The Book of the Film of the Story of My Life

by William Brandt

  “Oh?”

  “By the path. Very pretty. Yellow and black stripes.” She yawns.

  “You should tell someone.”

  “The place is crawling with them.”

  “Are they poisonous?”

  “Deadly. But they never bite.”

  “What’s the point in being deadly if you never bite?”

  “If you’re deadly, you don’t have to bite.” Sophie goes to say something else, but changes her mind. I twist my head to look at her. She takes off her sunglasses, blinks, half-rolls her eyes.

  “Contacts bothering you?”

  “All this sun. Dries them out.” She puts her sunglasses back on.

  “I saw you in Empire.”

  “Stupid photo.”

  “No, I liked it.”

  She shrugs. She hates compliments. “Sorry about yesterday.”

  “You don’t have to be sorry.”

  “Just didn’t expect to see you. It was a bit of a surprise.”

  “That’s okay. I didn’t expect to see you either. As a matter of fact it never crossed my mind that you might be here, not even once. Just never thought of it for some reason.”

  “Haven’t seen you for ages.”

  “You’ve been busy.”

  “Yeah. I’ve been busy. So how are you?”

  “I’m great. I’m just great.”

  “You’ve lost weight.”

  “I have?”

  “Definitely. You’re looking good.”

  “Congratulations, by the way.”

  She smiles.

  “How’s it going? The pregnancy?”

  “I feel sick all day. I can’t drink. I can’t smoke. My skin’s gone to shit. I can’t sleep. I have fluid retention, I’m spending half my life on the toilet, my back aches and I have to get someone else to do up my shoes.”

  “But apart from that, okay?”

  “Apart from that it’s just great.”

  “Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

  She shakes her head. “As long as it’s healthy.” She pauses. “I’m sorry it happened this way.”

  “Oh, hell, don’t worry about it.”

  “I didn’t plan it. It just kind of, well, happened.”

  There’s something sad about her. I can sense it. Something is troubling her. “How do you feel about it?”

  She puts a hand on her stomach. “Oh, really, really sure.”

  “Well, that’s great.”

  “Oh, yeah. I’ve never been so sure of anything in my whole life.” She pauses uncomfortably. “I was going to call you.”

  “Of course.”

  “But I didn’t know you were going to be here.”

  “It was a last-minute decision.”

  “Must have been a bit of a shock. When you saw me like that.”

  “I already knew.”

  “How?”

  “Oh, the grapevine. You know.”

  She smiles. “Tamintha.”

  “I can neither confirm nor deny.”

  “I suppose I felt sort of guilty.”

  “Don’t be silly.”

  She finishes her orange juice. “Sometimes I think you’re a much better person than me.”

  “Rubbish.”

  “You brought someone with you.”

  “Oh, Melissa? Yeah.”

  “Where did you meet her?”

  “Selfridges. Garden furniture.”

  “Where you go to read?”

  “Yeah.”

  Sophie nods, slowly. “She seems nice.”

  “Oh, she is. She’s very nice.”

  “You seem to get on really well.”

  “You think so?”

  “What does she do?”

  “She’s a student.”

  “She seems quite young.”

  “She is quite young but she’s very mature for her age.”

  Sophie nods. “How long have you been going out?”

  “Not that long. We’re kind of pretty serious. I mean, she’s crazy about me and we’re very happy but we’re not necessarily fully committed. Long-term. Or at least I’m not. Necessarily.”

  She inspects a fingernail. “I’m really glad you’re seeing someone. I do want you to be happy.”

  “Oh, I am. I’m very happy. So how’s Matt?”

  “Oh, he’s all right.”

  “He must be really looking forward to the baby.”

  “Well, he’s had three already, so he’s kind of used to it.”

  “Oh. Yeah. I suppose so.”

  She rubs her leg. “He was a bit shocked at first.”

  “He’d have come round by now, I suppose?”

  “Yeah, he’s fine.”

  Brian, leaning against my stomach, jerks suddenly in his sleep. His arm shoots out, fingers stiff, as if to ward off a great big hairy black spider. Gradually he subsides and the hand settles again on my leg. Sophie is drawing on the sand with her finger: a baby body with stick arms and stick legs and a little curly topknot. Brian wakes up. He sits up straight, stretches, yawns. “Dah.”

  “Hullo, little man,” says Sophie. She holds out a finger. Brian puts it in his mouth. “Cute, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah, very.”

  “Dah.” Brian removes Sophie’s finger and starts to crawl toward the coconut tree. No points for style: he crawls with one leg cocked like a pissing dog, but it gets him there.

  The next question is so casual I surprise myself. “So when is the baby due, exactly?”

  The answer is pretty casual too. “Six weeks.”

  Mental arithmetic is not my strong point. I’m still working on it when Brian, who has almost reached the coconut palm, misses the ground. It’s the sort of thing only a baby can do. He just completely misses and pitches forward, quite suddenly, face-first into the sand. A lot of things happen very quickly all at once. I lunge forward, my arms outstretched. Just as I reach Brian there’s a white noiseless flash and a sudden wash of green, and then I’m seeing stars, but I have Brian. I have him by the waist. I pick him up and dust the sand off his face. He hiccups a few times, then turns to me. He’s gone bright red but he seems to be more excited than frightened. “Dah. Dah, dah, dah!” He points into the bush, looking up into my face. “Dah, dah.”

  “Yes, Brian, yes, you’re okay.” I can feel his drool, wet on my collarbone. The kid’s all right. Ugly, a little overexcited, but all right. Sophie is about six feet away, doubled up on her knees, cradling her head in her hands. We must have both lunged at the same time, and banged heads.

  “Sophie?”

  She makes a small muffled noise which means don’t-talk-to-me-I’m-in-pain. In circumstances like this, I know exactly what to do. Nothing. I put Brian on my lap, dust him down a little more, and wait.

  “Dah.”

  “Yes, Brian.”

  Sophie straightens up. “Jesus, that hurt.”

  “I think we banged heads.”

  “I know we banged heads. Didn’t that hurt you?”

  “Ah, a little, yeah.”

  “Christ, your head must be made of concrete.”

  “Let me see.”

  She takes her hand away from her eye. It’s not a pretty sight. There’s a small cut and it’s swelling already. “Oh man, you’re going to get a shiner out of that.”

  “Oh, no.”

  “Got you right on the temple, sorry.”

  She puts her hand back over her eye.

  “Here.” It’s the bartender, standing over us holding a bundled tea towel. “I’ve wrapped some ice in it.”

  “Oh, thanks.” Sophie takes the towel and holds it to her eye.

  “Yeah,” says the bartender, “you won’t need stitches but keep the ice on it for at least half an hour.” He saunters away. I have to say, they’re good here.

  “Dah.”

  “Yes, Brian.”

  Sophie and I move to the shade. We sit in silence, Brian on Sophie’s knee. “Sophie,” I say. I brace myself. My voice sounds far away. “This baby.”
/>
  She lowers the icepack. She looks at me. “Yes?”

  “When did you realize you were pregnant?”

  “Why?”

  “Could it be mine? Technically speaking? In terms of timing?”

  She looks at me for a long, long moment. She shakes her head. “It’s not yours, Frederick.”

  “Dah.” Brian points at nothing in particular.

  I have done a terrible thing. I have done something inexcusable. What I have done is a dirty, low-down trick. There’s just no excuse, and I just can’t feel sorry. I’m glad. The baby is mine. Somehow, I just know.

  “Dah, dah, dah.” Brian wiggles and jiggles.

  “I really think this baby could be mine.”

  Sophie stares at me. Her face is stone.

  “I didn’t mention it at the time, but that night, the night before you left. The condom . . . there was a hole in it.”

  She stares at me. She can’t speak.

  “So . . .”

  “You didn’t say anything about that.”

  “I didn’t think . . .”

  “You didn’t say a word.”

  “I didn’t know you were pregnant. I didn’t know. If I’d known . . .”

  Sophie puts Brian down on the sand and stands up. She looks up and down the beach. She’s silent for a long, long time. Finally she speaks. “It’s not yours.”

  “You can’t be sure of that. How can you be sure? The timing. It’s too close. It must be possible.”

  She’s silent again for a long time. She’s gone as white as a sheet. She opens her mouth to speak, hesitates, and closes it. She looks up and down the beach. “It’s not yours.”

  “It could be. It could be mine. Why couldn’t it be mine?”

  “It’s not yours, and I don’t want you to say anything about this, to anyone.”

  “Dah,” says Brian. “Dah.”

  “It could be mine, and if it is I have a right to know.”

  “I will talk to you about this later. I don’t want to talk about this now.”

  “When will we talk about it?”

  “When I’ve had a chance to think.”

  “When will that be?”

  Sophie looks away, down the beach.

  “And Matt, he has a right to know too.”

  Sophie turns on me in fury and fear, her face mottled white and red. “Don’t say anything to Matt. Don’t you dare say anything to Matt.”

  “All right. I won’t.”

  She makes a visible effort to calm herself. “Give me some time. Just give me some time.”

  “How much time do you need?”

  “Just leave it for now. I don’t want to talk about this.” She walks away down the beach. The child is mine. The child is mine.

  “Dah,” says Brian. “Dah.”

  Chapter 13

  INT. PALACE BALCONY/GARDEN—DAY.

  THE PRINCE STANDS ON THE BALCONY. HE IS LOOKING DOWN AT THE PALACE GARDENS, WEEPING. AMONGST THE PLAYING FOUNTAINS, WHERE BIRDS OF PARADISE FLIT LIKE JEWELS FROM BRANCH TO BRANCH, THE QUEEN IS TAKING HER PLEASURE WITH A BLACK SLAVE OF MASSIVE PROPORTIONS. THE PRINCE DRAWS HIS JEWELED SWORD.

  INT. PALACE CORRIDORS—DAY.

  THE PRINCE RUNS THROUGH THE CORRIDORS OF THE PALACE, HIS SWORD IN HIS HAND. MULTICOLORED BIRDS, HUMMINGBIRDS AND FINCHES, SCATTER BEFORE HIM.

  EXT. PALACE GARDEN—DAY.

  THE PRINCE RUNS THROUGH THE GARDEN. HE FINDS THE QUEEN AND THE BLACK SLAVE, WHO COWER IN FEAR AT HIS APPROACH. WITH ONE STROKE THE PRINCE SHARYAR BEHEADS THE BLACK SLAVE. HE GRASPS THE QUEEN BY HER LONG BLACK HAIR, AND RAISES HIS SWORD.

  Queen

  Mercy!

  Prince

  Infidel.

  HIS SWORD SWEEPS THROUGH THE AIR. THE QUEEN’S HEAD SWINGS BY THE HAIR FROM HIS HAND. WEEPING COPIOUSLY, THE PRINCE SHARYAR KISSES THE HEAD OF THE QUEEN AND, CRADLING IT ON HIS LAP, FALLS TO HIS KNEES ON THE BLOODSTAINED GRASS. JEWEL-LIKE BIRDS FLIT ABOUT HIS HEAD.

  “Ouch,” says Russell.

  “What happened?” says Ella. They’re sitting at a table in Central Square with wet hair and a fruit juice.

  “We bumped heads. It was an accident.”

  Sophie sits down.

  “That’s a really nasty-looking lump,” says Ella. “Are you sure you’re okay?” She puts a hand on Sophie’s arm.

  “Yes, I’m all right, I’m fine.”

  Sophie hates fuss. I like a bit of fuss, myself, but no one’s offering. “I’ve got a nasty-looking lump too.”

  Of course everyone crowds around Sophie. Pregnant women get all the attention. Ella goes to take Brian, but he clings to my shirt. Kids, they just love me. They adore me.

  “Wow,” says Russell. “He really does like you.”

  “Children have innate good taste.”

  “Duh,” says Brian.

  “So did you get along okay?”

  “Fine, but next time don’t feed him raisins, okay?” I sit down. Brian looks around perkily. He’s happy.

  Here we are. The four of us. All together for the first time since Sophie and I split up. It’s heartbreaking. We were a pretty special foursome, we four. Me, Sophie, Russell and Ella. They’re Canadian. I love Canadians, all Canadians. Living as they do right next door to a big bossy neighbor that everyone thinks you’re really just a part of anyway, Canadians understand.

  We met in London on a Thames river cruise organized for the wrap of Chick Fever, which was a little TV job Sophie had. Ella did some postproduction work on it. The four of us just hit it off. Russell and I happened to be standing next to each other at the railing, watching the Thames roll by, and we got talking, standing there. It turned out we had very similar ideas about space exploration. For me there was no looking back. Russell introduced us to Ella, and away we went. We swapped phone numbers, and we rushed home and phoned them up the very next day. It was almost romantic, like our couple had a crush on their couple. Like being part of something just a tiny bit bigger than yourself. We used to do all sorts of stuff together. I don’t mean anything pathological, I mean fun things. Bracing, head-clearing stuff. Walking holidays. Bike rides.

  Russell coughs and clears his throat. This is tragic. This is a heartbreaker. Here we are now sitting around this table, the four of us, and there is nothing to say. It’s over. It’s dead. And what a terrible way to go. Russell sighs and scratches his nose. Sophie is sitting bolt upright, staring into space. Ella is staring at Brian. Brian is trying to get into my mouth. He runs his fingers up and down the gum line, searching for a gap.

  I wish someone would say something.

  What we had, we four, is gone, and it was good and beautiful and it deserved more. It just doesn’t seem right. Someone should say something. Something elegiac.

  “Well,” I say. “Here we all are.” I guess that about sums it up.

  Russell shifts on his seat. “I’ll go get some fresh ice for that eye.” He heads for the bar. We sit in silence.

  “So,” I say to Ella, “where’s Melissa?”

  “Matt’s teaching her to duck dive. You know she’s never snorkeled before?”

  “Did she do okay?”

  “Oh, she’s a natural.”

  “Doesn’t surprise me in the least.”

  Ella smiles. “She seems really nice.”

  “We’re very happy.”

  We both flick glances at Sophie. “Yes, very nice,” she snaps.

  “Hey, we saw a sea snake.” Russell is back with the ice. “Two sea snakes in fact.”

  Ella scoffs. “The second was driftwood.”

  “But aren’t they deadly poisonous?” I say, doing my very best to sound like a concerned lover. I risk a glance at Sophie. She’s looking even more irritable than before.

  Ella sips her drink. “Don’t worry, they never bite.”

  “We’d all be dead by now if they did. They’re everywhere.” Russell points at the sand, at a crosshatched pattern of lines that leads under the table and away into the bush. “See those marks in the sand? Snake
tracks.”

  “For sea snakes they seem to spend an awful lot of time on land.”

  “Most of it, in fact. They come out to bask.”

  “If they spend most of their time on land why are they called sea snakes?”

  There’s a shriek from the direction of the water. We all look that way. Matt and Melissa are just emerging, in snorkels and flippers. Shaking the water out of her hair, Melissa is extremely Bond girl, and Matt, I would have to say in the interests of narrative accuracy, is extremely Bond. They’re both laughing at something. Sophie watches them, one-eyed. About ten yards out, Matt realizes something is wrong. The smile drops off his face and he hurries over. Everyone tries to explain at once and Matt starts fussing. Sophie loses it completely. I could have told him. She hates fuss.

  “Could we all please drop it?” She sits at the table fuming and silent. Matt looks pissed off.

  Melissa recovers first. “Anyway,” she says, “that was a great swim.” She chucks me her towel. “You should have come, pumpkin.”

  “I was left holding the baby, wasn’t I?”

  “Dah,” says Brian.

  “Of course,” Russell clears his throat, “the real danger around here isn’t the snakes. Or even the sharks.”

  “There are sharks?”

  He waves a hand. “You better believe it. But it’s the stonefish you gotta watch out for. They lurk in the shallows, usually on a rocky or muddy bottom. They’re about so big”—he holds his hands about fifteen centimeters apart—“and they’re impossible to spot. I mean, impossible. They’re invisible. You can be staring right at one, you wouldn’t even know unless it moved. And they never move.”

  “How come?” Melissa’s looking interested. Sophie’s looking disgusted. Russell’s looking manic.

  “They look exactly like stones. They’re deformed. They’re the ugliest animals I’ve ever seen, apart from cane toads, tapeworms and those little dogs without any hair.”

  “And they’re poisonous you say?”

  “Extremely poisonous. More poisonous even than the sea snakes. I’m telling you, these guys make cobra venom look silly.”

  “Eek.” Melissa comes over, picks up Brian, sits on my knee and wriggles. I snatch a glance at Sophie. She’s staring at her toes.