling sound and fell. The blood-thickened tip of the dagger emerged through the Adam’s apple of the dead man. His body was dragged like a sack of meat discreetly into the kitchen.
Iago took another bite of his sandwich. And smiled.
“Of course,” he said to himself. “I can send the fool to tell Brabantio of his daughter’s elopement. The senator will be outraged and throw Roderigo into his dungeons for hounding after his daughter again and disturbing the peace of Venice. Othello will be dismissed in disgrace and cast out of Venetian society. Let them fight amongst themselves.”
Entertainment over, the customers all retired, their desires for drinking, gambling and whoring dissipated as had the life of Black Gangly. Roderigo grabbed Iago’s arm again. “Iago, you promised me Desdemona. What am I to do? I might as well jump into the canal now that she won’t have me.”
That could serve. However… Iago placed a placating hand on Roderigo’s shoulder. Adopting his best encouraging and soothing voice, he explained his plan to tell Brabantio of Desdemona’s disobedience in detail, blatantly omitting the part where Roderigo gets arrested. “So you see, Roderigo, after Brabantio hears of this, he would much prefer you to be his son-in-law rather than some lascivious Moor.”
In his stupor, Roderigo’s eyes barely focused on Iago. Drink had made him more pliable and he accepted Iago’s suggested with great heart and faith. “I am much convinced. We must go to now.” Roderigo lurched to his feet, swaying as if Iago’s companion the howling winds were actually inside the tavern with them.

Iago swallowed the last of his human-rabbit meat sandwich, licking his lips, eyes glinting with malice.