Now I was explaining the plot in detail. In retrospect, it was not what you’d call in the trade ‘a very successful pitch’, considering, as one must, the manner in which it was delivered. For, by this stage, my face had become incandescent and the sweat on my brow was like a broad strip of cellophane that had been thumbed on there.
‘I see,’ Boyle Henry repeated patiently, nodding.
He was running his tongue along his upper lip and frowning. Because they were both wearing tracksuits, the smell of perspiration was very strong. Sandy didn’t frown. He was still smiling, but not for a second averting his eyes. I had to look away from him because I couldn’t make out what he was thinking. Then I started walking up and down. Stroking my own chin to try and marshal my thoughts. ‘Get back here!’ you’d cry in your mind, as they skittered away off again — your thoughts, I mean!
‘Go on,’ said Boyle Henry.
‘I don’t know what you’ve heard, Mr Henry. I mean, I don’t know what they’ve been saying about us in the pubs or, you know, wherever. I mean, you know this town! It’s impossible once the rumours start to know what to believe! So let me fill you in, yeah? Boy, it’s warm! Isn’t it warm, Mr Henry? Do you think it’s warm? Are you sweating? I am! But then, of course, you’ve been playing squash! Where was I? Yes, of course! This film-making is a tiring business! Do you know what I think? I think a pie is what I need! Do you hear me? Pies! No! We must get this scene right! As you can see, it’s the scene with the salesman! Or is it? Is that the scene we’ve been shooting? It must be! It’s the one I’ve blocked out for today! Yes, it’s the scene dealing with the murder of Campbell Morris the salesman all those years ago. Which has absolutely nothing to do with you at all, Mr Henry! Nothing at all in the wide world! No, solely Bennett and the others! Not that it would matter if it had! Do you think I’d mind? Of course I wouldn’t! And I know you wouldn’t either! Because you’re an intelligent man and you know what’s necessary in this day and age. You know, yes, you read all the papers. You know that we’ve all been involved in things. You, me! We’ve all done things we’re not proud of! Gosh, Mr Henry, it’s warm! So many bombs in one little town on the night of Fr Connolly’s rally. Boom! How many people dead? How many maimed for ever? Ouch! Mr Henry, what kind of a carry-on is that? Then turning out it wasn’t the Provos at all. British Intelligence, in fact! To discredit the IRA! Yes, strange things happened back in those days! And we’ve all done our share, let’s not pretend we haven’t! Yes, we’re culpable too, Mr Henry! You know that word? Of course you do! It means we’re to blame, yes, yes, yes and a thousand times yes. Me for Jacy, yourself and Sandy for what happened to Detective Tuite — yes, a particularly brutal murder indeed, even by the standards of the time. Red Hand Commandos, my eye!’
Of course, it’s pretty obvious now that it was a dumb thing to mention their names, just about as dumb as you could get, I reckon, and which I realized the very second I’d done it, no matter how high I was or confused or whatever, was pretty fucking foolish, and that’s all you can say about it. As was what followed.
‘No, Mr Henry, but of course I’m going to change your name. What would I go and use your real name for? You ask anyone here who’s involved in the salesman scene, the simple fact is there is not a name, not one single name that hasn’t been changed and it will be exactly the same for the scene with the detective. Should be really good fun, actually, coming up with all these new identities. In a movie that I hope will put Scotsfield on the map! I mean, you know the international arena, Mr Henry, from your politics and travels, yeah? They won’t be expecting a film like this to come out of little old Scotsfield! A movie concerned with forgiveness and deliverance shot in an Irish town. It will be fantastic! A first, Mr Henry! Yep! You bet!’
A brief gust of dread went blowing by as I caught a glimpse of his penetrating expression. But almost as quickly it was gone when I saw him smile. And, once again, I was beaming, immersing myself in my subject matter, working myself up to a dramatic closing sentence as I opened my eyes and, drawing my breath to explain a little further, began to speak.
But they were gone.
The Night Visitor
With every sound that night I kept thinking: Ah, Boyle! Come in!, fast-forwarding the videotape, as it were, to the point where Boyle and Sandy would appear, reassuring me they understood. ‘Ah! So that’s what it was all about, Joey!’ they’d say, magnanimously grateful, as Boyle put his arm around me. ‘Let’s have a drink then!’
A few times I thought I heard them and got up to open the door.
There was nothing, though, only the church bell sounding as it came on the wind.
On the Street
A couple of days after, I met Boyle on his own just happening to come out of the shop with his paper, and told him I would be more than willing to continue our chat. But he said he hadn’t time. ‘I have to see a man about a dog,’ he said, shadow-boxing a little bit as he gave me a twinkly smile.
For Sure
I had a pretty good idea he’d come the next day, though. He didn’t, however. I reckoned he’d been detained due to pressure of work. Things came up unexpectedly and shit.
Taking Its Toll
I was becoming a little bit concerned, though, for the incident had begun to affect the shoot. Given even the slightest provocation, I would now find myself, quite irrationally taking the face off the actors. At one point one of the students — my very best pupil, in fact —became so frustrated he actually turned around to me and said: ‘Maybe we should forget all about doing this fucking film!’
‘No! No!’ I said, and calmed myself down. But I heard later that it had really been touch and go. The cast had been thinking of walking. I don’t know what I’d have done then.
Never did a more relieved director pick up a megaphone to shout ‘Turnover!’ and ‘Action!’ than me that very afternoon, I can tell you!
The Roman Senator
I kept thinking: If only Boyle would come out and have a talk with me, because I really don’t think he understood what I meant about Tuite. One day I lost it in the pub. Austie stared at me, wiping the counter slowly and steadily in that almost zombie-like way.
‘You see, Austie,’ I explained, ‘I know there’s been some confusion. But it really is very simple. How can I put it? You ask yourself: What is the theme of Joey Tallon’s movie? What, in a nutshell, is The Animal Pit dealing with? Well, I’ll tell you, Austie. The very same as I’ll tell Boyle when he has a chance to come out and visit. The Animal Pit essentially tells the story of a small border community and the series of events that affects it over a twenty-five- or thirty-year period. But, far more than that, much more important — are you with me, Austie? — it’s fundamentally a personal journey. A personal journey for you and me, and for all of us who have been in some way involved. And we’ve all been, in some small way! Take the scene with the salesman, say. The “salesman scene”, yeah? Do you think Bennett when he came in for a drink that night expected to leave a miserable few hours later complicit in another human being’s murder? Another human being with a wife and child? A man called — Campbell Morris!’
I lifted my drink and looked around me. Then I said: ‘I think not, gentlemen!’
It’s hard to believe that I used those words. In fact, to be honest, it’s difficult to keep from laughing when you think back on it now. Not to mention what followed — becoming completely carried away when someone shouted a few words of encouragement, something like: ‘Good man, Joey!’ and ‘Tell it like it is!’ That more or less did it — I was away again!
So you can imagine my reaction when I looked up, in full swing, and saw Hoss Watson, snapping his cellphone closed as he came swinging in the door. He stood there staring at me. And gave me this look. I can’t describe it. It was … it had the effect of …
I nearly went through the roof, to tell you the truth.
No! I kept thinking. No! Don’t say anything else. Steady yourself and say nothing more. For a little while at least, J
oey. It would be better.
But it didn’t happen.
‘Yes,’ I continued, obsessively playing with the eyepiece, ‘that’s what the salesman scene is about! If it’s about anything, it’s about gazing into the darkness, into the very depths of that steaming pit. Let’s look at what there is to see in there! And instead of bodies, pelts and innards, instead of steaming offal, innards, turn around and film —what?’
I paced up and down like some swaggering Roman senator, thinking Hoss and Pies as my heart kept thumping. Then I stopped in my tracks and found myself thinking: He’ll probably come out tonight.
Meaning Boyle, of course.
‘Here’s a pie for you,’ I thought of him saying, as I saw him standing on the step with a tinfoil tray.
‘Good man, Joey!’ someone shouted.
Instinctively, I whirled, frightening the life out of some old geezer who’d drifted off into a trance, and asked, rapid-fire, clicking my fingers with a quite pronounced hoarseness now on display: ‘Instead of darkness, then filming — what?’
I paused.
‘A new beginning, ladies and gentlemen!’ I declared. ‘A pit, in a sense, that’s swamped in light! Where we’ll find deliverance — through purgation! In there, in that horrible pit of guts, locating the source of our triumph! That will become our rebirth! The old, essentially, giving way to the new! Out of that rancid hole, the scent of newness rising, bringing with it the essence of a new spring. And what is the essence of that new spring?’
I lowered my head, then raised it.
‘Ladies and gentlemen of Scotsfield,’ I continued, ‘today when we film the salesman scene at a location not far from this bar, I hope that what it will constitute, effectively, is the opening of that first bud, the very first “popping” of this “new spring”! The spring of which Gogol has written [I can’t believe I remembered it! But I did! Perfectly!]: “Suddenly, having been held back a long time by frosts, it had arrived in all its beauty, and everything came to life everywhere! Patches of blue could already be seen in the forest glades and on the fresh emerald of the young grass dandelions showed yellow and the lilac-pink anemones bowed their tender little heads. What brilliance in the foliage! What freshness in the air! What excited twitterings of birds in the orchards! Paradise, joy and exaltation in everything!’”
I paused then coughed. Hoss considered me impassively. I noticed, perhaps for the first time, how much weight he had lost since the old days, and how well he fitted into his tailored Armani suit. Further indication of a redundant skin shed, I estimated. Before proceeding: ‘And which belongs to us here in this little town! This town of ours that we call Scotsfield! It belongs to us here just as much as it does to any of the great nations of the earth, whether America or China or Japan or …’
I couldn’t think for a minute and had to ask someone for a hankie. It seems so stupid now but it was Hoss I went over to.
‘Hello there, Hoss,’ I said. ‘I was wondering, would you have a hankie?’
A web of sweat-streams masked my face. He stood there with his arms folded. I wasn’t one hundred per cent sure whether he’d answered me or not.
‘A hankie, Hoss. I was wondering, would you have one?’
‘Are you fucking deaf? I told you I didn’t!’
It was all I could do not to run off out the door. But instead I threw myself back into my speech, as if hoping I’d exhaust them and that maybe they’d do that — get up off their stools and exit. I was praying I wouldn’t run out of things to say.
‘The new spring,’ I continued, ‘this new spring which has been held back a long time by frosts. The frosts of deceit! The frosts of denial! The frosts of self-deception, people!’
That led into another big quote from Gogol, the bit in Dead Souls where he’s describing the green thickets ‘lighted up by the sun’.
‘The green thickets,’ I concluded, ‘falling apart and revealing an unlit chasm between them, yawning like the open mouth of some huge wild animal.’
And I have to say, in retrospect, that, in theatrical terms, it really was a pretty good performance — the Gogol parts, at any rate. But afterwards I was completely floored. I could just about find my way out when I’d finished. As I was going through the door, I heard Hoss calling my name. But when I turned to answer there was no sign of him. Everyone had gone back to either playing pool or watching Big Brother. With the door just swinging there, I might have been watching it all from the top of a church steeple.
I was going past the Video Emporium when I looked up to see Jacy in the doorway talking to the doorman, the Provo from The Ritzy days. She seemed nervous and pale, obsessively flicking her cigarette. I heard him say: ‘Boyle says he’ll meet you there at half eight, Jacy. He got delayed last night. Problem at home, you know yourself.’
‘Sure I know,’ she stammered, fumbling in her handbag for a lighter. She was wearing the red imitation-leather coat.
Then she turned to him and, drawn, snapped: ‘You think I’m a fool? You take me for a fool, do you, Danny?’
Danny — that was his name, I remembered, bowing my head and keeping on walking.
‘Hey, Joey! Joey!’ I heard him calling. ‘You not talking to the people?’
I couldn’t bear to turn and face her.
‘Ah, come on now, Barbapapa, don’t be like that! Come over here and talk to your old pals, why don’t you?’
I quickened my step and hoped I wouldn’t trip.
I didn’t sleep that night either, being completely convinced of Boyle’s imminent arrival. So I was a bit tired the next day but I couldn’t afford to cancel any more scenes.
‘No, sir!’ I said as I strode along the road. ‘Today all our pages will be shot in their entirety!’
I was going through them individually, working out all the important-details when …
… the car with the smoked-glass windows pulled up noiselessly behind me. Boyle was wearing his panama hat. He leaned out the window and said: ‘Well, Joey! Off to work then, are we?’
All of a sudden I found myself stupidly tongue-tied and completely at a loss. But, as I’d been secretly hoping — actually, been pretty much convinced — it transpired that there had been no need — yet again — for any of my misplaced concern.
‘You’re worrying your head about nothing, for Christ’s sake!’ he assured me. ‘I’m fully behind you and your efforts! That’s what this town needs — more men with vision! It was the lack of them that kept us behind for so long. You and me, sure we’re old pals! Do you remember the night we were together in Oldcastle? Oh now! Keep her going, Joey, yeah? Any help I can give you!’
I couldn’t believe it as I watched him drive away. The new spring had definitely arrived when you were hearing things like that. There was only one thing you could say about it: it was wonderful.
When I got to the hall the cast were waiting. As I swung my loud-hailer I felt like shouting into it: ‘I love you all! Because you’ve made this possible! Every single one of you — I love you! I just want you all to know that!’
I couldn’t stop thinking about the ‘Temple of Colossal Dimensions’, which Gogol had described so magnificently in Dead Souls. And of how similar to that my film was, being a kind of theatre … of true forgiveness, I suppose you might say. Whenever I thought of Jacy and all the things I’d done — not to demean all those other poor people who’d suffered, for beside them my story was of little consequence — I wanted to fall to my knees and weep.
All I kept thinking of was how good it had been of Boyle to level with me like that. And clear the air in that life-affirming way.
And why, when he put a call through to my assistant (a really good kid called Morgan) and asked whether it would be OK for him to drop by the reservoir later on that day as he’d heard we were shooting some scenes out there, I hadn’t the slightest hesitation in saying: ‘For sure! Tell the man — absolutely! Absolutely! Of course!’
He arrived straight after lunch, and I pleaded with the cast to
give it their best shot. ‘We’ve a really important visitor here today,’ I said. And, happily, from the very first second I shouted ‘Action!’, I could tell they were going to give it everything. Absolutely everything those fucking kids possessed!
(These pages — fax sheets actually, which still survive in pristine condition — contain the germ of story I had given them to work from. The dialogue and action they made up themselves.)
Story Treatment: The Animal Pit — Salesman Scenes
It was a fine summer’s day in the small border town of Scotsfield. The Lady of the Lake festival was just over and everyone was in good spirits and trying their best to keep it that way, still laughing, joking and lingering about the streets.
So it was not all that surprising that Campbell Morris, an English travelling salesman who happened to be in town on business, should decide to treat himself to a drink or two before continuing his journey to Dublin. The first bar he sampled was the Step Down Inn but it proved to be just that little bit too quiet for his tastes, so he finished up his beer (‘No! We don’t sell pale ale in here!’ the barman bluntly informed him) and proceeded further down the street to what was an impressive-looking building indeed (‘Barbarella’s — where love stories begin!’), which looked like just the place for him!
‘If there’s action to be had in the town of Scotsfield then I’ve a feeling it’s to be found in here,’ mused the Englishman to himself as he pushed open the door and went inside. That was the great thing about Ireland, he thought, as he sipped his beer and accepted his change from the barman, who introduced himself as ‘Austie’ — you were hardly in a town five minutes before you were made to feel like you belonged in the place. Already he was beginning to give serious consideration to not returning to Dublin at all — but actually booking into a hotel and —
‘Hello! My name’s Hoss!’ declared the bullish, red-faced man who’d just finished playing pool. ‘You’re on holidays then I take it?’
Call Me the Breeze: A Novel Page 30
