Liz looked to Lou, rolling her eyes. There was amusement in her look too, however guarded.
Lou saw it from the corner of his eye and enjoyed having successfully confirmed his “craziness.” He added seriously, “Observe your life from the third person, and if it’s funny or strange, it’s a movie.”
“And what’s the use of this wisdom, if I may ask?”
“What’s the use? Hell, it’s pretty clear. Put two people in the same situation, and the normal guy gets angry, while the guy with wisdom is amused.”
“It’s escaping into a dream-world. It’s not facing reality,” said Liz. She seemed to be a little worried again.
Lou didn’t say anything.
“What’s a book, then?” said Liz after a while.
“A book,” Lou said after a short moment of suspense, “is when something dramatic is happening to you. It could be something sad, a difficult situation, or lovesickness, for example. Or just a rainy day.” He thought it over, his focus still on the clouds. “Everyone knows the books. Oliver Twist, The Catcher—or even Heidi, for God’s sake. Someone tries to find a way through something difficult, or something sad—that’s basically all.” Lou stopped for a beat. “The interesting thing is, for the person in the book, it may sometimes be a little difficult, or sad. But you, reading the story, you feel kind of cozy about it. You feel a little sad too, like the person in the book, but at the same time something beautiful happens in your heart. I guess you’ve read these stories too?”
Liz nodded, looking toward the sea.
“So, if we secretly were falling in love on this island, and then we died—right in the rain—before even having an affair, it would be a book,” Lou said. “It would be a story full of desire, full of courage—and, of course, full of melancholy.”
Liz rolled her eyes again.
Another clap of thunder came from the sea.
“But what’s the wisdom? What do you get from it?” Liz said, looking at Lou.
“Well,” he said, “a person with the wisdom in a situation like this feels a little cozy too. Right when feeling sad. He’s able to see what the third person—reading the book, so to speak—can see.”
Liz thought for a moment, still looking toward the sea.
The wind was stronger now; it carried the black clouds a little closer to the island.
“Don’t you think we might die here?” said Liz reflectively.
“I don’t know. All I know is before I die I will have fought it as best I can.”
Liz didn’t say anything for a while. Then all of a sudden her face lit up a little, as if she had thought of something clever. “I guess you feel a little sad, but cozy, right now?” she said with a trace of a new spirit in her voice.
“No,” he deadpanned, “I just like sitting here and talking with you.”
Liz smiled a little. Then shivered.
“Sometimes you’re nice,” she said. She said it loud enough to be heard but not loud enough to be a part of the conversation.
But Lou couldn’t accept it just like that. “That’s obvious. Everyone likes a Chinese intellectual.”
“Sometimes you’re a moron too,” she said, and this new spirit completely took over.
Slowly, but gradually, the clouds that had hung over the ocean began to break and rain started to fall.
Both stood up.
“You know what?” said Liz, “I don’t mind the rain.”
“You’re crazy,” Lou teased.
“No, I’m an intellectual Chinese.”
With the word Chinese, she turned and ran ahead. Lou didn’t follow—he just watched her run. The way she was moving reminded him of a child running in her favorite but really oversize sweater.
2.
We are in a kitchen. If we take a good look we see that it’s the kitchen of the suburban house we saw in the intro. There’s Beth, whom we already got to know, working behind the sink. And on the tiled floor lies a young boy. He could be ten, maybe eleven.
“Pete, don’t bother the cat while she’s eating.”
“I’m not bothering her,” said Pete, lying on his stomach next to the cat, his chin resting on his flat palms. “I’m just observing her.”
“I don’t want you lying on the cold floor.”
“Mother?” said Pete, showing no intention of removing himself from the allegedly cold floor. “Do we still have that small box with the holes in the lid—I mean the one we used to put the bait in?”
“I don’t know. It could be in the garage. Why? What do you need it for?”
“I don’t need it. I just wondered,” said Pete. He slid his right hand from under his chin and reached for the cat. For a moment he tried to hold the cat’s hind leg to the floor with two fingers.
“Pete. I don’t like what I heard from Sarah this morning,” said Beth, looking down at Pete. “She said you threatened to put a spider on her bed. And you know how she feels about spiders.”
“I was just kidding,” said Pete.
One part of the cat continued to eat, and another part tried to pull its leg out of the hold.
“But it isn’t nice, anyway. You know how she’s afraid of spiders.”
“I only said I discovered a small spider in my room behind a seashell,” said Pete in his defense, looking up at his mother for the first time. “Well, I just asked her if she hates small spiders too.”
He must have let go of the hold while changing his focal point, so the cat, still eating, pulled its leg away.
“That’s not what she told me,” said Beth, cleaning another leaf of lettuce. “She told me you showed her the spider.”
“Yes, I showed it to her. But she said it was too small to really scare her,” said Pete, looking back at the cat.
The cat had its head suspended over the bowl now, concentrating on chewing a big chunk.
“Didn’t you say you planned to feed it with flies to make it a big one? Sarah said you threatened to put it on her bed one day, when it’s big enough.”
“I was just kidding,” said Pete. “I said one day I’m going to put the spider underneath a cup on her bed. But when I do it, I’ll just put an empty cup on her bed.”
“That’s not nice. That’s really not nice, Pete. You know she won’t go near the cup, and in the end it’s me who has to—”
She stopped as she saw Pete pursuing the cat out of the kitchen. He walked four-legged and in slow motion, pretending to be some hideous beast of nature.
3.
We are back on the island. It’s night.
“Are you asleep?” Liz asked.
“No.”
“I can’t sleep.” She turned and tried to make a picture out of the darkness. But she saw only that Lou was lying supine, looking to the sky. She moved into the same position, then said, “Are you afraid of the dark?”
“No.”
“Do you like the stars?”
“Yes.”
“Are you afraid of dying?”
“No.”
“Do you like the sea?”
“Yes.”
“Do you believe in something after— Oh . . . did you see that shooting star?”
“There wasn’t one.”
“You have to make a wish,” said Liz.
“There wasn’t even a shooting star.”
Liz wasn’t listening. After a moment she said, “Did you make a wish?”
“Yes.”
“What did you wish?”
“I could tell you, but then I’d have to shoot you,” Lou said casually.
“Oh, come on. What was it?”
“If you tell, it won’t come true,” he said and added, “That’s the rule.”
Liz just said, “Oh.”
After a moment she said, “I can’t sleep. Tell me a good-night story.”
“No. You tell me one.”
“No,” she wailed. “Please tell me one.”
“All right. But let me think first.”
4.
In Pete’s bedroom
. The same night.
Pete was lying in his bed saying his prayer: “Dear God, please make Mom and Dad a little more cool.” He thought for a moment, then went on, “Besides, I’m looking forward to tomorrow’s class trip. I hope that the weather’s going to be nice.”
5.
Back on the island. A moment later.
“And?” said Liz.
“I told you I have to think first.”
“But not that long.”
“As long as it takes to make up a story.”
“Why don’t you tell me one you already know? Don’t you know a story from your childhood or anything?”
“Yes,” said Lou, “but I don’t feel like telling a children’s story right now.”
“So tell me your favorite story out of all the stories you’ve ever read.”
He thought for a moment. “There is one I really like a lot. It’s about this guy named Tim,” he said. “I guess Tim isn’t even his real name, because he lives somewhere in China—they probably just translated it that way, the poor bastards.”
Lou thought about it for a moment.
“But I can’t tell it—it’s way too long. You would be asleep before I even came to anything.”
“So tell me your favorite part of it.”
Lou thought for a moment. “There is this part that’s really great.” He stopped and seemed to reconsider it, but then started anyway. “This guy, Tim, lived somewhere in a city, but he used to spend two days a week on a farm. It was actually his uncle’s farm. But his uncle didn’t live there anymore. He had given up farming and moved to the city too. But he kept the house for the weekends, or something. Anyway, Tim went there to write his stories, and he had a piano there that he always played till late at night. It was totally out in the country. As a matter of fact, he had to ride his bicycle for about two hours to get there. But it wasn’t a big deal for him . . . you know, these Asian guys love to ride their bicycles. The great part is, there was this other farm near this house, and the dog of this farm always came to Tim on the days he stayed there. It’s impossible to explain—you have to read it.”
“Come on,” pleaded Liz.
“All right. But don’t complain if you don’t like it,” said Lou.
He was thinking for a moment.
“So the dog likes Tim a lot, and Tim likes the dog a lot,” he said, making an effort to sound bored.
Liz started to laugh.
“Why are you laughing?”
“You know why,” said Liz, amused.
Lou’s face lit up a little. Then he tried to concentrate.
“All right, let’s have a little quiet in here, or no story,” Lou said, remembering a line of some other book.
There came no response. Liz probably hadn’t read this book, so it may have seemed a little weird to her.
“If Tim, for example, played the piano in his room, the dog always lay outdoors and listened. He usually played the piano till late at night. And before he went to sleep he would go out and say good night to the dog.
“So one night—it was a really clear night with the sky full of stars—he went out to say good night to the dog. He sat down next to it and stroked it. When the dog got special attention, he would always stretch full length with this benign expression on his face,” Lou explained, and thought for a moment. “You know, the way dogs do.” He stopped for another beat, fully aware that his listener, next to him, was waiting for more information. After a pause he continued.
“Anyway, one particular night both sat there in front of the house watching the stars.” Lou stopped again, thinking for a moment. “The great thing is, Tim always enjoyed breathing the warm evening air while sitting there with his dog. You know how the air is when a long winter comes to an end and the first spring day arrives, and the air is all of a sudden warm and fresh as hell, like in the evening?”
“Yes,” Liz said.
“When you read the book, you almost feel as if you could capture a short breath of this air yourself. Anyway, where did I stop?”
“You said Tim was sitting one particularly fresh night with the dog, watching the stars.”
“Ah, yes,” he said, with a sparkle in his eye. “And then Tim said to the dog, ‘This was another glorious day, wasn’t it? But dogs don’t care about stuff like that, do they?’ And the dog only sprawled a little more, enjoying the attention. Then Tim poked the dog’s soft belly with his finger, to get his attention, I guess, or just to tease him. And then comes the best part—the part I like most. The dog lifted his head up to see what was going on, still with that benign, stupid expression. Tim, seeing it, was filled with affection, groped the dog’s neck with both hands, and shook the fur, saying, ‘Soon you’re going to get tired. Then you’ll fall asleep and the world will make another turn. And in the morning, when the sun comes up on the other side, you’ll wake up and another day will begin. And right now you don’t have the slightest idea.’ ”
Lou thought about it for a moment. Then: “Isn’t that the most beautiful story? It’s especially great if you read it. It’s really one of the best books.”
There came no response. Liz either was thinking or had fallen asleep. It was the first, though, and she said, “Well, it’s not the best story I’ve ever heard, but it’s kind of cute.”
“Most people don’t like stories like this. They think stuff has to explode all the time, or people have to run around naked and all. Or things have to be cute as hell,” said Lou. “I don’t even think it’s cute. I know what you mean, though. In a way, if you read it, it’s cute. But you never get the feeling this guy wrote it down because he wanted it to be cute. Neither do you get the feeling he wrote it down because he wanted it to come off as smart. It’s hard to find a book like this. It’s really great. You really should read it.”
“What’s it all about? What’s the story?”
“There isn’t really a story. It’s just personal stuff from this Chinese guy’s life. Stuff he observes. Stuff he likes. Stuff he doesn’t like. Stuff that makes him excited. Stuff that worries him. That’s basically all.”
6.
The next day: It’s early morning. We are at a subway station. There is Jim (the man with the brush and bucket from the intro) and Arnold. Arnold is African-American. He’s about fourteen.
“Mr. Frazier,” said Arnold, “I ran into my uncle yesterday. He has this friend who’s an agent. I thought— maybe I could ask him to read your script if you want me to.”
“That’s mighty nice. Thank you, Arnold, but I’ll have to find my own way,” Jim said with a certain awkwardness.
“I read there were hundreds of great writers that couldn’t publish their work for years and years and then they became really big.”
“Really?” said Jim.
“Wouldn’t it be great if you hit it big time? Would you still keep working?”
“Probably not, Arnold.”
“That really would be something, Mr. Frazier, you becoming a famous writer,” said Arnold, thinking it over with a big smile on his face.
7.
On the island.
The sun slowly rose behind the ocean, reflecting on the water through a light mist.
Lou was running to the shore. He dove into a wave, then started to swim.
Liz was waking up. She stretched her arms and legs, shivered a little, then looked sleepily to the sea.
Lou shouted, “Come into the water! It’s so refreshing.”
Liz shivered again, then tried to wrap her sweater a little tighter around her body, still looking sleepily to the sea.
8.
We are in a supermarket.
Arnold was working behind a cash register, being friendly with the customers. Next to him in another register booth worked Jim, not so enthusiastically. An old lady was packing her stuff into the bag behind Jim’s booth.
Jim turned and said, “Do you want the receipt?” holding it in her direction.
The old lady looked at him, and said, “No,” with a seduc
tive smile, as if she were doing Jim a big favor. Then she added casually, while passing her hand dismissively through the air, “I don’t need it,” as if she considered herself not only cool as hell, but pretty worldly too.
Jim crumbled the receipt and threw it with a frown into the garbage can next to his feet.
Arnold must have caught a glimpse of Jim’s face. “Do you know her, Mr. Frazier?”
Jim looked at him. “No . . . no, Arnold. But call me Jim, I told you before.”
“I know, I just feel more comfortable calling you Mr. Frazier,” said Arnold, with a big smile.
9.
On the island. Noon.
The hut they were building was right next to a small river coming out of the woods. They had built a fire. Lou was sitting on a piece of log eating a fish on a wooden stick. Liz squatted next to the fire, still holding hers over the heat.
“Do you think it was fate that brought us here?” she said, looking at Lou behind her. She focused back on her fish. “In a way, it’s pretty beautiful.”
“I don’t know,” said Lou, taking a bite of his fish. “We are here, that’s all we need to know.”
“I know, but do you think there’s a plan behind it?”
“There’s a plan behind everything in nature.”
Liz kept holding the stick over the fire for a while in silence. She moved it in small circles, then turned it. “But do you think there is a bad and dark side of nature too? You know—do you believe in a bad and dark side, or anything?”
Taking almost the last bite, Lou said, “The dark side is when we take stuff as a personal offense instead of trying to find a way. This kind of stuff doesn’t look good to the third person. It looks horrible.”
Liz was inspecting her fish closely, smelling it. “I’m going to try this now,” she said, and stepped back to the second log.
Lou took the last bite, then threw the fish bones over his shoulder into the woods.
10.
In the subway. Evening.
Arnold sat in a subway car, flirting with a baby in a buggy.
a movie...and a Book Page 2
