Playing the Idiot
Every seat is taken. Tonight the faithful sit in semi-circular rows, a writing surface in front of them. Carlos doesn’t allow any tape-recording or photographs. He hasn’t got me on CD yet or DVD, but he’s working on it.
[This post is an excerpt from Diary of a Heretic, the novel. Click here to read the first episode, or here to read the previous one.]
And looking at all the seekers, eager to hear my works, their notebooks open: I can’t go on—it’s over! Because here’s the catch: If I don’t believe what I’m saying, how can it possibly fly?
So tonight—after nonstop weeks—tired, bored, fed up—I found myself impersonating a doltish school teacher. I blinked and sighed. “Pencils sharp? Erasers ready—” I looked around, hand shielding my eyes, and said, “Well, what have we here? A test of faith!”
Silence.
“Any thoughts?”
Silence.
“Anyone?”
I waited a few beats more. “Well then,” I said, “Why don’t we come back to that later. How about an easy one? Like the meaning of life, sex, and death?”
The participants sat glassy eyed and dumb.
“Now come on, everyone. What do we think we’re doing here?”
There were giggles.
“Want me to tell you?”
“Yeah, tell us,” a woman in the back called out. “Tell us something.” I think it was my friend Bailey. Beaming recognition, I asked her to stand up. And then I forgot the question. Finger to my chin, I said, “Where was I?”
And the audience laughed. Bailey (or someone who looks just like her) said, “The meaning of life, sex, and death.”
“Oh right, right! I know that one.” More laughter. “It’s simple really, just hard to describe.” I scratched my head. It’s…it’s, right on the tip of my tongue...” I played the idiot. But the take topped three thousand, very good considering the small venue.
(To be continued)
