a movie...and a Book (3 page)

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 seductive 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.

Not too far away Jim sat in another seat. No doubt, Arnold would have chosen the seat next to Jim if he had had the choice. But during certain hours subway cars have their own rules. Sometimes you can sit next to each other. Sometimes you can’t. Jim seemed thankful for the break. Yet he didn’t look completely happy. About three yards in front of him a homeless guy was playing the flute.

The subway car slowed down, then stopped.

The guy with the flute used this quiet spell for a part that required him to play with restricted pressure, while at the same time—it was obvious—compensating for the subdued volume with emotion. Jim listened a moment, then got distracted by a scene that took place on the platform about twenty feet away from his window.

A construction worker had started to operate a pneumatic hammer. But the noise drowned out the sound of the flute only for a moment, then stopped. Jim observed the construction worker trying to lever a curbstone with his machine.

The stone apparently wasn’t doing what it should.

The construction worker was frustrated and started to jerk his hammer around. Up and down. Side to side.

It still wouldn’t work.

Jim checked back on the guy with the flute. He was at an especially emotional part, moving his head from side to side and beating time softly with his left foot. Jim smiled, then snorted, then shook his head slightly. He looked back out the window. His ears kept focusing on the soft sound of the flute while his eyes were on the construction worker, still jerking up and down with his blunt machine.

The car started to move. The pneumatic hammer started up again.

The noise of the hammer swallowed the flute for a moment, then faded as the car moved on.

Jim looked around to check if anyone else had witnessed the tableau. But everyone seemed to be absorbed in something else, or nothing at all. With a cynical smile, Jim shook his head again and thought for a moment, then looked back to Arnold.

He saw Arnold happily interacting with the baby’s mother.

11.

On the island. Evening.

The sun was lingering over the orange horizon of the sea. Lou and Liz were lying by the shore. Lou lay on his stomach, his chin supported on his right fist. Liz, again, sat with her arms around her drawn-in legs. They didn’t speak for a long time.

After a while Lou looked at Liz, probably to see what she was doing or where she was looking.

She was looking out to sea.

He looked back to the sea himself, readjusting his chin on his fist.

A moment later he looked at Liz again. “Do you think it’s boring just sitting here, not talking at all?” said Lou.

“No.”

A beat of silence followed. Lou lowered his chin back to his fist.

The silence held on for a moment.

“You know, people usually think they are having fun only while they’re talking, making lots of jokes,” said Lou. “I mean, they think you’re kind of a bore if you aren’t entertaining other people all the time.”

“I know.”

The sun was a half circle now and almost dark red. The only sound came from the small waves that periodically slid to the shore.

“Lou?”

“Huh?”

“Isn’t it beautiful here? The air, do you smell it?” asked Liz.

“I certainly do.”

It was quiet.

“Lou?”

“Huh?”

“I just had a thought,” said Liz.

“What thought?”

“What if the world is a being? . . . Maybe something more like a plant, though. And what if it needs us for some reason?” she said. “It’s possible.”

Lou kept watching the remaining bit of sun.

“. . . it needs us for some reason like we need bacteria for some reason.”

The sun was down now. The only thing that proved that it had ever existed was a remaining brighter field of light. Liz felt extremely comfortable, and Lou said thank you to the writer.

12.

The Fraziers’ home. Evening.

Pete sat on the sofa, watching TV. Next to him sat Sarah. She was around six. She had blond hair that was long but didn’t quite reach her shoulders. It was cut in a straight line just a little above her shoulders—that’s the way it was. They were watching a cartoon.

Pete wasn’t really watching, though. He was looking all around the room, looking for trouble. Then back at the TV. Then at his watch.

Now he was looking at Sarah.

She sat there with her mouth slightly open, enjoying the cartoon.

Pete kept looking at her for a while. Then said,
“Hey.”

Sarah turned her head slowly, looking at Pete like a lady would—like a bored lady, though. She knew what might be in store.
“Hey, what?”

“Close your mouth when you’re watching TV,” said Pete, starting to grin.

Sarah just made a face at him, then started to focus on the cartoon again. Finally she said, “Close your own mouth when you’re watching TV.”

This time it was Pete who gave a grimace, but Sarah didn’t see it.

Jim came in. “Hi, guys.”

Pete was all too glad to strike up a conversation. “Hi, Dad. How was work?”

“Not too bad. You know, it’s only temporary.”

“You’ve been saying that for a very long time,” said Pete.

Sarah gave an annoyed look toward the two conversationalists. But neither of them took notice.

“How was your day, was it all right? Your field trip?” asked Jim.

“It was all right.”

Sarah switched off the TV, jumped down from the sofa, and left the room.

“Just
all right
? That doesn’t sound like much. What happened?”

“Nothing, just this new guy . . . that came from
California
. He gets on your nerves sometimes.”

“You know how life is,” said Jim. “Life is a game: it’s a movie and it’s a book. It’s not always easy, but there is always a way. You just have to look at it the right way.”

“I know, I know . . . I’m just a little tired of him being the big shot all the time.”

“I guess he got Jane’s attention?”

“Dad
.
”

Jim made two steps to the window. Looking out into the darkness, he said, “Is Mom around?”

“She won’t come home till late. She called from her office. By the way, Uncle Andy called.”

“Oh,” said Jim, his curious expression reflected in the window.