Date: Tue, 20 Mar 2007 23:36:19 +0000 (GMT)
From: Nexis Pas <nexispas@yahoo.co.uk>
Subject: Cal

Cal
Nexis Pas
(c) 2007 by the author
(With many thanks to Geoff and Julian)

`Try the Minister of Fisheries responding during question
time.'

Richard thought for a moment. Then his brow cleared, and his
hands closed around the lapels of an imaginary suit coat and
pulled them forward away from his body. His face seemed to
acquire the bland glow of the successful politician. He
almost grew jowls. He puffed his cheeks out once and cleared
his throat and with the bored air of a cabinet officer
explaining the obvious to the ignorant declaimed: `The
Ministry has taken the report of the South Shropshire Bottom
Feeders Advisory Committee under advisement. I can assure
the Right Honourable Member for Mencombe Downs that the
Government will, after a thorough study of the report and a
judicious assessment of all factors, promulgate regulations
to replenish the stock of bottom feeders in south Shropshire
and will in all respects comply with and implement the
provisions of The Act to Restore the Coastal Fisheries of
South Shropshire. I am not at the present moment, however,
prepared to offer a date for the completion of the
Ministry's efforts to save the bottom feeders of Shropshire,
but the Right Honourable Member can promise the fishermen
among his constituents that the bottom feeders will soon
rise to their lures with mouths open for their flies.'

`Does Shropshire have a coastal fisheries?'

`It must. Would Parliament have passed The Act to Restore,
etc., if it didn't?'

`Are we trusting the wisdom of Parliament now? In any case,
should Rupert sound so pompous? Isn't he supposed to be a
wise counsellor to this minnow?'

`Hal's fans would trample you to death for that aspersion on
the sprat. Hal is not a minnow. He's more a sardine,
practically a pilchard. He's a good sole what knows his
plaice. He's a confused lost little adorable blue fish with
pink spots trying to find his way home. The kiddies love
him, especially when he and his merry band of rock fish sing
"Fish Just Gotta Have Fins". If you ever got up early enough
on Saturday morning to watch the cartoons, you would love
him too.'

`I must do that some weekend. Now back to work. Don't
dolphins shriek and squeal? It seems to me they have those
piercing cries. Maybe one of your fans clamouring for your
autograph.'

`Prosperrrrrr!!!!!!!!! Kin oi git yur ottergwaph?' Richard
contorted his face into a parody of simpering schoolgirl
gushing.

`That bad? You poor dear. I had no idea it was so terrible.'

`Oh, clam up. Fat lot of sympathy I get from you, Cal.'

`You get all you deserve. What do dolphins eat? I'm certain
they're not vegans. Maybe if Rupert regarded the minnow as
potential food and there was a threatening note in his
voice.'

My name's not really Cal. Richard started calling me that
after the accident. He came home one day and caught me
sitting in my wheelchair and staring in the mirror at the
scarred mess my face had become and my misshapen body. I
joked that now I wouldn't need makeup or appliances to play
Caliban, my most famous role on the stage. So Richard dubbed
me Cal the Mooncalf. With his usual certainty that he would
be the major actor on any stage, he appropriated the most
important role for himself and became Prospero. He
distributed the other roles among our friends and
acquaintances. The accident brought my acting career to an
end, and sooner than I had anticipated, I became the
director that I had always planned on becoming after a
decade or two gaining experience on the stage. One can be a
tyrant sitting in a wheelchair, and I am not above
exploiting the fact that it's hard to argue with a cripple
in a motorised chair capable of speeds in excess of five
miles per hour and equipped with battering rams at ankle
height (actually they're foot rests).

I also continued in my role as Richard's designated acting
coach, which is what I was doing that morning. I have been
serving in that capacity since the first day we met. Richard
just assumed that everyone at the Royal Academy was there to
help him become an actor (no, that's not right-he already
knew he was an actor, we were there to help him become a
great one). In our first class, the teacher drew attention
to my reading of a line, and with that, Richard decided that
I was worthy to coach him. Fifteen minutes of his charm, and
I was too besotted to say no. Fifteen years later, I still
can't say no.

Richard had been hired to provide the voice for a character
in a cartoon movie, an aristocratic British dolphin whom the
hero encounters in his peregrinations around the globe and
who is supposed to impart some dolphinish wisdom and then
speed the young fish on his way. Hal, the fish, was voiced
by a popular American teenage boyband singer, and the
enormous worldwide popularity of the cartoon among preteens
had led to a full-length movie saga. Richard was scheduled
to record his lines at a studio in Hampstead in three days.
He was being paid an obscene amount of money to lend his
name to this project. `With Richard Somerset as Rupert the
Dolphin Duke' had already appeared on the film's website and
in the advance advertising.

`A hint of menace. That might work.' A false smile played
about his lips, and his left eyebrow rose just enough to
telegraph insincerity. He licked his lips and, in an
unctuous high-butler voice, read the lines: `Hal, my dear
lad, not all the fish in the sea are friendly. A little more
caution is advisable. It is not wise to be as trusting as
you are. There are those who would regard a hunk such as
yourself as a delectable amuse bouche and might nibble your
nipples.'

`That's the line?'

`Well, I threw in the hunk and amuse bouche by myself. The
script has "There are those among the denizens of the deep
who would regard you as a delectable dish, a scrumptious
snack." I don't know where the nipple nibbling came from.'

`I do.'

Richard smiled at me and stroked my hair. We were seated
beside each other at my work desk and his arm came to a rest
on my shoulders. `You remember. That's sweet.' He played
with a lock of hair between his fingers. `Your hair is still
as soft as ever.'

`Paul shampoos it every day. And I will never forget your
nipple nibbling. It was . . .'

`And how is Paul, he of the rugged looks and elephantine
biceps?'

`He is fine, devoted, admiring, worshipful, everything a
general dogsbody should be. And how is Ari?'

`Ari is fine, devoted, admiring, worshipful, everything a
general fuctotum should be. He's good in bed, which is his
role, and when he isn't studying every move I make, he's
mildly amusing, although his obsession with his stalled
career is beginning to be boring. I think I shall replace
him soon. Can you find him a part that will take him away to
some distant location? Australia? or Hollywood? And then
find a replacement?'

`So now I am become "By appointment of Richard Somerset,
purveyor of fine fuctota for the discriminating gentleman"?'

`Your judgement is better than mine. After all, weren't you
the first to recognise my potential?'

`Everyone recognised your potential. I was just the lucky
one that got to test it first. The Assorted Nymphs and
Reapers hasn't ever forgiven me.'

`How is the Assorted Nymphs and Reapers? Still insinuating
evil things about you?'

`Yes, the latest is that he spent his youth fending off my
obsessive advances. I started chasing you only after he
finally, after much effort, made me understand that he was
unavailable to an unworthy sod like myself. Apparently I
caught you on my rebound, although, you poor dear, were
unaware that you were extending charity to a broken husk of
a jilted stalker shamelessly taking advantage of your
generous nature. Stop laughing. I'm not making this up.
Miranda came round just to tell me as soon as she heard. He
was holding court in his dressing room at the Guildhall and
titillating his fans with gossip about us. It gets worse. If
I had had a sense of decency, I would have scurried back to
the pismire in Brighton from which I oozed and wanked off in
private for the rest of my life. But no, I wantonly threw
myself at you. You, a naive lad recently arrived from the
Victorian era and unsuspecting that so fair a face could
hide so much depravity, allowed me to fondle your tut-tuts
and, knowing no better, mistook my fumblings in your nether
regions for skilled lovemaking. Soon I had my talons buried
deep in your flesh, and you became enslaved to my unnatural
lusts and perversities. With his help, you could have become
the next Olivier. Instead you fell victim to a third-rate
chorus boy with an insatiable mouth.'

`That I did, sweetheart.' That last bit was in an American
accent, Richard channelling Bogart. `And I will tell
everyone who repeats the story to me that it wasn't your
talons that you buried deep in my flesh.' He smiled and
kissed me on the forehead. `You know, Cal, it would take
very little to put an end to his jealousies. All would be
forgiven if you cast him in your next production.'

`He would not suit. And in any case, I haven't revealed my
plans to anyone yet, but I have in mind a daring bit of
casting. When it's announced, the harpies will say he's too
young, too handsome, too dashing. But the performance will
prove that he was the perfect choice. He will be the
definitive interpreter.'

`And what do you have planned for me?'

`What makes you think I am planning to cast you?'

`Because you are drawing this out. If you had someone else
in mind, you would have said so without all this attempt to
create a mystery. You always flirt when you're trying to
persuade me to take a part. Besides who else is too young,
too handsome, and too dashing and capable of definitive
interpretations? Now tell me.' Richard leaned over and
brought his face close. Those famous green eyes stared into
mine. `Tell me, Cal.' He can be very fierce when he's not
playing a tuna and very greedy when he remembers he's an
actor and I'm a director who controls a supply of good
roles.

`Prospero. You are going to play Prospero. Sutton has agreed
to design the sets and the costumes. I want Cecile to play
Miranda. Charles Delapierre for Ariel. Devon Hensome for
Caliban. Henry Fox for Gonzalo. Ferdinand will be that young
actor in that movie series about the . . . '

`No. Devon can't play Caliban. That's your role.'

`Richard, I can't play Caliban anymore. It's physically a
very demanding role. And everyone would say that it's too
cute to cast a cripple in a wheelchair as Caliban. And they
would be right. It would be a distraction and a circus
stunt. Besides, I want to direct you as Prospero. We can
make this a great production, Richard, one that people will
brag to their great-grandchildren yet unborn that they were
lucky enough to see. And Devon just needs some extra
direction to get Caliban right.'

`No, you have to be Caliban. I won't play Prospero unless
you play Caliban.'

`Richard, be reasonable. Look at me. My acting days are
over. I'd frighten the horses if I got up on stage again.
And I'm going to enjoy giving you orders and bossing you
around. I will need all my skills to make you into
Prospero.'

`Cal, you have to be Caliban.'

`Richard. Look at me. Really look at me for once.' He
glanced at my face, and then his eyes slid away. I cupped
his chin in my hand and drew him back. We were face to face,
separated by only a few inches, but as usual he wasn't
seeing me. I don't know what he sees when he looks at me,
but it's not me as I am now. `Richard, I'm not Cal. Cal is
just a fiction we use to make it easy on you, on both of us,
to accept what happened. Cal allows us to distance ourselves
from my reality. We can joke about Cal and his afflictions
and ignore the fact that David is a physical wreck, that I'm
only able to move about because of this wheelchair and its
clever switches and because there are people like Paul I can
hire to help me.'

`I told you you didn't need to hire anyone. I would do
everything you need.'

`I know you would, love. And that's the problem. It's
cheaper to pay Paul in cash than to pay you in gratitude.'

`You bastard. How can you say that to me?' Richard has had
the sort of career in which temper is an asset, and he has
no reason to learn to control it. At times he can still be a
petulant adolescent. He suddenly grabbed the arms of my
chair and shoved me away. I rolled back a few feet before I
recovered enough to brake the slide. Even before the
accident, he towered over me, and as he stood up, he seemed
to be even taller than before. `I hate this goddamn fucking
chair. And I hate drunken drivers. And I hate fucking
surgeons who can't repair people. And I hate that I have to
make do with that stupid twink instead of you. And I hate,
oh god, David, I hate everybody who's walking around when
you have to be . . . like this. And I hate you.' And he
started crying. It's been five years, and he still hasn't
come to terms with what happened. I let him indulge his
misery for a moment and then wheeled the chair back to him
and took his hand.

`I love you too, Richard.'

And as usually happens when he overreacts, he soon got
embarrassed. "David, I just can't take this anymore. I
can't, I can't be nonchalant and pretend to accept you like
this.' He pushed a few papers around on the desk and then he
shot me a look of anguish and rushed out.

He forgot the script for the fish movie. I'll have Paul take
it to him later. Richard will come around. Once he gets used
to the idea of playing Prospero, he'll come around. You see,
he really does love me, and that surprises him as much as it
does everyone. He'll do it in part for me. And he'll do it
in part because he has so much ambition--he won't be able to
resist the idea of being triumphant in this role. He'll
convince himself that he's doing me a favour and humouring
me, and then he'll come around. But you can see why I want
him to play the part--all that rage. It will be contained,
and no one will see it directly, but it will be there and
everyone will feel it. When I'm through preparing him, he
will be a superb Prospero. Besides, if he thinks he hates
this chair and everything that goes with it, he doesn't know
how much I hate it and the drunken driver who put me here
and how much I resent the twink who usurped my place in bed
and the lover who let him in. Rage and resentment and love
and jealousy and hate and the desire to undo the present--
those are things that I understand. As for being nonchalant
and accepting, what choice do I have?

Richard has never understood one thing, however. It's not
Caliban that I became that night. No, that brief eternity of
metal meeting flesh turned me into Prospero, exiled to a
wheelchair. But unlike Shakespeare's Prospero, I will never
get off this island, and I will never have to surrender my
magic. And as Prospero I shall work such wondrous magic with
this cast-off crew that founders on my shoals and finds
refuge on my island. Come, Ariel, we have a tempest to
conjure up. We shall affright the air these mortals breathe.