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.