Bassanio looked up from stirring his soup. “Perhaps the Jew will relent. Maybe he has learned to be more kind since his daughter ran off.”

“Mercy might be more forthcoming had she not run off with our Lorenzo,” said Antonio from under a blanket, where he sat enshrouded on the divan, hiding from the light and other harsh realities.

There came a light knock at the door.

“There,” said Bassanio. “That might be Gratiano and Sal now.”

“Because they are known to always knock timidly before entering,” said Antonio, but the sarcasm was lost on his young protégé.

Bassanio opened the door.

“There’s a monkey at the door with Gratiano’s hat.”

“A monkey?”

“He says his name is Jeff.”

“He says that?” Antonio liked monkeys. He almost looked. “The monkey says that?”

“Well, no, there’s a collar around his neck, and on it there’s a brass tag, and it says ‘Jeff.’ Oh look, there’s a letter in his hat. Not the monkey’s hat. Gratiano’s hat.”

“What’s the letter say?”

“What’s the letter say?” Bassanio asked the monkey.

“No, Bassanio, read the letter, don’t ask the monkey.”

“Oh, right. He probably only reads Hebrew.”

Antonio pulled the blanket off his head and said, “What in the name of Saint fucking Mark are you talking about?”

The monkey screeched and bounded off down the stairs.

Bassanio closed the door and turned slowly to his friend, the letter in hand. “I didn’t want to tell you, since they failed so miserably . . . but I hired the thieving Hebrew monkeys of La Giudecca to fix the caskets to win Portia in marriage. See here, the menorah pressed in the sealing wax, that is their sign. Funny, he didn’t have on a yellow Jew hat, but a little black harlequin’s hat. Perhaps it’s a Jewish holiday.”

Antonio hadn’t thought his headache could worsen. But yes. “Break the seal, Bassanio. What does it say?”

Bassanio unfolded the letter and read:

“ ‘Four friends have been taken

To Death’s savage pool.

No pound of flesh flayed

Shall appease a wronged Fool.

Condolences.’ ”

Bassanio looked over the edge of the parchment at his bedraggled friend, whose eyes had gone wide. “Ha! The last line doesn’t even rhyme. What does it mean?”

“It means that the gondolier with Salanio’s dagger lied. He did not receive the dagger from Sal to carry the message to you, and it was not a small Jew he took to Belmont in the night. And Salarino and Gratiano are not going to come through that door with good news.”

Twenty-two: No Shit, Shylock

TWENTY-TWO

No Shit, Shylock