Harry Flammable

by Frank O'Keeffe

  We kept on doing the same thing over and over, non-stop. A few times I saw Colin Jang in the crowd, helping an old man or old lady, and once he hoisted a small boy onto his shoulder. He made it look so natural, like he was a true leader helping his people struggle along. One of the ox carts came through again and, when it started bogging down, Colin Jang motioned to some of us nearby to help push. I found myself slipping in the mud, shoulder to shoulder with Colin Jang. I hoped I didn’t look too excited, but was brilliantly acting the part of a tired peasant who had slogged on foot over many hills already.

  I lost track of the number of times we went through the gully but finally there was a loud shout of “Cut! That’s a wrap.” Everyone immediately halted and rested against the rocks along the sides. I was sweating, splattered with mud, and breathing hard, and the wig made my head hot.

  Henry Orsini appeared on the rock again and yelled through his megaphone. “Thanks everyone. Take a half-hour lunch break.”

  I followed the crowd down the hillside and we entered another large tent that was filled with tables and benches. The food was served cafeteria-style and there was plenty of it. As I loaded my plate I saw Kin ahead of me in line. I hadn’t seen him since the first march through the gully. I followed him to a table and was sitting down when I caught sight of Celia. I waved to her and she glanced in my direction, but she didn’t wave back. She came close and I called to her.

  She stared, then a wide grin lit up her face. “Is that really you, Harry? You look terrific. I saw you wave but I guess I was still thinking of a bald-headed guy from Crestwood High.” She laughed as she sat at the table.

  “I guess I didn’t look too terrific before, huh?” I said.

  Celia was still grinning. “Well, I think you look a lot better with hair. What do you think, Kin?”

  “Not only hair.” Kin chuckled. “I think he should always look this way. Maybe Harry will have to always wear makeup now too.” He gave me a nudge. “Celia likes new Harry better, won’t be satisfied with old Harry.”

  I laughed but I felt myself blushing and I was glad of the makeup. Kin was assuming Celia was my girlfriend, but I hadn’t even been out with her on a real date.

  “Celia, do you think I should show up in Ms. Havershaw’s class like this and tell her I’m Harold Flanagan? She nearly had a bird when I shaved my head.”

  Celia was drinking some juice and almost choked with laughter.

  Kin changed the subject. “Yesterday we walked up that valley eleven times. I counted. Today only six.”

  “I don’t think you’ll have to do it again,” Celia said. “I heard Henry Orsini and Robert Rudsnicker talking and they seemed happy with what they’d shot. I think you’re going to try the storming of the castle next. So are you gonna tell me how you got hired, Harry?”

  “Mmn.” I was stuffing food into my mouth. I was ravenous. As soon as I swallowed I said, “Maybe I’d better tell you later, tonight on the bus. It’s kind of embarrassing.”

  “Does it have anything to do with Johnny Random ending up in the hospital?” Celia asked, laughing.

  I nodded and I felt myself blush again. “It wasn’t my fault though, but Ms. Capstone fired me anyway — bad publicity for The Ritz or something.”

  I didn’t have to say anymore just then because Henry Orsini came in and started yelling into his megaphone. “Can I have your attention.” As soon as there was quiet, he went on. “Thanks everyone for the job this morning. I think we got what we wanted. After lunch, I’d like you all to assemble out in front of the castle. I’ll give you your instructions there. If we get through the castle fight we might have time for a go with the train. You have ten minutes left. Enjoy the rest of your lunch.”

  “What happens with the train?” I asked.

  “It gets hijacked by the rebels,” Celia said. “Remember, I told you. It’s going to be combined with the mob storming the castle on foot. The train will come over the bridge, filled with rebels firing on the castle, and the mob in the street will join them. I expect they’re going to rehearse the bit where they charge on foot first and then to do the train shots later. It all has to be timed right.”

  “So who gets to ride the train?” I asked.

  “Me, I hope.” Kin grinned. “Too much walking already.”

  “I dunno,” Celia said. “They’ll probably use all of you to storm the castle and then pick a few for the train. I’ve been setting electrical charges on the bridge all morning. They are supposed to go off when the third coach is rolling over the bridge, to simulate fire from the cannon in the castle. The people in the castle somehow know that the train has been taken over by the rebels.”

  “It sounds really exciting,” I said.

  “It’s gonna be really noisy, anyway,” Celia replied. “I know they are going to use a model of the train for one part because they are going to derail the last car and have it plunge over the bridge. With the real train, they have it set up so the last car simply uncouples and the rest of the train continues into the town.

  “The first two cars will be filled with extras, but, because of the explosions and the fact it’s a long-distance shot, they have the last car filled with dummies. The dummies all have muskets that fire off blanks. I had to help Ralph set up timing switches to fire the blanks. It’s really creepy in the car, because some of the dummies are controlled by computers and can move. Ralph scared the heck out of me yesterday when he made one jerk back, like it had been shot, just when I was putting the timing switch on the musket.”

  I caught sight of Aunt Phyllis sitting at a table at the far end of the tent. She was looking very regal and haughty, as if it was a real indignation to have to eat with such rabble. I wondered what she had done all morning and what her part would really be like.

  “I’d better go,” Celia said. “It’s quite a hike up to the bridge and I’ve got to help Ralph and Joanne finish laying some more charges. If I don’t leave now there’ll be a long lineup at the washroom. See you later.”

  Celia’s mention of the washroom reminded me that I’d better go too. It could spoil a whole film sequence if I was attacking the castle and instead of diving for cover behind a bush in the face of withering fire, I had to stand behind the bush to relieve myself.

  19

  WE ASSEMBLED ON THE open ground in front of the castle. Henry Orsini climbed up a small stepladder and yelled through his megaphone, “We’ve decided to shoot the street scene first. It shouldn’t take long. I want all the street people to get your props and take up your positions. Those of you not in the street scene, move back and try to keep quiet. Right, get that bullock cart and the rickshaws at opposite ends of the street.”

  In a few minutes the street was filled with extras playing the parts of ordinary townspeople. Some balanced heavy loads on the ends of thick bamboo poles. A few pushed heavily laden handcarts through the mud. The cart with the oxen and the rickshaws were manoeuvred into position. When all was ready, Robert Rudsnicker took a deep breath and bellowed, “Quiet on the set.” The clapper board was held in front of the camera showing the number of the scene and take, and Robert Rudsnicker called, “Action.” The street came to life.

  Two cameras, mounted on platforms, were at both ends of the street while another, with a whole crew of people on the cart, rolled silently along a track on the outside edge. Robert Rudsnicker and Henry Orsini rode on the cart, watching the action.

  As the ox cart moved past the castle, from out of the crowds on the street, seven peasants emerged and moved towards the castle gates. They were yelling, “Rice, food for the people.” Outside the castle gates, two uniformed guards tensed and brandished wicked-looking swords as the protesters moved closer.

  A rickshaw’s progress was momentarily stalled by the protesters as they passed in front of it and then, from up the street, there appeared a small procession. It consisted of a sedan chair, carried by four bare-chested slaves and surrounded by six guards. Between the guards, and beside the window of the sedan chair
, walked a grey-bearded old man wearing a long black robe. The protesters caught sight of the sedan chair and converged on it, yelling their protests and waving their fists.

  Another rickshaw came on the scene and, for a moment, there was a small traffic jam as the sedan chair, the two rickshaws, and the protesters appeared to merge.

  There was some pushing and shoving as the rickshaw pullers and the protesters and the guards came together. One of the guards raised a staff and beat one of the protesters to the muddy ground, blood pouring from a wound to his head. This seemed to make the other protesters more incensed and their yelling increased.

  Suddenly the curtains of the sedan chair were pulled back and there sat a grim-faced Aunt Phyllis, or rather, the rich Chinese dowager and mother of the ruler of the province.

  “What is the meaning of this outrage?” she screamed at the old man with the beard.

  “They are asking for rice. They say they are starving.” His voice quavered, as if he was fearful of the woman in the sedan chair.

  At the same moment the protesters were tangling with the guards. One of the slaves was jostled and he stumbled and almost fell. The sedan chair leaned suddenly to one side.

  Aunt Phyllis screeched, but the slave recovered his footing and the sedan chair was righted. “Unworthy, lazy rabble,” Aunt Phyllis screamed at the protesters. “Um. Let them eat cake.”

  “Cut,” yelled Robert Rudsnicker.

  The action came to a stand-still.

  There were a few snickers in the crowd of extras beside me and I heard Aunt Phyllis say, in an embarrassed voice, “I’m sorry, Robert, I got carried away. I’ll get it right next time.” At that moment she was no longer the noble Chinese dowager but just Aunt Phyllis. Then I saw her pull herself together and she became a woman with authority over the peasants around her.

  “Okay, Ms. Papineau. Okay everybody. Let’s take it from the top,” Henry Orsini hollered. “Back in position, everyone.”

  The injured peasant got up out of the mud and someone from makeup sponged off the fake blood and pulled a new headband around his head. It took a few minutes before everyone, including the oxen, were back in position and “Action” was called again.

  I held my breath and kept my fingers crossed in the hope that Aunt Phyllis wouldn’t blow the line again. This time she got it right, screaming the correct line, “Unworthy, lazy rabble. If they need more rice, let them grow more.”

  The guards beat the peasants into submission and, with help from more guards who came running from the castle, those that were still standing were dragged away. As the sedan chair disappeared inside the castle gates, Robert Rudsnicker yelled “Cut.”

  The “dead” peasants came back to life and the street emptied as Henry Orsini climbed onto the stepladder to face us once again.

  “Okay, mates. The next sequence will probably take a while so we’re going to run through it one more time. We’ll be filming, in case we can use some of it, but we’ll be doing it again tomorrow. Now, most of you know what to do, but yesterday, when we rehearsed it, some of you didn’t fall down when you were hit. Remember, the fire from the castle is mostly from the cannon. When the explosions go off in the open ground, if you are within a few feet of them, you would not be able to keep running. You must fall. The experienced stunt people will take the lead and will activate the explosions by tripwire. Now, we don’t want anyone getting hurt. There’ll be a lot of dirt flying around and a lot of noise. Grab yourself a couple of earplugs and go to the top of the hill behind you. Those of you with muskets know what to do. If you don’t take a hit, keep on running right up to the castle walls. Right. Let’s have a go and see how it looks.”

  We congregated just above the crest of the grassy hill that faced the street and castle. A couple of leading extras got us spread out and lined up in rows. When the signal was given, we were to charge down the hill, across an open space of almost three hundred metres, and try to make it to the castle. Most of the others had practised this already, but I’d no idea when I’d know if I’d been killed or wounded. I remembered when I was a little kid playing cowboys and Indians with Leonard Wooley and Matthew Beagle. We always argued about whether we’d been shot or not when someone yelled “I got you” and our games often fizzled out because no one wanted to fall down and die.

  The lead extra raised his hand, waiting for the signal below. His hand dropped and we started running down the hill. I was in the back row. When the leading group reached the flat area, there were loud explosions and spurts of dirt started flying into the air. I was glad of the earplugs we’d been given. The noise was deafening. I saw puffs of smoke coming from the castle walls and the small valley echoed with the whomp of the explosions. From a small hillock behind us, the rebel force’s one small cannon fired in reply. The ground I was running on seemed to be shaking. Clouds of smoke joined with the flying dirt as we ran.

  I ran past a number of “dead” or “dying” rebels and saw others with muskets quickly kneel and fire their ancient weapons. I swerved and almost stumbled when one of the extras unexpectedly knelt in front of me to fire. A huge explosion about thirty feet ahead of me flung dirt into the air and I found myself running right through the middle of a cloud of dust and smoke. I was passing more of the “dead” when, to my left, another explosion flung a severed bleeding arm across my path. I hoped the arm was just a special effect, and Henry Orsini’s comment about not wanting anyone to get hurt didn’t go beyond a little dirt in the face or eyes. My feet hit the edge of the street and I almost tripped over the railway track.

  Ahead of me, some of the remains of our rebel force were clambering up the rough walls, while another group was trying to batter down the gates using a heavy-laden handcart they had seized from someone. A couple of “dead” guards lay on the ground outside the gates.

  I followed the closest rebel and raced for the wall. We reached it and started climbing up. My weapon, the long pole I’d been given, made the climb more difficult. I was halfway up when a face appeared at the top of the wall above me and, whoever it was, took a swipe at me with a thick staff. He missed, but I felt the breeze of the staff as it swished past my head. Some of these extras played for real. If I’d been a little higher, I’d be lying at the foot of the wall by now, with a real bleeding head and one heck of a headache. I was about to try going up again when I heard “Cut” being yelled all around. I dropped to the ground, somewhat relieved.

  “That was better,” Henry Orsini yelled. “We’ll have one more go tomorrow and also do some close-ups of hand-to-hand fighting on the walls, but right now we want to try the train scene while the light is still good. Those of you riding in the train scene, get yourselves up there and the rest of you, get well back out of sight.”

  About fifty of the extras started up the outer edge of the hill. Most of them carried muskets. The rest of us went back towards the foot of the hill we’d just charged down and sat on the grass.

  Kin joined me. “Harry. You’re still alive.” He grinned. “This is the first time they use the train. Interesting to watch.”

  Robert Rudsnicker and Henry Orsini rode a golf cart up the hill after the extras that had left. We waited quite a while before we heard the puffing and rumble of the train and saw the smoke appear above the hill to our left. The train rounded the side of the hill and started along the short straight stretch towards the bridge. The small black engine was straining to pick up speed and a steady stream of white smoke fussed from its smokestack. Trailing wisps of steam drifted from its undercarriage. The three old-fashioned passenger coaches appeared, filled with rebels who crowded the narrow windows facing us. I knew the last coach only held the dummies, but they looked real from where we were. The train rumbled onto the bridge and, as the front wheels of the third coach reached the bridge, there was a small puff of smoke between the second and third coach. The third coach was uncoupled. The train with the first two coaches pulled ahead, leaving the third coach behind, coasting to a stop on the bridge itself.


  The train picked up speed and started down the slight slope into the main street of the town. Musket fire could be heard from the rebels in the coaches and, when the train came parallel to the castle, the brakes were applied. As the train screeched to a halt I noticed a camera crew on a hydraulic crane, filming from inside the castle walls. The rebels were firing on the castle and, on our side of the train, the windows were empty.

  Henry Orsini and Robert Rudsnicker arrived back on the golf cart and the action came to a standstill.

  We were all called to assemble on the street in front of the castle while Henry Orsini, Robert Rudsnicker, and Colin Jang had a consultation. Colin Jang had been riding in the engine. Then Robert Rudsnicker called it a day after he had Henry Orsini explain to us that tomorrow, when we made the charge down the hill, the train would also come over the bridge and join in the battle for the castle. Colin Jang would lead the train rebels and the rest of us who were still alive would use the train as cover, and slip between and around the coupled coaches to finish the attack on the castle.

  * * *

  “You like this better than cooking, Harry?” Kin was grinning as we walked to the bus parking lot. My wig and makeup were gone. “Look,” Kin said, “your girlfriend. Maybe you should grow your hair back. I think she likes you better that way.”

  I thought Kin might be right, but I wasn’t really sure I could consider Celia my girlfriend yet. I was pleased to see her chatting with Aunt Phyllis by the bus.

  “Hi, Harry. How’d it go?” Celia smiled.

  “It was pretty exciting and I didn’t get killed. At least, no one told me to play dead, so I just kept running.”