‘But that was too dark for us,’ says Leggs. ‘Why should the other ones in this play get a second chance at life, but not him? Why’s he have to suffer so much for being what he is? It’s like he’s, you know, black or Native or something. Five strikes against him from Day One. He never asked to get born.’

More nods. Leggs has the audience. Where’s he taking them? Felix wonders. Somewhere strange, you can see it in his eyes. He’s about to spring a surprise. ‘So here’s what we’re thinking,’ says Leggs. ‘We’re thinking about that line, said by Prospero: “This thing of darkness I acknowledge mine.” What’s he mean by it? Just that Caliban works for him or is, like, his slave? It’s gotta be more than that.’ He leans forward, making eye contact, then more eye contact. ‘This is what we think. It’s gotta be true. Here it is: Prospero is Caliban’s dad.’

Murmurings, small head-shakings. They aren’t convinced. ‘Stick with me,’ says Leggs. ‘Let’s walk it through. His mom is a sorceress, right? Sycorax. She’s wicked! Prospero is a sorcerer. They do a lot of the exact same kind of things – charms, spells, changing the weather – including putting the twist on Ariel, except that Prospero does those things better, and we’re supposed to think it’s okay for him but evil for her. Suppose they met earlier at, like, a sorcerer type of convention, and they had a thing together. One-night stand. He knocks her up, skedaddles back to Milan; she’s up the spout, she gets caught, they dump her on the island.

‘Prospero washes up onshore. Sycorax is dead by then, but he takes one look at Caliban and he knows right away whose kid this has to be. He slangs the dead mother, that’s natural; he doesn’t own up to the kid, but thinks he might make something of him anyway – the kid must have some good qualities, right, because it’s half his. Proud of him at first, because Caliban’s self-reliant, knows his way around the island, comes up with food, pig-nuts and fish, whatever – eager to please. So Prospero humours the kid, teaches him stuff. Language, and that.

‘But then the kid takes a crack at Miranda. That’s natural too, maybe not nice, was there consent, who knows, he said she said, but whose fault was it anyway, letting Miranda prance around in full view? Prospero should’a seen it coming. Should’a locked her up, if it was that important. Prospero ought to eat some of the blame for that number.