Chapters 58 and 59 - The Read Through.

Here's the third excerpt of my novel The Storyteller - to fill you in on the story here is the blurb:

This is an Irish novel set in Los Angeles. It tells the story of Alfredo Hunter, a depressive Jewish/Irish playwright who is in Hollywood to make a killing in the film business. It also tells the story of the unknown narrator, who observes Alfredo's various fluctuations of mood and humor. Humor is to the fore in this novel of a building friendship between two Dubliners as they encounter the New World, with its new language and confusing mores.

Of course I spell humor as humour but we'll let that go; I am going to try and copy and paste the part of the novel when Alfredo has finally written his play about the last evening on earth of the great Irish writer, James Joyce; this I will call, for want of a better title, The Read Through.

A Read Through is usually the first day of rehearsals when the cast arrive and people sit around a table to read the whole play; in America it's called a 'Table Read;' it's a way of introducing people to each other and after the read through everybody either goes to the pub or hangs around for glasses of wine and finger food.

In 1978 I did As You Like It for the BBC in their Complete Shakespeare series; I was booked for four weeks because I had a very complicated sword fight and needed to rehearse it for three weeks. The cast was made up of very famous Shakespearean actors from the RSC and was lead by Helen Mirren and I had so few lines I learned them on the first day - in fact the first hour.

At the read through I was the only person there that I had never heard of and we sat down to read at the BBC rehearsal rooms in North Acton, London, fondly known as the Acton Hilton because it was a skyscraper.

who REALLY played Darth Vader - didn't say anything as he was having a beer with me on that night of the party but others There were many big voices there including the producer, Cedric Messina, a larger than life Harvey Weinstein or a poor man's Lew Grade; he made the dreadful mistake of throwing a party in Scotland, where we were filming, and drawing a line on the cast list only inviting those above it. It was the worst kind of snobbery I have ever encountered but he didn't know that he had left out the man who had played Darth Vader in Star Wars who kind of wondered; he - David Prowsecomplained and used David as an example of Mr Messina's stupidity.

David was, and is, so huge, by the way, that I was surprised he could even get into my car; thank Christ it was bigger than a mini!!

So all these very important people were gathered at the BBC together with some Shakespearean scholars, people in suits and general stage managers; at the end of the reading two scholars came up to me and said 'Are you REALLY going to pronounce importune that way?'

I had put the stress on the wrong syllable and as soon as I said it they dived into their various Shakespeare folios and didn't see any evidence of the way I pronounced it; they wanted the stress on the second syllable and I'd stressed the fourth.

But I digress once again; the other kind of read through is when writers would like to hear how their words sound when said out loud. Some writers think they don't need it, and that is their prerogative, but a lot do and some great writers have listened to actors reading their lines for the first time and realised that there is something else there and gone on to write something even better.

It's not that actors are better at it than the writer or vice versa; a lot of people are not the best judges of their own work and that includes the director too - it's a collaboration!!

Now here is the unknown narrator reading Alfredo's play to him; once again I have no conrol of the margins:

58
Half way through January my phone rang at work and it was Alfredo. I knew he would call eventually. He was on the phone to me for almost half an hour. He didn’t tell me where he was and he wouldn’t give me a number. He said he would let me know that all in good time. He wanted to talk about his suicide. I said I nearly felt like committing suicide when I found out I’d been abandoned. He liked the joke and I told him if he wanted to commit suicide that he must find a way to enjoy it.

“You’re always saying that” he said.

“I mean it. Don’t kill anybody else doing it but if you really want to do it jump off a big building and enjoy the fall - or drive a fast car over a cliff – enjoy the fall.”

“I saw somebody throw himself off the bridge in San Francisco” he said.

“Did you?”

“Yeh; I was up there contemplating it; just looking out looking at the water; in my own misery my own mind; and next to me was another fella and he was looking – he was looking too. I was aware of him because I thought he was watching me; making sure that I didn’t jump. We were there for about - I don’t know - maybe half an hour, forty five minutes, something like that – next thing you know, up he gets and over he goes almost as quick as that; and down he floated; and that’s what he did he floated. He seemed to go down very slow and when he was half way down he seemed to turn, he turned and floated down on his back; and then he hit the water. It must have taken. . . it must have taken about five - five or six seconds – maybe even ten seconds I don’t know – it took all that time for him to fall. And that’s when I changed my mind; I wanted something instant.”

He went on to say that he didn’t care about enjoying anything any more and that he wanted the pain to end then he hung up. There was no automatic star sixty nine at the office so it was a waste of time trying to call him back.

Maybe two weeks later I got another call from him. By this time I had bought a car. I bought
Leah’s Chevy Nova. She called me about Alfredo and after we talked for a while I found out she wanted to sell her car. It cost me five hundred dollars which I thought was a good deal then I had to go to the Department of Motor Vehicles and pay them a percentage of what I had paid for it even though it was a private sale.

Alfredo was just around the corner from where I lived. I got the address from him and drove around there. He made me promise not to tell Betty. When I got there I met the wild man from Borneo. He hadn’t shaved since he had left Betty’s house. He had put on quite a few pounds too and was sitting on a futon looking like a beached whale. He had finished the script and wanted me to read it.

“I’ll take it home with me’ I said.

“No” he said “I want you to read it here – out loud to me. I need to hear it. I need to hear it in your voice.”

“I’m not playing it” I said.

“No I’ve given up on you – they’re going to get somebody that was in the Love Boat.”

“The Love Boat?”

“It was a TV show here.”

“What’s his name?”

“I’ve forgotten, but it’ll come to me on the night, I’m sure. You may be able to do me a favour.”

“I’ll read it but I’m not playing it on the night.”

“Why not?”

“I have never worked in front of an audience.”

“Okay” he said ‘Okay. Do you want a cup of Earl Grey?”

“Yes please.”

“If you go into the kitchen it’s all there for you.”

“Cheeky buggar – what kind of a host are you?”

“Go and fill the water from the flask out there. I have this.”

He had a quarter pound tub of Haagen-Dazs ice cream in front of him.

“This’ll do me,” he said.

I went into the kitchen. There was a thermos flask of hot water, some Earl Grey tea bags and a mug for me to use. I made a cup of tea and I went back into him.

“Why have you let yourself go?”

“I needed to work” he said.

“You need to lose some weight and - shave.”

“I haven’t been out since I came here. There’s a guy here who does my shopping; the laundry is just over the street. I’ll be alright for the show; it’s next week.”

“Have you been on to them?”

“Yes” he said “It’s all under control.”

His script wasn’t clipped together so as I read it I put the page I had finished on to the futon next to me. We were on either ends of it as there were no chairs in the room. On the front page it said The Man with the Pen, by Alfredo Hunter . . .

“Zurich: the evening of January 12th - 13th 1941.
Music: the haunting theme ‘Love’s Old Sweet Song’ on CD.
As the music continues the house lights begin to dim and when they are dark the music fades slightly as a voice fades in:
VOICE OVER
Once upon a time, and a long time ago it was, in the city of Dublin, in the land of Ireland, there was a man with a pen.”

He interrupted me there: “That’s the bit I want you to do.”

“What?”

“That line there: Once upon a time, and a long time ago - etcetera.”

“That wasn’t in before when I read it.”

“There’s a lot in there that you won’t recognise – but I want your voice reading that first line.”

“I can’t do that . . .”

“You can;” he said “we’ll record it. It’ll be on a loud speaker.”

“Where?”

“I know a studio - the Schlepper fixed it up for me. You’ll be okay.”

“Okay” I said “do you want me to carry on?”

“Yes please: from the top.”

“Music: the haunting theme ‘Love’s Old . . . “

“No – start with Once upon a time” he said.

“Or once upon a tome” I joked.

“Ha ha very funny” he said “now let’s get on.”

He didn’t say that nastily and I didn’t want to upset him so I carried on:

“Once upon a time, and a long time ago it was, in the city of Dublin, in the land of Ireland, there
was a man with a pen.

The music continues to play.

A voice Mumbling and moaning is heard - almost incomprehensibly.

VOICE
.....I was yours and you were mine and I was fine around that time and I was finding you my time and I was fine and........... ”

“What’s all that about?” I asked “Is it Finnegans Wake?”

“No and it doesn’t sound like it either. Listen: it’s the last night of his life; he’s delirious – he’s asleep . . . . it shouldn’t really be clear . . I were yourn and doo were bine er . . .but it would be easier for me – for this exercise if you just read it and didn’t ask questions. Will you go again?”

“From the top?”

“From the top. . . . once upon a time, - and try not to read too many of the stage instructions: I know the play; I wrote it.”

I laughed.

“Once upon a time, and a long time ago it was, in the city of Dublin, in the land of Ireland, there was a man with a pen.

The music continues to play.

A voice Mumbling and moaning . . . sorry!” I said to Alfredo.

“.....I was yours and you were mine and I was fine around that time and I was finding you my time and I was fine and........... ”

AND THEN

Ogh! Ooooooohghhh!
PAIN
THE LIGHTS FADE IN AND A MAN CALLED JAMES JOYCE IS LYING DOWN AND IS IN GREAT PAIN TO THE BELLY. HE TURNS OVER AND SITS UP ON THE SIDE OF THE COT WITH HIS BACK TO THE AUDIENCE.
Ooohhh! Nora – Giorgio - where are you?
HE STANDS UP . . . . . . . . . .”
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59
It was beautiful. There is no other word to describe the play.

I read all the parts in the same voice: the person playing Nora would also play Joyce’s daughter, Lucia, and various other female walk-on parts; the person playing Joyce would only play the one role but would talk about others and assume their dialogue.

When I finished he said “thank you – I needed to hear it.”

I looked at him sitting on the edge of the futon and tried to think how something so beautiful could come out of something so vile; he looked awful with his full beard and long white matted hair.

He knew that I was impressed although he didn’t say anything. There was a look of achievement on his face and he sat there in silence. From the moment I read ‘curtain’ which was the end of the play we didn’t speak a word after he said thank you. Not for a full two minutes. Eventually he said: "Do you want another cup of tea?”
“Yes please’ I said and I went to make a move but he said:

"Leave it to me I’ll get it.”
He struggled to get up. This wasn’t the Alfredo who took the dog out every day and walked like a prize fighter – this was an old man.

He came back with the tea.

“You’re going to have to get some exercise” I said “you can’t be this weight.”

“Them days is gone, Joxer” he said “maybe forever. My exercise was only for this play. Do you remember the tree in Ogden?”

“Yes” I said “The two esses?”

“The two jays.” he said “Well I went there a few times with the dog, when we had been up Dog Shit Canyon; it was a great inspiration to me. I would get the dog to piss up that tree: for luck.”
I had to laugh at this.

“It’s true,” he said “how’s the old bag?”

“The dog?”

“No the dog is fine, I know that; the lad that does my shopping had a look in there a few times and told me. How’s Betty?”

”She misses you.”

“Misses me! Look at this lot.”

He picked up some post cards. They were pictures of Betty when she was slightly younger and starring in a soap opera.

“They’re all the same!” he said “I get one a week.”

I looked at one and there was a message on the back asking Alfredo for one month’s rent in lieu of notice plus payment for the plumbing repair.

“She sent them to her own address and they were redirected on to me by the post office. The woman is mad. It wasn’t my fault the sewer blocked it was her badly built guest house. It overloaded the system. She needs certifying not me.”

I drank my tea and thought maybe he was right. I had heard the same diatribe every morning on my answer phone.

He approached the subject of schizophrenia in the play as James Joyce’s daughter, Lucia, suffered from it later in life after a tormented childhood. I wanted to ask him about the papers I had found but decided against it.
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excerpt from The Storyteller by Chris Sullivan all rights reserved. (c) Chris Sullivan 2008