(The Gravedigger from Hamlet Speaks)

Now I don’t know how much you know about Denmark, but I can tell you this:

Business was excellent.

Not because people were particularly unhealthy.

Because they were dramatic.

There is a difference.

My Profession

I was a gravedigger.

A respectable trade.

Honest work.

You dig a hole.

Somebody occupies it.

The arrangement is simple.

Unlike politics.

Unlike royalty.

Unlike whatever in heaven’s name was happenin’ at Elsinore Castle.

The Castle

From where I stood, the entire kingdom appeared to be sufferin’ from a shortage of plain talk.

Everybody was whisperin’.

Schemin’.

Pretendin’.

Spyin’.

And occasionally poisonin’.

Now I don’t pretend to understand noble society.

But I have always believed that if you need six conspiracies to explain your afternoon…

You may be overcomplicatin’ things.

The Prince

Then there was Hamlet.

Nice enough fellow.

Polite when he remembered.

But I will say this:

He spent an extraordinary amount of time thinkin’.

Now don’t misunderstand.

I’m not opposed to thinkin’.

I enjoy a thoughtful customer.

But eventually a man must stop contemplatin’ existence and start tendin’ to it.

A Matter of Volume

One thing folks never mention is how loud tragedy is.

Everybody remembers the speeches.

The soliloquies.

The declarations.

But nobody remembers the work orders.

Every dramatic revelation eventually arrived at my end of the process.

The Skull

Now one day the prince arrives while I’m workin’.

I was diggin’.

He was philosophizin’.

As usual.

Then he picks up a skull.

Suddenly we’re discussin’ mortality.

Again.

Now I don’t object.

It’s difficult to avoid mortality in my profession.

But I had been discussin’ it all mornin’.

The skull and I were already acquainted.

Yorick

Everybody remembers Yorick.

The famous skull.

The jester.

The memory.

The symbolism.

Do you know who remembers Yorick most clearly?

Me.

Because I had to identify the remains.

Nobody ever writes sonnets about administrative accuracy.

The Pattern

After enough years in my trade, certain truths become obvious.

For instance:

The king eventually comes to me.

The beggar eventually comes to me.

The philosopher eventually comes to me.

The fool eventually comes to me.

Which means I enjoy a unique advantage.

I know how every story ends.

The Duel

Now when word spread about the duel, I remember thinkin’:

“This feels unlikely to improve matters.”

And I was right.

Not because I’m a prophet.

Because by then I’d developed professional instincts.

When a royal family starts settlin’ disputes with swords, somebody’s schedule is about to get busy.

An Unexpected Surge

The paperwork afterward was considerable.

There are forms for these things.

Nobody ever mentions the forms.

History has a bias toward excitement and a complete disregard for documentation.

My Observation

What struck me most wasn’t the deaths.

A gravedigger gets accustomed to death.

It was the surprise.

Everybody seemed astonished by the outcome.

As though years of secrets, revenge, deception, and unresolved grievances had somehow been expected to produce stability.

The Real Difference

That’s why I liked my work.

A grave tells the truth.

No speeches.

No disguises.

No plots.

No hidden motives.

A hole is a remarkably honest thing.

Closing Statement

So if there’s a lesson in all this, it is not about death.

Everybody focuses on death.

The lesson’s about simplicity.

Because while princes debated existence and courtiers plotted advancement…

I spent my days performin’ useful labor.

And at the end of it all…

I was still employed.

Final Observation

If you’re wonderin’ who truly understood Denmark, it wasn’t the king.

It wasn’t Hamlet.

It wasn’t the court.

It was the fellow with the shovel.

Because from where I stood, every great tragedy eventually becomes a matter of measurements.

And business, I’m sorry to report, was very good indeed.

And that, as near as best as I can figure it, is how I became the only man in Hamlet with a retirement plan.