Asinaria: The One about the Asses

5 Beating the System

158 5 Beating the System 545–590 We’re in the money . . . and We’re so pretty, o so pretty . . . 591–745 Lovers’ last gasp lament and Slaves riding high: Loverboy pays his dues For a second time, enter the brace of agents, in cahoots and on a roll (p. 146). In no time at all, they are back, One plus Two. First time around in the donkey derby, in sped Two, to share his (aural-verbal) booty (maximam praedam et triumphum, 269).1 So near yet so far. This time they are in tandem. They bring the (actual-virtual) booty. Courtesy of big master, who played along with Two’s imposture as agent Lizard. They will share the role of “courier,” conveying terms and conditions, tied to cash handover . Special delivery, to little master, from that close friend, soon coming too close for comfort. Let’s check it out. Mother’s agent, Lizard, failed to substitute for her: he lost his mask to his understudy, the stage-money income never incame into her coffers, and with it went missing the queen’s command of the castle. She doesn’t know it, but now she is on her own, and will have to deal in person. In person. As for son, his agents have been rustled away by his would-be special agent of a father, pulling strings behind-the-scenes for all he’s worth. Which is to say, still operating, despite himself, as the Demaenetus that the world knows (the one who “knows” why he carries the “knarled” stick,” of the senex, emblem of his authority: scio . . . me hunc scipionem contui, 124). For, come what may, the paterfamilias must be azygous, solo, cock of his roost: witness the real Courier, who refused all stand-ins, no matter which or whose, master’s or mistress’s. The commander is no underling domestic, but only as that Self can he commandeer the wife’s power. Finally on his own, in the finale. Fresh out of agents. Outed from playing son’s friend and agent, son’s rival and (anti-Oedipal) tormentor, his bid to ham a substitute Beating the System 159 identity by usurping son’s self will collapse in face-to-face confrontation by the Mrs. Before, he missed her, by streets. Then, Mr. must meet The Wife in person, and will have to deal with it. On his own, clapped out. Then only the audience can redeem Demaenetus. Ultimately, it’s in your hands: showdown at sundown (p. 215). Old master has played his part: his father had dressed up as a Ship’s Cap’n to pinch his son a woman from a pimp (69–70). Now that comic plot called life is doing the rounds again, another generation, another tour. “This touch gives one an odd view of life, that it is a series of comic plots strung together, so that . . . a given man will first be cast in the role of a comic son, and then in that of a comic father.”2 Our father has himself played along with the wheeze that his agent Two was his wife’s agent, Lizard, and relieved the Courier of the 20 minae (580–4).3 In the com-nick of time, as those aspiring tragicniks, Romeo-’n’-Julie-baby, stare curtains in the face (594): Your mother told me the day’s over. Ordered me: time I went home.4 Still wet behind the ears, a second regular at the motel here bites the dust; “shut right out” (exclusust foras, 596). The script steps aside for a liminal moment’s escape from the liminal moment’s doom, pumping up the farewell hug “from here to eternity” weepie highpoint of “see you in hell” melodramatics. . . . 5 The unbearably soppy tension builds under pressure from split-stage overhearing and overheard double dialogue.6 And that is what bursts the bubble it creates, too. With a “boom-boom” slave joke for openers—first in a lovely long line of groans (619–20): LEO>ARG Goo’day, master. Hey there now, is she smoke, this femme in your arms? ARG>LEO Pardon me? LEO>ARG Because . . .7 But, at the same time, the daft havering-wavering pause here actually serves to stuff us full of Plautine thematics (597–602): ARG I’ll stay the night, if you like. LIB Get him! D’you hear how he’s showering out night shifts? So now [18.220.126.5] Project MUSE (2024-04...