LANG (looking at his watch): Good god, we’re running late. Completely lost track of time. You ready, Sarah? (To Cruzzi and Buswell): Sarah’s on next.
SARAH (staring at Jimroy’s back): I can’t understand it. In his letters he was so—maybe he’s brooding about his briefcase, or —
LANG: I’m afraid … mustn’t fall behind, you know. (He firmly takes the coffee cup away from her and steers her to the front of the room.)
SARAH (still mulling over the snub): I must have done something. Or said something. Or —
WOMAN WITH TURBAN (grasping Lang’s hand): Just want to let you know, Willard, that I’m looking forward to the love series. I’ve done some work —
LANG: Five minutes late! I don’t know how we —
SARAH: Maybe I came on a bit strong. I do that sometimes.
WOMAN WITH TURBAN (clinging): I think all of us are —
LANG (at the lectern): Ladies and gentlemen. (People drift to their seats with looks of expectation.) Ladies and gentlemen. I am particularly happy to present our next speaker, Sarah Maloney, who is the person—and I think I can say this without exaggeration—the person most responsible for the rediscovery of Mary Swann, who, in her article a mere five years ago, pointed to Swann’s unique genius and to—well, perhaps I should now turn the microphone over to Ms. Maloney herself. (Applause.)
Sarah squares her shoulders: whatever she says she knows it must be delivered with authority. Her eyes search the audience. She sees Morton Jimroy and sends him a tentative smile, then begins.
SARAH: Mr. Jimroy, in his keynote address this morning, raised a number of interesting points, particularly the notion we have of regarding Swann as a kind of curious cultural hiccup isolated from any sort of cultural tradition. It is a compelling belief but shaky in my opinion, to think of Mary Swann’s work as a miniaturized, spontaneous, virgin birth, but —
* * *
Her voice fades, becomes indistinct. The CAMERA pans the audience. Wattled Gent furiously scribbles notes; Rose, her nose red, listens dully from the back row; Jimroy sits with hooded eyes, looking trapped and betrayed, much as he looked on the airplane, Sarah continues, her voice very gradually becoming audible again,
SARAH: … And I’d like to state in conclusion that, like other self-generated artists, Mary Swann had the ability to state her truths with a sharpness and slant that lit up what had become stale by traditional use. It’s this, more than anything else that gives her work its power. Ladies and gentlemen, thank you. (There is a pleasing roll of applause, and a number of hands immediately go up.)
LANG (stepping to microphone and holding up a hand): Just a few questions, I’m afraid. Lunch is ordered for 12:30 sharp. (He looks into the audience, spots Woman With Turban, and points.)
WOMAN WITH TURBAN: Dr. Maloney, I found your remarks about the resonance of the primitive imagination interesting —
SARAH: Actually, I didn’t use … I deliberately avoided the word primitive.
WOMAN WITH TURBAN (waving this objection aside): Untutored then. Self-nurtured. Whatever. You seem to feel, if I understand you properly, that it is impossible for a twentieth-century being to escape the—what was the exact word —?
SARAH: Matrix.
WOMAN WITH TURBAN: Matrix, yes. That even at the edge of the social matrix, certain cultural ideas are absorbed. Even the social outcast —
SARAH: With respect, outcast is another term that I rather rigorously —
WOMAN WITH TURBAN (patiently): Even those at the fringe of the, shall we say, prevailing communal structure, are open to general patterns of cultural thought—have I quoted you correctly?
SARAH (recovering some of her combative sparkle, but fearful of where this line of questioning is leading): Yes and no. It is, of course, very difficult to pin down what Swann may have perceived about the direction and … (searches for word) shape of modern poetry —
WOMAN WITH TURBAN: But isn’t that, in fact, exactly what we must do? Look beyond the work to some other form of documentation that reinforces —
SARAH: Ideally, yes, but we all know how rare the ideal situation is. In Mary Swann’s case —
JIMROY (standing suddenly and interrupting; his tone is peculiarly aggressive): If I may interrupt our questioner—whose name I’m afraid I don’t know —
WOMAN WITH TURBAN: Professor Croft. From Tulane.
JIMROY: Thank you, Ms. Croft. If I may interject … a special plea on my part, I’m afraid … that is to say, we are all anxious to discover anything at all that may illuminate the … character of Mary Swann’s special muse. And we all lament, I am sure, that there is so little apparent light. Mrs. Swann, alas, left us no transcribed manifesto. She did not write scholarly articles or essays elucidating her poetic theories. She did not enjoy the pleasure of an extensive correspondence. But she did, and perhaps this is what my distinguished colleague … Ms.… sorry, I’m afraid —
WOMAN WITH TURBAN (crossly): Croft. From Tulane.
JIMROY:—what Ms. Croft (pause) of Tulane … was alluding to. The fact is, Mary Swann did keep a journal. I wonder, Dr. Maloney, if you, as the one person privy to the contents of this journal, might be persuaded to say a few words about it today? (He sits.)
SARAH: Well, I —
JIMROY (rising again): I am particularly interested, and I’m sure my colleagues at this symposium are equally interested—(he waves a hand airily)—in knowing when you intend to make Mrs. Swann’s journal available to the public. (He sits.)
MAN WITH OUTSIZE AFRO: Hear, hear.
WOMAN WITH TURBAN (also rising): And while we’re on the subject, maybe we should ask Professor Lang when he intends to publish Swann’s love poems. We’ve waited for —
SARAH: I’m afraid —
LANG (half-rising): We seem to be straying from the original question —
JIMROY (rising): The question is really quite simple and can be answered in one word. When, Dr. Maloney, do you intend to publish Mary Swann’s journal?
WOMAN WITH TURBAN: Surely the public, or at least those who have an academic investment, should be allowed access to the journal.
MAN WITH OUTSIZE AFRO: Hear, hear.
SARAH (nervously, rubbing her hair and taking a deep breath): The Swann journal … as you call it … which was given to me by Rose Hindmarch—(CAMERA close-up of Rose, who smiles in a vague and friendly way, apparently recovered from the earlier session)—given to me … precisely because there was so little of importance in it —
WATTLED GENT (rising): But there must be something. That is to say, the journal surely contains words and words contain meaning and so there must be, perforce, some … shall we say, value to even the most … cursory document. (He sits. There is an uneasy stirring in the room; people move in their chairs, murmur, clearly demanding an explanation.)
SARAH (at a loss): The journal … as you call it—and perhaps I should never have used that term in my original article—covered a period of just three months, the summer of 1950. This was, as you all know, before Mrs. Swann began to write her poems —
JIMROY (on his feet, jabbing the air): All the more reason, if I may say so, Ms. Maloney, that the journal holds interest for —
SARAH (regarding him directly; from this point the debate is between the two of them: the Woman With Turban and Wattled Gent fade away): But it is not of interest, Mr. Jimroy. I sincerely hoped, when I first looked at it, that it would be. But there is nothing —
JIMROY: Surely, Dr. Maloney, there is something.
SARAH (close to tears): There’s nothing. Absolutely nothing that would interest —
JIMROY: Then why not demystify the document by allowing others to —
SARAH (exasperated): Shopping lists, Mr. Jimroy. That’s what’s in the journal. Comments about the weather. Once, once, she mentioned a door latch that was broken. Not a symbolic door latch, either. A real door latch. Anyone could have written the stuff on those pages. That’s the tragedy of—
JIMROY (fiercely, but trying for control): Neverthe
less, this material, marginal as it may be, and I suppose I must take your word for that, Dr. Maloney, this marginalia does offer a glimpse of that private person behind —
SARAH: But I am afraid it does not. Offer a glimpse, Mr. Jimroy. Otherwise I would have —
JIMROY (trying for a statesmanlike approach): I can’t, of course, speak for my fellow scholars (he gestures broadly), but for the biographer (he claps a hand to his heart), for the biographer, that which seems trivial —
SARAH: This journal, Mr. Jimroy, is not even particularly legible —
JIMROY: Ah, that may be, but you see, even the illegible nature of the work offers a kind of comment on —
SARAH (flustered): It’s really just … I can assure you … it is utterly lacking in meaningful —
JIMROY: Dr. Maloney, I am what you might call an old hand in this business of … shall we say, uncovering the core of personality. I know perfectly well what most journals are like. They are tentative documents at the most. Provisional. Rambling. Uncommitted to structure. I’m not, you know, such a novice as to presume exegesis. But the feebleness you suggest is attached to Mrs. Swann’s journal is surely balanced by the fact that it is, after all, a privileged communication and —
SARAH: I would agree with you in most cases, Mr. Jimroy. (She bears down on his name with bitterness.) But this is a special case —
LANG (stepping forward briskly, anxious to keep the proceedings genial): Awfullly sorry, ladies and gentlemen, but the time —
JIMROY: One question, one question only. A simple yes or no will do. Do you intend, Dr. Maloney, do you intend, at any time in the future, to publish Mary Swann’s private journal?
SARAH: Well, I —
LANG: I’m really terribly sorry, but time —
JIMROY: Yes or no?
SARAH: (pausing, waving her hands weakly; her voice is unsteady, almost a whimper): No.
The announcement is greeted by an angry murmur; people turn in their seats and talk openly to their neighbours. In a moment the room is filled with an indignant uproar. Jimroy’s voice booms from the back of the room.
JIMROY: And may I inquire (raising his voice in order to be heard)—may I inquire of our speaker why she has decided not to publish Mary Swann’s private journal?
LANG: Lunch is now ready, ladies and gentlemen. If you will find your way to the LaSalle Room adjoining this room. I now declare this session adjourned —
JIMROY: (over the uproar):—as to why Dr. Maloney has taken it on herself to withhold —
SARAH: (whispering into microphone, the kind of whisper that brings instant silence): Because I can’t. (She pauses.) Because … I am unable. The jounal has been … I am sorry to have to say this … the jounal has been … lost.
She holds out her hands in a gesture of helplessness and shakes her head. The audience stirs; people begin to speak from every corner of the room. SOUND is reinforced by the echo effects of the faulty microphone, so that the noise is crushing. Sarah can be seen mouthing the words again. “The journal has been lost.”
Fade to: Interior, the LaSalle Room set up with tables for eight. Noon.
CAMERA focuses on buffet table where there is a large wet-looking salmon on a platter, several bowls of salad, an immense basket of rolls, plates of cheese and fruit, glasses of wine already poured. The members of the symposium are cheerfully filling their plates, then finding their way to the various tables. The room is loud with social chatter.
CRINKLED FOREHEAD: … seems damned unlikely in this day and age, what with storage systems —
WIMPY GRIN : … when you think of Willard Lang hoarding the treasure trove —
SILVER CUFFLINKS: … fresh salmon. I get so sick of looking at salmon, you’d think —
GREEN TWEED SUIT: … think Jimroy was a bit thrown off by the whole thing, first losing his briefcase and then —
ROSE: … was so embarrassed, I don’t know when I’ve been so —
GINGER PONYTAIL : Frankly, the man is a tyrant, I don’t care what you say, he’s —
SILVER CUFFLINKS: How does that line go? From “Lilacs,” starting with —
MERRY EYES: A terrible disappointment, and I’d been counting on —
BIRDLADY: I wonder if I could possibly have a glass of water?
WIMPY GRIN : … hair of the dog —
GREEN TWEED SUIT: … the way she just stood there and took —
WATTLED GENT: May I present Herbert Block.
BLUE-SPOTTED TIE: … delicious —
WIMPY GRIN : … all owe a great deal to the Peregrine Press, you know, and you have to give Mr. Cruzzi credit —
MAN WITH OUTSIZE AFRO: … mostly subsidized, of course, but without regional presses —
SILVER CUFFLINKS: … piece of fishbone in my throat —
GINGER PONYTAIL : … drenched with this rancid olive oil and then absolutely —
JIMROY: We are after all a community of scholars, and —
CRINKLED FOREHEAD: What the hell’s wrong with the word primitive?
WATTLED GENT: … hasn’t found it yet, his briefcase that is, but evidently he hopes —
BIRDLADY: … the giggle-and-tease school of criticism —
MERRY EYES: … spontaneity, always say spontaneity’s just another name for shoddiness —
BIRDLADY: … was in Nadeau twice, I think, but there wasn’t —
SILVER CUFFLINKS: … the way he had her pinned there, like a butterfly —
MAN WITH OUTSIZE AFRO: … bastard —
CRINKLED FOREHEAD: Would you mind if I join you?
WOMAN WITH TURBAN (turning her attention to Wimpy Grin, seated beside her): Well, of course I’m disappointed. Waiting two years for the love poems and now —
WIMPY GRIN : I’m more than disappointed. I’m thinking of—
WOMAN WITH TURBAN: I felt so sure the journal would serve as a kind of gloss, that is to say, enlarge the meaning of the Water Poems in particular. WIMPY GRIN : Yes, the Water Poems. Especially those. Not that there’s anything obscure about them.
WOMAN WITH TURBAN: Obscurity’s not the point. Not at all. I’m talking about reference points. The journal would have expanded the number of reference points—and the love poems will —
WIMPY GRIN : But at least she —
WOMAN WITH TURBAN: Who? Maloney? Or Swann?
WIMPY GRIN : Sarah Maloney. She was very firm about that. That there was nothing in the journal of interest.
WOMAN WITH TURBAN: And you believe that! You honestly believe that? Maybe she was unable to see any connections, but —
WIMPY GRIN : Hmmmmmmm.
The CAMERA moves to another table and focuses on Rose Hindmarch in conversation with Syd Buswell.
ROSE (daintily picking at her food): Well, as for myself, I was kind of disappointed. You see, I’d been thinking I might ask her if, well, if she’d care to donate the journal to our little museum, and maybe the rhyming dictionary, too, but I don’t want to be an Indian giver —
BUSWELL (chewing and gesturing with his fork): Dictionary?
ROSE (rambling): Since you were in Nadeau we’ve got ourselves a new room in the museum, a real nice display of, well, you’ll have to come and have yourself a look. It’s up over the library —
BUSWELL: I’m sure you understand about my comments this morning. Just wanted to point out —
ROSE: Oh well, I’m pretty proud of our library. You see, in the old days, when it was in the post office, we didn’t even have —
BUSWELL: … just wanted to make the point about the idiocy of influences. Jimroy did the same thing in his Starman book, said Starman’s work had been influenced by Moby Dick. He exaggerates. Romances. The bugger should have been a novelist, not a bloody biographer —
ROSE (applying sauce to salmon): I haven’t actually read —
BUSWELL (ramming a roll into his mouth): He’s all talk. He talks documentation, but lives in fairyland —
ROSE: Oh, he’s very famous. I looked him up in Who’s Who—
&
nbsp; BUSWELL: Inflated reputation. Happens too frequently. Conjecture. Ha! What about proof! The straight goods.
ROSE: Well, of course, Mrs. Swann and myself … we used to talk about … we were friends you know. We used to discuss this and that and sometimes we —
BUSWELL (bored): Yeah?
The CAMERA moves to another couple at another table: Merry Eyes and Blue-Spotted Tie.
MERRY EYES: … hard to understand how a thing like this can happen —
BLUE-SPOTTED TIE: … valuable documentation like that, well, should have been archived of course. I always make sure prime materials are duplicated and archived —
MERRY EYES: It’s only common sense.
BLUE-SPOTTED TIE: Especially when you take the view, as I do, that this kind of documentation belongs to the whole scholarly —
MERRY EYES: … and not to any one individual. That’s certainly the view I take. And as for Professor Lang sitting on the love poems —
BLUE-SPOTTED TIE: … really no excuse —
MERRY EYES: Even my working papers I keep in a little fireproof safe we have —
BLUE-SPOTTED TIE: Sense of responsibility.
MERRY EYES: Exactly!
Fade to: Interior, lecture room. Same time as above.
The CAMERA focuses on the empty lecture room. MUSIC: clarinet, a few repeated phrases.
CLOSE-UP of Sarah, on the platform gathering together her lecture notes. Sadly, almost in a trance, she replaces a paperclip and puts the papers in her briefcase. Her air is one of defeat. In the empty room she appears suddenly small and vulnerable. She can hear the murmur of voices from the adjoining room, and this reinforces her feelings of abandonment. She pauses, looks out over the rows of empty chairs. “Well, that’s that,” her look says. Then her eyes (and the CAMERA) fall on Frederic Cruzzi, who has remained seated on the far side of the room, very nearly obscured by shadows.
CRUZZI (rising slowly with an old man’s stiffness; his voice, too, creaks): Ms. Maloney?
SARAH: Mr. Cruzzi! I … didn’t see you there. I thought you’d … you’d gone in with the others, for lunch.
CRUZZI (pulling himself erect): I was hoping to speak to you alone. If you can spare —