Wild About Larry Read online

They appear to be older, but it is unmistakably Larry and Viv. They are each wearing a crown and are seated on thrones inside a temporarily erected grandstand. There are people sitting all around them, doing their best to not make it obvious that they are gazing intently at their every movement. Larry and Viv have clearly become important people.

  The blazing sun is shining down. Lines of soldiers dressed in khaki uniforms march past, each row turning their faces intently and sombrely up towards Larry as they pass and then smartly saluting in unison. A column of tanks followed by an array of trucks carrying missiles slowly rumble behind in the distance. A squadron of aircraft roar overhead.

  Larry turns to Viv and mutters “Stone the flaming crows Viv, how much longer is this going on for? I hate these bloody drive-bys. They’re about as useful as a bloke who’s lost an arm and found a leg and last long enough to bore the backside off a buffalo. My throat’s as dry as a dingo's donger and I forgot to siphon the python before we came out, so now I'm busting to drain me dragon as well”.

  Viv looks at him intently before replying in her strangely pitched and breathless manner that contrasts sharply with her statesmanlike demeanour. “Oh Larry, I love you so. Say you’ll never leave me. Take me now baby. Anyway you want. Purlease!”

  “Oh Viv, you’re hotter than a piss in a sauna.” he chuckles though, strangely, he's not even smiling.

 

  Humvat and Kinbus approached the tall, austere grey Execution of Television building. They walked up the steps and knocked on the heavy door. Above them the winter sun hung low in the watery blue sky and shone down its rays, but it was a light without warmth. They shuffled around impatiently as they waited for the door to open, stamping feet and rubbing hands together whilst mouths and nostrils emitted snorts of steam. After a while they were allowed inside and Kinbus handed over his stamped piece of paper to the clerk on reception. The clerk inspected it thoroughly, stamped it again and carefully filed it away in a drawer. Then he ushered them through, saying “The Executioner will see you in his office right away. It’s on the top floor. You can’t miss it”.

  They ambled across to the elevator and pressed a button. The clerk waved at them and cheerily shouted “I’m afraid it doesn’t work. You’ll have to use the stairs”.

  “How many floors are there?” sighed Humvat.

  “Thirteen”.

  He sighed again and trudged towards the staircase.

  “You weren’t drinking last night, were you?” hissed Kinbus.

  Humvat shook his head. “I don’t have any money. I’m broke”.

  “Good. I don’t want to be climbing up all these stairs and dealing with you in a grumpy mood at the same time”.

  They started ascending these steps to Heaven, or maybe to hell for all they knew. A long time later they reached the thirteenth floor and staggered onto the landing where they collapsed and rested until they regained their breath. Then they opened a door and followed the corridor until they came across a unit of the Public Defenders dressed in their archaic yellow and white uniform, standing guard before a door with a name plate attached to it. It announced this was the office of the Executioner of Television.

  “Where’s your entry ticket?” demanded one of the guards, as the rest menacingly pointed their cudgels.

  Kinbus shook his head. “I haven’t got it. I gave it to the clerk downstairs, just as I was told”.

  “He should have stamped it and given it back to you. We’re supposed to be the ones looking after those tickets”.

  Kinbus looked at the guard balefully and shrugged. “I’m sorry, but what can I do?”

  The guard hissed menacingly. “You can go down and get it, then you can come back up again and hand it over to me, just as you should have done in the first place”.

  Kinbus was about to make his protests when a booming voice came from behind the door. “It’s okay. You can let them in. I’ve been expecting them”.

  They entered the room. The Guide’s private secretary was seated at a desk, working away. He was also wearing ceremonial robes. Without looking up he addressed them. “You’re late. Been hanging around on the stairwell, I suppose?”

  He pointed towards the Executioner of Television who was stood by the window, hands in trouser pockets and gazing down at the cobbled streets below.

  “He makes that journey three times a day.” he continued. “Me and my staff just did it in less than three minutes. You should try getting more exercise”.

  “Yes, Excellency.” mumbled Kinbus.

  “Be seated”.

  They flopped into two chairs set before the desk. The secretary put down his pen and regarded them. “I’ve summoned you here today in order to get a project of mine up and running.” he said, handing them copies of a script. Each consisted of more than one thousand pages, was two inches thick and the front cover bore the title ‘One Great Guide, One Great Nation’.

  He lovingly patted the cover of his own copy. “You know, I always felt I had a book inside of me, and the result is this inspired story”. He smiled proudly. “Everyone I’ve permitted to review it has been astonished by its breathtaking quality. It’s the epic tale of our beloved Guide’s life, and how he has led his chosen country from a backward heathen past towards a glorious god fearing future”.

  He surveyed their doubting faces. “Oh yes, it’s all true you know, every page of it,” he confirmed, misconstruing the reason for their doubt.

  He continued. “If you turn to page three, you’ll see a list of requirements for the cast and another one for the film crew. I want this production to start immediately so it is imperative all these vacancies should be filled quickly”.

  He pointed to the top of the page. “Obviously the position of the director goes to you”. He nodded at Kinbus, and wrote his name alongside the entry at the top of the list, “And the role of the Guide as both a young and an old man will go to you”. He nodded towards Humvat, writing his name alongside the second entry. “Do either of you have any recommendations for filling any of the other roles?”

  Humvat quickly scanned the requirements. There was a princess named Medina. From what he could make out, it appeared she was the love of the Guide’s life. “I’d like to suggest Kipdip from the stage school for the role of the princess.” he offered.

  “Excellent!” snapped the secretary, marking his script copy.

  Kinbus eyed Humvat with the sort of irked glare which lets a troublesome child know you’re aware of what they’re up to, even though they did whatever they did behind your back. He also ran through the cast list, but couldn’t find a supporting male role.

  “Ahem.” he coughed. “If I may be so bold I’d like to suggest Carbet, who is a great cinematic artist as well as the finest actor at my school, for one of the cameraman roles. He is also an excellent musician, so he could compose the score”.

  “Done!”

  Kinbus gave Humvat a slight smug smile. Humvat in turn started to sulk. Carbet was the last person he wanted to be involved in this project, and Kinbus knew it.

  The Executioner, who had been standing in silence up until now, spoke. “I have a suggestion which might expedite matters. Why doesn’t the stage school supply all of the actors and, apart from the esteemed director and this Carbet character, the Execution of Television can supply all of the technicians and equipment”.

  “Excellent!” boomed the secretary. “Recruitment problem solved. See what can be accomplished when you put your mind to it?”

  Then he paused and wagged a finger at Kinbus. “You will be my representative on this project and you will answer to nobody but me. I’ll make sure everyone knows. I’m also going to supply you with a team of writers to carry out any necessary amendments. I’m not having any Tom, Dick or Harry messing around with my holy script. Take it, read it and make preparations, for filming starts tomorrow. Now be off with the pair of you. And get some exercise!”

  The secretary rose up and whisked out of the room closely surrounded
by his guards and strode down the corridor at speed. Humvat and Kinbus followed at a more sedate pace, quietly studying their scripts as they walked along.

  The Executioner closed his office door, picked up his telephone and dialled a number. “It’s me.” he smiled. “Don’t worry. It’ll be a total disaster. I’ll make sure of it”.

  There was a garbled response. “Yes, I know,” he frowned. “A few idiots dress up in those ridiculous costumes and the outside world thinks we’re all like that. Sometimes I wish the Americans would do us all a favour by invading us. I’d certainly be out there laying down the welcome mat. In the meantime don’t worry”.

  He replaced the receiver and dialled another number. “I’m going out for a late breakfast.” he said. “So please switch the power to the elevator back on”.

  Kinbus and Humvat trudged down the stairs. Kinbus thumbed through the script.

  “This really is madness,” he sighed, shaking his head. “I’ve never directed anything by camera in my life, let alone twenty episodes of a television series”.

  Humvat nodded his agreement. “And I’ve never acted for real as an extra, let alone taken a starring role”.

  He smiled a weary smile and chuckled to himself. “Well, it’s going to be an experience”. Little did he know what was waiting around the corner.

  They reached the foyer and were surprised to see the Executioner of Entertainment shuffling out through the front door ahead of them.

  That afternoon Kinbus was standing on the stage in the school. Even though troublemaker Humvat was notable by his absence, the troupe was making noise.

  “Can I please have some SILENCE!” he roared. The noise calmed. “Thank you.” he continued, in turn calming himself down. “As you all know, we’re going to be making a television series about the life and times of our glorious Guide”.

  Spontaneous singing and clapping broke out. “There’s no need for that every time we mention the Guide, otherwise we’ll never get anything done.” he grumbled. A smattering of applause rippled around the room, nonetheless.

  “Anyhow, we’re going to be working with a number of technicians from the Execution of Television and I’d like you to welcome them”.

  He vaguely pointed to a few men standing to his left. There was more applause.

  “Oh, and by the way, the Guide’s secretary has provided us with a team of writers to assist with the script. They’re over there”.

  He pointed towards his right. There was yet more applause.

  “And, lastly, the Executioner of Entertainment has also kindly provided us with troops for protection”.

  He waved his hand generally towards the soldiers milling around. There was no applause. Nobody could figure out whether the troops were really there to protect them, or merely to intimidate them into following the current doctrine, whatever that happened to be.

  The main door opened and a young man dressed in a blue boiler suit entered, pushing a wheelbarrow full of large metal discs.

  “And who might you be?” inquired Kinbus.

  “My name is Parvark and I’m a cameraman from the Execution of Television.” he replied. “Sorry I’m late, but I went to collect the film reels the Execution purchased for this production. By my calculations we’ve just about got enough to shoot each scene once. We certainly don’t have enough for any re-takes. We don’t appear to have been allocated many costumes from the wardrobe department either”.

  He surveyed his compatriots, counting the numbers in his head. “Or technicians. We’re not going to have the numbers required to build much in the way of scenery.” he concluded.

  But Kinbus wasn’t listening. Deep in thought, he thumbed through his script and replied “You’d better put some film in the cameras then. I want to get started straight away, enacting the scene where the Guide is a child and he performs his first miracle by curing a dying man. It’s an interior scene so we can do it over there in the stable block. I need a boy, a middle aged man, a middle aged woman and a crowd”.

  He selected various people by pointing at them. Somebody had brought his son along so he could see a film being made, and he was picked to play the role of the young guide. They all stood together by the old disused stable in the corner and started to rehearse the scene excitedly.

  Kinbus glanced across at one of the writers. “Did the guide really perform miracles as a boy?”

  The writer shrugged his shoulders. “If his secretary says he did, then he must have”. Then he paused for thought. “Although he did also say he wanted to convey a lot of symbolism in the story, so it could just be a symbol for all I know”.

  “Symbolism?”

  “Yeah. Children are supposed to symbolise the common people and there are symbolic acts where the power of the old is handed over to the new. That sort of thing”.

  “Oh.” gulped Kinbus, already beginning to feel lost.

  A middle aged male stage school player lay on a hastily made bed of straw. Parvark and Carbet positioned their cameras, ensured the light was low but sufficiently bright and the action began. The man laid still, his eyes half closed and his mouth half open. The woman playing the part of his wife held his hand while the other women pretended to weep, and the men huddled around uselessly in the background. The boy pushed his way through the adults until he reached the bed.

  “Fear not my master.” he whispered to the man and softly commanded his wife “Give me his hand, oh dutiful daughter of God”.

  She obediently did so and he massaged it between the fingers of his own two hands. After a short while the man’s eyes gradually, faintly, opened. “I’m not worthy, my Lord.” he gasped through his pain.

  The boy took a rag, rinsed it in a bowl of water and dabbed the man’s forehead.

  “Hush now, for all are worthy.” he consoled. Then he whispered in his ear “I beseech ye blessed Baqra, and the almighty Inventor to bring salvation upon this poor repentant sinner, and forgive him his sins”.

  He continued to apply the rag, while murmuring words of encouragement. After a short while the man opened his eyes fully, sat up and exclaimed to the surrounding crowd. “Praise be to Baqra! I’m cured!”

  He then staggered to his feet and raised his arms heavenwards. “And praise be to this boy! He has cured me of my affliction when no others were able!”

  The crowd burst into happy laughter and congratulated the young Guide. The woman hugged him, and through her tears of happiness she cried “Praise be indeed! A miracle has occurred! We are such fortunate sinners to have this sainted boy amongst us!”

  “Cut!” cried Kinbus. “That was perfect. Well done everyone!”

  The next day Kinbus and some members of cast and crew were out in the nearby desert, erecting a tent by the side of an oasis where some camels were sipping water. They were about to shoot the opening scene in the script, where the Guide is born and the star shaped birthmark on his back announces him as his country’s saviour. The ever-present unit of military guards stood around idly.

  The air was cold, dry and crisp, eerily calm and silent. It carried no rumours of food, newly discovered shelter, scents of territorial claims, nor passionate pleas for procreation. It was lifeless. Out here in the flat wilderness the unbroken sky seemed huge compared to that of the city, and the light was sharper and harsher on the eye.

  Humvat emerged from a caravan containing the wardrobe and make-up departments. He was wearing sack cloths similar to those worn by the Guide in the poster hanging at the prayer temples. He had also acquired a paler skin tone and a fair moustache, though his hair remained brown because nobody thought to bring any dye. It made for an arresting combination.

  He noticed a familiarity about one of the technicians from the Execution who was fiddling with a camera on the ground. Humvat regarded him with interest. What was it about this man that stirred his memory? Ah yes – he was the drinking friend he’d made at Zola’s bar, the one who revealed the vision of the heaven named Hollywood to him. Humvat was keen to
renew their acquaintance.

  He sidled up to Parvark and proffered his hand. Parvark shook it without looking up.

  “Remember me?” asked Humvat.

  Now Parvark looked closely at him, seeking recognisable landmarks in his face.

  “Oh yeah,” he eventually replied. “You were at Zola’s sometime back, looking for a non-existent job”.

  He looked him up and down, dressed in his dirty sack cloth, and frowned. “Haven’t you managed to find one yet?”

  Humvat nodded his head earnestly. “Oh yes. In fact, I’m an actor now and soon I’ll be on my way to Hollywood”.

  “Well, let me know when you’re ready to leave and I’ll hitch a ride with you!” laughed Parvark mockingly. “I’ve got contacts over there. By the way, your moustache is drooping”.

  He made his way over to the set while Humvat dabbed at the false moustache again. Despite his best efforts it continued to hang limply.

  Kinbus could hardly believe how well things were going. Two days into the project and they were already ahead of schedule. He’d read through the script and found there was another desert scene where the Guide, as a young man spends a period of time undergoing deep contemplation in the wilderness. He decided they might as well kill two birds with one stone and film both scenes while they were out here, so he brought Humvat along. Humvat in turn insisted on bringing Kipdip with him for company and support. They sat together on a mat, rehearsing Humvat’s lines.

  “I do think you’re very brave, taking on this role when you have no experience.” said Kipdip, stroking Humvat’s hand comfortingly.

  He sighed nervously. “Normally I’d say brave or foolish or both, but to be honest I didn’t really have any choice. The thing that terrifies me most is the prospect of making a complete fool of myself. Let’s face it. I don’t really know how to act; I haven’t been studying the subject for long enough”.

  Kipdip soothed him, moving her hand onto his shoulder and smiled. “I can help there. Growing up in the shadows of the stage school, I’ve been close to acting for most of my life. Father has always placed great store by the style of acting known as method”.

  “What’s that?”

  “Well, it’s where you actually allow the character you’re playing to inhabit your mind. Rather than performing a part, you become the part”.

  He looked back at her with raised, questioning, eyebrows.

  “Ok,” she continued. “Let’s imagine you are playing your part as the Guide. Now let’s imagine that in the performance he has been travelling through the wilderness for fifty days and nights, with hardly anything to eat or drink. If you are to play the part convincingly to others, then you must first convince yourself you have experienced those fifty days first hand. You should think to yourself ‘What would I be like after such a hardship? How would I feel? What would I do?’ and then you apply what you know of the Guide and his character, and you think ‘How would he react to these things happening around him? What motivates him to do what he does in the first place?’ By such means you become him and rather than talking about a part you’re playing, you’ll find yourself talking about your character as though you were him”.

  Humvat shrugged. “So I have to try really hard to pretend to be someone else, instead of the normal level of pretence?”

  “Something along those lines”.

  Humvat shrugged. “Okay, I’ll follow your advice”.

  With the tent finally pegged down for the birth scene, Kinbus walked across to Carbet, who was carrying a camera.

  “I know I’m asking a lot from you here.” he counselled, his hand reassuringly patting Carbet’s shoulder. “But I want to get a shot where we start off somewhere over there,” he pointed out into the desert, “And we gradually close in on the tent. I want the audience to feel as though they are travelling towards it. What I need you to do is ride a camel and maintain a steady picture. I don’t want the camera bobbing up and down and making everybody feel sick”.

  Carbet nodded, clambered aboard one of the camels with ease, trotted away and then trotted back. He dismounted, returned to Kinbus and replayed him the footage he had taken.

  “That’s perfect.” smiled Kinbus. “Absolutely perfect”.

  Then he turned around. “Where’s Humvat?” he barked. “His first scene is the next one we’re shooting”.

  Humvat shuffled forward. Kinbus checked the script. “Right we’ll start with you wandering through the desert. You’re on the edge of exhaustion, when a vision of Baqra appears before you. He tells you the fate of the entire country lies in your hands, but not to worry because both he and God will give you the strength you need to complete your journey towards destiny”.

  He folded the script and put it in his pocket. Then he surveyed Humvat, a thick dressing gown wrapped around him. “The script says you should be half naked”.

  One of the women from the wardrobe department removed the gown and Humvat shivered in the cold. “Er, can I have a word Kinbus?”

  “Everyone must address me as Mister Director when we’re on set!” He snapped back.

  “Er, mister director, I’m not at all sure my character would run around half naked in this freezing weather”.

  “Oh really? Well, the script says the heat is suffocating. You’re now a professional actor, aren’t you? Pretend it’s summertime and get on with it”.

  Humvat bent down, picked up some scrub and dust and muttered and cursed to himself as he rubbed it into his hair. After fifty days out in the wilderness he would certainly be filthy dirty. He imagined he would also be in tatters, so he rubbed some into his threadbare clothes and started to tear strips off, further exposing the skin beneath.

  Parvark lined up one of the cameras while Carbet lined up the other one.

  “Okay then Humvat,” announced Kinbus. “You are the Guide. You’ve hardly drunk or eaten for fifty days. You’ve gone beyond the normal limits of human endurance. You stagger around and fall over. When you get up you see a vision of Baqra before you. He is bearing both spiritual and nutritional sustenance. Ready?”

  Humvat nodded.

  “Action!” shouted Kinbus.

  Humvat looked around, startled and bewildered. “What?”

  “Cut!” shouted Kinbus. “Action means you should start acting. The amount of film we have is precious to us. We haven’t got enough to waste on re-shooting any scenes, so we have to get it right first time. If we don’t get it right first time then we have to run with what we’ve got. Understand?”

  Humvat nodded.

  “Action!”

  Humvat stared vacantly. “What is it I’m supposed to be doing again?”

  The false moustache dropped away from beneath his nose and fell to the ground.

  “Cut!”

  Kinbus strained. Things were not looking as rosy as they had done a few minutes previously.

  Kipdip appeared. “Father!” she cried, before he had time to really lose his temper. “Let me take Humvat aside for a while and help him prepare properly. Together we’ll sort out his motivation for this scene”.

  Kinbus waved the pair of them away with a scowl. Then he collected together a young couple who were playing the Guide’s parents. A real mother handed her newborn baby over to the woman and the couple entered the tent, along with an old man who was playing the part of a minor prophet. In any half decent Siminite story a prophet always just happened to be there at the birth. His job was to bear witness to the event and confirm that some ancient prophetic text was being met.

  “Action!” shouted Kinbus.

  It was late at night, and Humvat and Parvark were sitting in Zola’s bar, sloshing over two large glasses of wine.

  “I can’t figure out whether this whole Great Guide epic is turning into a comedy or a tragedy.” slurred Humvat to the barman. “I’ve been trying my best, but it’s not easy when there’s only enough camera film for a single attempt at each scene. If I mess up my lines we simply move onto the next one. Only
today I was supposed to be marrying my princess Medina who I must say, I’d never heard of before. I wasn’t aware the Guide was ever married”.

  Parvark shook his head. “I didn’t even know it was allowed”.

  The barman shrugged, as if to say he didn’t know anything about it either.

  “Anyhow, anyhow,” continued Humvat, grappling with the flow of the conversation until he came to rest at a spot which was familiar to his memory. “Anyhow, we got to the point where the priest says to me ‘Do you take this woman to be your wife’, and I was so flummoxed in the anticipation of getting a kiss from Kipdip that instead of saying ‘I do’, I said ‘Do I?’ and rather than re-shoot the scene, they decided to run with what they possessed. Then I had to go outside with her and face the guard of honour, secure in the knowledge I’d just made a complete fool of myself again”.

  “No, no, no, my friend,” slurred Parvark. “You’re being far too hard on yourself. You’re doing fine. You remember the scene we did where you were being crowned in the main temple, and one of the extras in the audience made that unexpected noise? I thought you improvised superbly when you challenged the usurper to take the crown for himself if he thought he was a better leader than you, or otherwise to show you the warranted respect”.

  Humvat nodded tipsily in agreement and laughed. “And the extra apologised profusely for ever questioning my judgement!”

  “And you were extremely brave when you repelled the invading Semonite army, almost single handed!”

  Humvat smiled to himself. “You’re right. I suppose there have been some good moments as well”.

  “And your English is coming on in leaps and bounds.” slurred Parvark. He turned to the barman. “He’s learning it between scenes”.

  Then he patted Humvat on the shoulder with one hand and pointed towards the barman with the other. “Go on, give him a demonstration”.

  Humvat concentrated hard and recovered the words from the back of his mind by rote, slowly reeling them off. “The rine in spine…” he began unsteadily, “Falls minely on the pline”.

  The barman nodded with raised eyebrows, obviously impressed.

  Humvat slurred “I can understand English even better than I can speak it”. He paused for a small burp. “I’ve been watching lots of movies”.

  Parvark applauded and proudly laughed. “It won’t be long before we’re ready to conquer Hollywood, just you wait and see!”

  Kinbus was directing the Guide’s children, girl and boy twins, through a scene which depicted them growing up under the venerable guidance of their father. Humvat stood idly by, waiting for his moment to arrive.

  It seemed to him as though the filming was taking a lifetime. It was like being at war; long periods of utter, utter boredom punctuated by brief moments of frenzied, terrifying activity. He’d started reading a book about method acting but found it boring, so discarded it. The whole thing was driving him mad, so to counter this he found a sanctuary in daydreaming about his future life in Hollywood. A mansion was obligatory of course, along with a fleet of sports cars and a girl for each day of the week. He was particularly taken with Miss Tuesday. No, hold on, that bit wasn’t right. The girls disappeared, to be replaced by Kipdip. She was preparing his meal in the kitchen, wearing nothing but a negligee and a seductive smile.

  “Humvat!” He heard his name being called, and returned to reality.

  Kinbus was calling him onto the set. “Okay, we’ve just filmed the children playing together. Now you’re supposed to come in and give them some parental guidance. The kids performed their scene perfectly in a single take. Do you think you can emulate them?”

  Humvat nodded.

  “Okay then. Everyone ready? Good. Action!”

  Humvat entered purposefully through a door into the children’s nursery. He greeted them tenderly and looked down upon his son, who was waving a cudgel.

  “Have a care my son,” he gently admonished. “In untrained hands, weapons are as dangerous in the home as they are on the battlefield. You should never play with your cudgel. The only proper place for it is when learning the arts of war, in readiness for the day when you may have to use it to defend our land”.

  “I’m sorry father. I will take heed of your wise words.” replied the boy.

  Humvat bent over the girl, who was sitting on the floor, applying medical liniment and dressing to a doll.

  “And what are you doing, daughter of God?” he asked.

  “When I grow up, I’m going to be a nurse.” she replied. “I shall take care of our brave warriors when they return from the front, weary, bloody and battle scarred”.

  “That is indeed a noble vocation for a woman.” he agreed. “Now I must go to parliament and serve my people. Be good for your mother while I’m away”.

  “We will!” they sang, and he left the room.

  “Cut!” barked Kinbus. “Perfect! Well done Humvat. We might make a decent actor out of you yet!”

  Humvat was in Zola’s again. He seemed to be spending more and more time in this place. Almost every night the stress of the day’s travails drove him here to unwind the evening away with the assistance of a few friendly drinks. He was waiting for Parvark, who was becoming similarly afflicted by the task of eking out the short supply of film.

  “You still working on the biography of the Guide?” asked the barman.

  “Nearly finished, thank Baqra.” replied Humvat, looking down into his glass. “There’s just a few more scenes left. Everyone is fed up with the absurdity to be honest, and tempers are fraying. I spent all day today going up and down in a hot air balloon, waving goodbye to my grown up children. According to the writers there was supposed to be some sort of symbolic gesture going on. Something to do with handing over power from the old to the new. I told them I didn’t understand any of it, and I didn’t know the guide even had any children”.

  He looked up, and continued. “And then the writers said the children are symbolic as well. They are supposed to represent all of us, the entire nation as part of his family”.

  The barman looked perplexed.

  “And at that point,” said Humvat “I decided to come down here to this symbolic bar for a symbolic drink”.

  He lifted the glass and raised a toast. “Here’s to getting symbolically drunk!”

  Parvark shuffled in sombrely and ordered himself a large drink. “The Execution of Entertainment have decided to start showing One Great Guide, One Great Nation on television, starting tomorrow tonight”.

  “But we haven’t even finished filming yet!” spluttered Humvat.

  Parvark nodded his agreement and drained his glass in a single gulp. “We’re nowhere near ready. I just hope everything turns out alright”.

  Two days later another spring day was unfolding in the morning sunshine outside Humvat’s lodgings. Small lizards lay dotted around on the ground, basking lazily as they gradually warmed up. Birds hid on shaded branches and filled the air with their trilling songs of love and territorial claims. Flowerbeds of vividly coloured petals slowly unfurled to reveal their treasures of nectar, ready to entice the messenger bees to transport their liquid love notes to a distant sweetheart. And various flying insects buzzed around, ambling and meandering, oblivious of one another. Inside the lodgings, however, there was the stark hush of an impending autopsy.

  The first episode of 'One Great Guide, One Great Nation' had been transmitted on the national television station the previous evening. Humvat was so nervous he couldn’t bear the thought of observing himself on a television screen. He hadn't even possessed the strength or will to share a moment of exhilaration in the company of others. Instead, he spent the evening pacing up and down his silent, darkened rooms, like a nervous expectant father waiting for his wife to give birth to their first child.

  His nerve endings tingled with anticipation as he sat alone at the kitchen table and picked up the morning newspaper. His baby had finally been delivered and, with a sweet sickness in his stomach, he
anxiously sought out the birth announcement amongst the reviews in the entertainment section. He turned the pages, and the sweetness part of the feeling instantly disappeared when he was confronted by the headline “One Great Guide, One Great Nation, One Awful Actor”. It didn't look like good news for somebody, but who was this awful actor? He scanned the article:

  “Last night we were served a mouth watering marvel of the modern age of television, only to see it butchered with incompetence before our disbelieving eyes. Despite the support of a lavish production, shrewd direction, breathtaking photography, a wonderful script and a superb supporting cast, the new young actor, the supposed protégé Humvat Virit, managed to produce a rendition of our glorious Guide which defied belief. Unless you happen to believe a human being is truly capable of imitating a wooden mannequin masquerading as a bumbling idiot. Apart from the racy opening scenes in which he did not appear, the level of ineptitude on show was an insult not only to our proud Guide but also to our proud race”.

  “It would easier to bear this burden if this was simply the least convincing performance this critic ever reviewed, but it is also a national disgrace. We must all now share in the ignominy of the knowledge this shameful performance exists, whether we have witnessed it for ourselves or not. And to make matters worse there is much more of this drivel yet to come. I strongly recommend viewers to avoid it at all costs”.

  Humvat stopped reading. In a fit of pique he threw the newspaper up in the air, and clutched his hands around his head as the pages separated and scattered across the floor. He recognised the face of treachery, which had been lurking in the shadows for so long and now jumped out to gleefully reveal itself to him. So he was to be the scapegoat, the convenient lackey to be blamed for the failings of others. The failings of those government morons, idiot writers, that treacherous dog Kinbus and all the other feckless fools who were supposed to be supporting the production.

  How often did he request extra reels of film? He’d lost count of the number of script changes he’d fruitlessly demanded, and how many times did he ask for adequate directions, or complain they weren't being given enough time to produce the perfect production which was demanded? How many times had he privately questioned Kinbus' judgement, but kept his mouth shut instead of dressing him down, at least behind closed doors? That idiot couldn't direct a bus driver to a bus station, let alone a production as vast and complex as this one. And for Baqra's sake, how could they possibly produce a quality product when there was only enough film for a single take of each scene?

  The whole damned mess he’d been thrown into was farcical. Ridiculous. And what about Parvark and Carbet? Those bastards must have deliberately messed up the camera angles. There were several occasions when he thought he'd caught Carbet attempting to take pictures of him from his least impressive side.

  His uncontrolled rage of self-pity easily swallowed and spat out any argument that these accusations were only convincing if he ignored the damnable praise lavished on the production, direction and photography. But, as his initial outburst of anger began to subside, fears for his own safety began to rise. After all, hadn't the Guide's private secretary warned him anything less than an inspirational performance would result in his gruesome death? Then he realised there was a perfect way of resolving his predicament. He’d simply ignore it for as long as he possibly could. Certainly until after filming the final scene of the production that night. And then it might magically fade away on its own.

  Later on the sun departed, taking the dancing spectrum of light along with it and leaving behind the empty, ghostly shell of the night. The film crew were assembled around the grounds of the royal palace in the middle of the city. Two powerful searchlights on the ground sent vivid bluish-white beams upwards at an angle into the sky. They cut a swathe through the darkness, shining an isolating glow upon a narrow balcony set amongst the rooftops. Other lamps bathed the palace courtyard below the window in a degree of light. Until recent times this place belonged to the kings and queens of South Jefesta, but it was now the residence of the Great Guide himself.

  Because of security restrictions it took much effort, in terms of both time and bureaucracy to gain access to this building. But it was deemed to be essential for portraying the scene where the dashing young Guide wins princess Medina’s heart by saving her from her burning room. The writers argued this moment of acceptance was a symbolic act, so only the constancy of the real palace itself could provide a fitting backdrop. Today the Great Guide was not in residence so they could complete their work.

  Humvat emerged from the portable cabin which housed the wardrobe and make up departments. He was wrapped up in the cocoon of his green soldier's uniform, and once again sported brown hair and a fair moustache affixed above his upper lip. He’d managed to avoid wearing it for much of the production. He espied Parvark lumbering his camera gear across the courtyard and ran over to him.

  “Have you seen the newspaper review?” he hissed.

  Parvark motioned him to be silent, and surreptitiously pointed towards the nearby Public Guards stalking around the set, amongst the hoard of extras who were to play the fleeing crowd. Then he hissed back “Just be thankful certain people don't read the newspapers!”

  Humvat took the advice with a brief nod and pretended to nonchalantly amble away, his mind filled with a mixture of unease at the uncertainty of the situation he found himself dragged into, and anger that he should have been dragged there at all.

  Kinbus gathered together the members of the cast required for the scene and outlined the direction. Kipdip and Parvark were to proceed inside the palace and up to the room behind the illuminated balcony, along with the special effects technicians who would create an artificial fire with accompanying artificial smoke. On his signal, she was to come out onto the balcony and start screaming. Humvat was to get onto a horse, ride around the corner out of sight and wait for his own signal of her screams. When he heard them he would come charging back through the crowd. During this part of the scene, Parvark was to film from the balcony and Carbet was to film both the fleeing crowd on the ground and Humvat's triumphal entrance.

  Kipdip and her accomplices duly went inside the palace to take up their positions, while Humvat hung back, close to Kinbus and nervously coughed. “Er, Mister Director, sir?”

  “What do you want now?” snapped Kinbus.

  “I'm having problems, um, finding the motivation for my character in this next scene...”

  “What?!” Kinbus exploded. “For Baqra's sake man! The love of your life is stuck at the top of a burning building, screaming for you to come and rescue her! So you climb up and rescue her. What more motivation do you need?”

  Humvat looked warily up towards the balcony. “Well, I think my character doesn’t have much of a head for heights. I really think he might have second thoughts about climbing all the way up there”.

  Kinbus sighed. “So what you really mean is you don't have a head for heights?”

  Humvat shook his head vehemently. “No, not at all. I'm quite relaxed about it. It's just my character. He doesn't like it”.

  Kinbus clicked his fingers in the direction of the head writer and he came scurrying over. “Can we please alter the next scene so the Guide enters the palace and runs up the flights of stairs inside in order to get to the princess's room, rather than climb up the outside of the palace?”

  The writer pondered for a short while. “I suppose we could, but why should we?”

  “Because my leading man has it on good authority that the Guide suffers from vertigo”.

  The writer fearfully stood to attention and saluted. “Please forgive me sir. I had no idea. I will personally rewrite the script this instant. I hope you can find it in your heart not to report me to the authorities for this grievous lapse of accuracy”.

  Kinbus waved him away. “It's really not a problem”.

  Then he turned to Humvat and growled. “It's a mistake anyone could make”.

  Humvat ignor
ed him and turned to the writer. “I think it would be nice if I could come across a few confused people on the stairs. I could point them in the right direction towards the front door as I go up. Just to emphasise the point that even amidst all the chaos, I’m still in charge”.

  The writer furiously jotted down notes on his writing pad.

  Humvat walked over to the horse, struggled to get up and into the saddle, trotted around the corner and breathed a sigh of relief. He'd never liked heights much. He was hardly able to walk across a bridge without feeling an overwhelming urge to jump off, and Baqra alone knew what suicidal thoughts he would have to contend with on a climb up a wall like that.

  After much waiting around, while the rewritten scene was translated into new dialogue, camera angles and directions, Kinbus finally shouted “Action!”

  Parvark focussed his camera around the glowing balcony high up the palace, and started to use up the remains of the precious supply of camera film. Behind the balcony window the man with the smoke machine and the man with the flame machine got to work and then retreated from the room. Kipdip took up her position screaming. “Oh Guide! Oh Great Guide! Help me! Save me! Where are you now, in my hour of need?”

  This was supposed to be Humvat's signal to come charging to the rescue but he remained seated on his horse around the corner, oblivious to her cries. He was humming a little tune to himself which he was composing in his head to combat boredom. Aware the camera was using up valuable film, Kipdip struggled to the edge of the balcony, looked down upon the fleeing crowd and cast an expectant eye around for her supposed rescuer. The smoke grew thicker and she started coughing. On the ground below, and out of camera shot, Kinbus dashed around the corner.

  “Humvat!” he shouted. “Get your backside around there and rescue the princess right now, you dog turd for brains!”

  Humvat snapped out of his composition, kicked the horse into life and came careering into the courtyard. The fleeing crowd parted for their lives. At the sight of this, in an equal panic the horse then stopped of its own accord. Rather than ride up beneath the balcony as planned, Humvat was forced to dismount and run the final few yards.

  “Is something amiss my lady?” he shouted up to her as though the flames didn't tell enough of a story themselves.

  Kipdip smiled down at him. “Oh Guide!” she sighed. “I should never have doubted you. Quickly, there isn't much time. You can reach me if you climb up the wall”.

  Humvat had to think quickly. Somebody, somewhere had forgotten to inform Kipdip of the change of plans.

  He eventually adlibbed “It is my honour to serve your highness, but I think I shall come up the stairs instead”.

  In his confusion, and for some reason even he couldn't fathom, he then saluted her. With Carbet and his camera, and a puffing Kinbus following him, he ran through the crowd. Then he ran through the palace doors and up the stairs, carefully avoiding the artificial flames placed at various locations. As he made his way up he made a play of assisting some of the extras standing on the stairs. He escorted them towards the exit and out of screenshot, despite their protests that they wanted to remain within the camera's field of vision. Having reached the top of the final flight of stairs, he then strode down a corridor until he came to a room which was fitted with a false door and he gave it a good kick, stamping it with the sole of his heel.

  The impact was supposed to have caused the door to swing open, but instead it hung limply from its top hinge. He frantically pushed the door aside and it finally tumbled to the ground. He entered the smoke filled room, located Kipdip lying on the floor and walked across to her, wondering to himself why she wasn't at her pre-arranged position on the balcony waiting to embrace him. As he bent over her and coughed himself, he soon realised why. With all the heat and smoke in the room she really had fainted. What was he to do? He picked her up in his arms and carried her towards the door. Suddenly her eyes opened and, ever the trouper, she smiled sleepily at him and whispered. “Oh Guide. You've rescued me. I knew you wouldn't desert me”.

  He quickly looked around the room, desperately attempting to remember his next lines, and gazed down upon her as the words came hurtling back towards him.

  “Princess,” he murmured. “Would you do me the honour of accepting my hand in marriage?”

  She clutched his hand in hers and whispered. “The honour would be mine. I will”.

  Then came the part Humvat had been looking forward to. He bent down slightly, so his lips were almost touching hers, and enclosed them with a long, passionate kiss. Eventually he looked into her eyes, smiled a relieved smile and whispered “You’ve made me the happiest man on earth, my lady”.

  He then proceeded to carry her out of the room as a burning beam prop came tumbling down from the ceiling, narrowly missing the pair of them.

  “Cut!” shouted Kinbus, once again shaking his head in dejection.

  “Somebody damn near killed me with that burning beam!” bellowed Humvat as he let Kipdip go.

  The head writer, having just been informed by palace courtiers there was no evidence the Guide ever suffered from vertigo, smiled. “We put it in at the last moment to add to the gravitas of the performance”.

  Kipdip steadied herself and slapped Humvat across the cheek, screaming “If you try sticking your tongue down my throat just one more time, I will personally cut your balls off, fry them up and force-feed them to you! You’re a miserable excuse for an actor and a pathetic excuse for a man!”

  Humvat rubbed his face and snarled back. “You were the one who said I should use method acting!”

  Carbet and Parvark packed their cameras away, exchanging raised eyebrows and knowing glances.

  “Congratulations everyone!” announced Kinbus in a deadpan fashion, deliberately ignoring the pantomime enveloping him. “We have now finished filming our production, and it’s time for us to celebrate with a party. You’ll find drink and food being laid out downstairs in the palace courtyard, as I speak”.

  He dipped a hand into one of his pockets and pulled out a few sheets of paper laced with scribbled notes. He took his glasses out of the other pocket, placed them on the bridge of his nose, studied the papers and coughed.

  “And talking about speaking, I’d just like to say a few words. Now we’ve finally reached this auspicious moment, I’d like to take the opportunity to thank…”

  He stopped in mid sentence as he looked up and realised everyone had silently crept away, rudely preferring to sample the party fare rather than sample his finely prepared speech. He sighed, screwed up the papers and dropped them onto the floor.

  Several hours later the last remaining party guests were picking at the scraps spread across the tables and benches laid out in the courtyard. Some people were hungrily scooping up what was left of the food. Others were quaffing any alcohol they could find, be it in bottle or glass.

  Humvat and Parvark were drunkenly slumped across a table. Humvat stirred, hicced and slurred. “Know what, old pal?”

  “No, what?” giggled Parvark for no particular reason.

  “Thish has been a shambles from the start. Imagine, only having enough film for a shingle take of each schene? Ridiculous! I hate thish film and I hate that damned Guide. I’ll be lucky to eshcape from this with my life”.

  Parvark guffawed. “And you know what? Hic. After all the fuss, there’s still shome film left over”.

  Humvat mused wistfully upon this news, and smiled to himself as a fine idea sprang forth. “Right then,” he commanded. “Letsh go and jolly well use it up”.

  He rose unsteadily and waved his hand beckoningly, to indicate to Parvark that he was to follow suit.

  “Where are we going?” shouted a bemused Parvark.

  “Shh!” replied Humvat, vaguely tapping his lips with a finger. And then he whispered. “We’re going back into the palace. While I’m still dressed as the Guide I think I have shomething I’d like to say to the camera, so make sure you bring it with you”.

/>   They staggered in through an unguarded doorway and tramped up and down corridors, opening and closing doors until Humvat finally found what he was looking for. He motioned Parvark to enter a room with him. It was a small anteroom which led into a larger room. They staggered in and Humvat unsteadily gestured with an arm, as if to gather the room towards him.

  “Thish is the state room. I recognise it, with that picture on the wall, from previous decrees the oh so Great Guide has made on television in the past”.

  He slumped awkwardly into a swivel chair and harried Parvark into setting up the camera before they both fell into a drunken coma. Parvark announced he was ready to roll with a cry of “Acshun!”

  Humvat looked deeply into the camera lens, tried to shape some sober direction into his meandering thoughts, burped and scowled.

  “Right you lot. Great Guide here. Of course, I don’t actually need to introduce myself because you all know me well, don’t you? Or do you really know me? No, if you think about it for a moment you’ll realise you don’t know me at all. So I’ve decided to speak to you now because I think it’s about time you got to know a few things about me”.

  At this point he went to stand up, but instead got caught in the chair. As the camera continued to whir, he managed to extricate himself and went over to a drinks cabinet, helped himself to a bottle and glass and started pouring. He then tottered back to the chair and fell back into it. He looked intently into the camera lens.

  “For a start,” he blustered. “I’m a fraud. A big fat fraud. Did you see all of those heroic exploits of mine in the story of my life? Well every single one of them is an invention”.

  He pondered for a moment. “Well, maybe not all of them, but most of them certainly are. And the ones which weren’t invented were exaggerated. And as for my illustrious government, well, where do I begin?”

  He sighed heavily. “They’re all a bunch of rogues and thieves and liars. Half of them are trying to steer the country – which is you lot – in a direction nobody other than them wants to go. The other half are a bunch of religious bigots who’d have us all living in the stone age if they could. I should have got rid of them all years ago, but I lacked the strength”. His concentration started to fade away and he studied the drink in the glass morosely. “I admit I’ve been a rotten ruler, and I think you should know that too”.

  He sighed as he vaguely contemplated the room. “And I’ve never done anything for the arts. Not a bean. All of those poor aspiring actors out there, and all I’ve done is leave them to be picked off by the vultures”.

  Then he paused for a slurp, and delivered his final line with swagger and flourish. “But the biggest fraud is that all of you, yes the entire nation are victims of a deception which is the biggest joke of the lot”.

  He smirked. “For you see, I’m not even Siminite. I’m actually a Semonite dog, and I’ve been ruling over you for 28 years of deceit. Hilarious, don’t you think?”

  He convulsed and laughed manically, overacting to the last.

  Parvark shook his head in bewilderment and went to switch off the camera. “If you weren’t going to get shot before, you are now.” he muttered.

  “Oh shut up, you old woman!” snapped Humvat. “This was shtrictly a private performansh for you and me. It was the best use of the camera film so far, by far. When you’ve had it developed we’ll have a good laugh over it. Now let’sh get out of here before we get caught”.

  Chapter Seven

  Lighting A Wildfire