LIKE THIS : NAIROBI KENYA
'I hope you've got your dashiki cleaned.'
Ha, ha. That was the opening line. The
fellow from France had written a play,
in English, about Kenya. In the USA.
Go figure that one out. Relevance has
an extended key, if you only know the
ins and outs of that. But, in spite of all
else, she was a tall and lanky beauty,
this girl they'd sent over to read.
We began talking about stuff, anything
other than this junk. I told her I tried to
reach abstraction in my writings after
she'd asked what sort of things I wrote.
I said I'd tried to write a completely
non-understandable line now for some
fourteen years, but had found it to be
impossible indeed. She agreed. It would
be so. 'It seems,' I said, 'it seems every
word, no matter how 'out there', or bizarre
the connection is, every word really does
relate back to something else, and that's
what people get; the key to understanding.'
'But why then,' she asked' why then, if you
found it impossible to do, why would you
keep on trying?' I said that was a too-closed-end
question and didn't she have any imagination
at all? Could she really be that dull? She made
a bad face, a sad face, and said 'No, not really.
But isn't there anything I can do? I really want
this part.' I said that there was not - I knew
already what she was trying to do; the age-old
seduction scene in the casting office, trying to
buy her way in to a two-bit part that wasn't worth
shit. I'd seen it all, and was tired of it too.
'You'd better go,' I said, 'you'd do better to just
leave now; forget everything, it's not for you.'
Yes, then tears welled up, but I made her go.