We are looking through plate glass onto a vibrant, packed, African market street, the glass is dusty and the reflection of our vantage point, a sparsely peopled cafe or bar or restaurant,  is reflectively superimposed on the bustle and life beyond the glass. Among the multitude of shiny blue black faces we see a white skinned couple pursued by a gaggle of small children in brightly coloured but ragged clothing. A tall black man balancing a large basket packed with vegetables on his head walks past between us and the couple and once he has passed we see that the woman of the couple is leaning down trying to disengage a chid of maybe four years old from the hem of her dress. The woman is clearly distressed and her man is of no help - he has a child clamped to his waist. Their skin is ghostly white and they both have pronounced facial ticks. We pan right and see the open door to the restaurant where a huge tall man who looks more like a statue than a human being deftly pushes away a crippled beggar from the threshold with his sandalled foot. We pan right past the doorway and the burbling mass of people beyond where we focus on a wiry small man who is vigorously sponging suds onto the adjoining window where we can see in sharp focus our interior. 

Cut to a long shot of the front of the restaurant from the other side of the road where we see that the name of the establishment is Hotel de Paris and that the adjoining building is named Mad Optics - the milling crowds between us and the hotel and opticians are colourful, purposeful and without exception every face is black. We hold this shot for a minute until we zoom in through the crowds and stop when we can see a glass doorway with a single pane of glass to the left of it and two to the right, The wiry window cleaner is working on the pane to the far right now but the others are perfectly clean and through them we can see two men sitting at tables far apart. Focus shifts to  the doorman who is huge, tall and dressed entirely in white linen save for his brown dusty sandals and dark red fez, The doorman morphs into a simulacrum of Boris Karloff in The Mummy and we zoom in on his dark rimmed eyes before zooming back and panning right. We are now standing in the very doorway looking in. Pan left and  we see the front and back pages of the newspaper Le Monde framed by two gnarled hands. Pan right quickly to the other table. Although the shot is perfectly focussed the man sitting at the table who is clearly looking toward the man with the newspaper is indistinct, not pixellated, more a pointillist image seen by the camera or like an old newspaper photograph blown up to show the dots it was formed from. He turns to look directly into the lens but as he does we zoom out and pan left again zooming slightly as the screen splits in half vertically where the space between the figures has shrunk and they are head to head so to speak. The figure on the right is still pointillist though the dots have enlarged. We watch them both for a long moment - the figure on the left drops his newspaper to turn a page and we catch  a glimpse a small, pinch faced man with wire rimmed spectacles, watery brown eyes, a sparse, white, fu manchu moustache and sharp cheekbones. His skin is sallow and wrinkled but his eyes are bright and wet. The man on the right does not become more distinct and his half of the image minimises to a small picture in picture frame at the top right of the screen. 

Cut to a shot of the inside pages of Le Monde - the indistinct second man is still in the PiP frame top right.  The pages we are reading crumple down to reveal the point of view of the newspaper reader. there is a bar or counter with a full width mirror behind - in the mirror we can see the man with the newspaper and behind him a dark doorway - his newspaper is on the table in front of him as is a small coffee cup and saucer. Behind the bar, centred and in front of the mirror a young man wearing a classic bistro getup of black trouser, white shirt and black apron stands talking to a tall woman whose back is to us. At each end of the bar stands another tall woman, both whom are clearly looking toward either the newspaper reader or the doorway behind him. All three women, the first woman turns toward us as we watch, look remarkably like the young Grace Jones, hair and all. Each wears an almost identical outfit which is skin tight and concealing of near nothing at this point we notice that the woman who was talking to the waiter is older than the other two. She looks toward the newspaper reader. Behind her in the mirror we can see him nod toward the indistinct man and crook his finger. She struts off screen left. 

Cut to a tight rear view of the older woman at the indistinct man’s table - she blocks our view of him as she bends from the waist and speaks to him.

“Monsieur …” she points her left hand “ wonders if you would join him”

He starts to rise and we almost see him but the woman straightens and blocks our view. All we can see is her back in a basque-like satin outfit and he hair piled on her head. 

Cut to a tight shot of the newspaper reader’s table - he is looking to his left, our right - he raises his left hand and beckons welcomingly “Please take a seat, thank you for joining me -  would you like something more to drink?  or perhaps something to eat?”

Cut back to the bar/mirror shot - the two younger women have their backs to us but the older woman is looking intently at the newspaper reader - the barman is at the right side of the bar speaking, we can see his lips moving, to one of the young women. In the mirror we see the newspaper reader raise two fingers and nod slightly. The older woman nods and turns to the barman. “Two brandies for monsieur Alex” The barman snaps to attention and turns his back on us to pour two glasses of brandy the he places on a zinc tray. He lifts the tray, drapes a glass cloth over his right arm and comes from behind the bar, past the young woman he was speaking to and his chest fills the frame.

Cut to a shot of the table where the two men are seated in silence. The newspaper reader is wearing an immaculately white shirt buttoned all the way up and a pair of dirty linen trousers that may once have been cream coloured,  they, nonetheless, have sharp creases - his feet are bare - his hands are gnarled but his nails are beautifully manicured after the French fashion. The indistinct man is in early middle age wearing fawn trousers, creased and slightly grubby, a pink button down shirt with long sleeves - the cuffs are turned back once and the top button is undone, his hands are young, soft and also well manicured, his hair is long - he wears crudely fashioned leather sandals - he is slightly out of focus.  The barman enters the shot from our right, puts down two glasses in front of the newspaper reader and clears the newspaper and coffee cup, and replaces the ashtray with a clean one, carefully covering the used ashtray which is nearly full, with the clean one as he swaps them. He turns and leaves -

NPR. “Merci, Alex - are you sure you will not join me, monsieur?”

Indistinct Man: “Thank you, but no, maybe later, it’s a little early for me and to be honest much as I love pastis it does not love me back - it is what we call an unrequited love affair between us”

NPR: Well now we are settled allow me to introduce myself, I am Monsieur …  never mind that  … I am know here as Monsieur Sabotier. I have noticed you observing me for the past four mornings and thought it only polite to satisfy some of your curiosity … have we met before Monsieur? … Monsieur What? …”

An aperture closes slowly over the shot and yet more slowly re-opens to show us …

Enter the Third Man

 A classic talking heads shot - think Alas Smith and Jones - the newspaper reader is on the left and the indistinct man on the right - we pull in so that we can only see the faces of each man

IM (who is still slightly out of focus) speaks but his speech is overlaid with something buzzy/ringing that makes it sound as though we have tinnitus: Oh, excuse me ... I am David … David Smith and I am so sorry that you have noticed me watching you … it’s so rude of me but … but you fascinate and intrigue me … you have since the first time I saw you 5 years ago … I came here on the off chance that you would still be here and so …

NPR who seems not to notice the tinnitus effect: five years ago? So I will have seen you before too. I thought you looked vaguely familiar … after all we do not have that many English guests … perhaps a handful in the last five years … certainly not more than a dozen … and now it intrigues me that you have returned after so long … why is that?

IM: In due time Monsieur but first I have to ask this … can you not hear that high pitched buzzing?

NPR cups a hand to his ear: but of course I can but it is only one of the things that is bothering me … has been bothering in for a few days … since you booked in in fact … when I look at you you seem a little fuzzy around the edges … when you speak I develop tinnitus … when you move you looked blurred …

IM: thank god for that … I thought it was just me … my senses fucked up from the plane … the journey … there’s other stuff that I don’t understand too …. what gives with all these cinematographic references buzzing around us? Cut … pan … zoom … talking heads shot … are we in some sort of screenplay? It’s really off putting … I don’t know about you but I’m more used to being in novels 

NPR: me too David … good questions … a screenplay you think?

A picture in picture frame opens top right (our right) and reveals a middle aged man in a waistcoat sitting with his back to us … he turns his head toward us … he has a grey  beard and we can see he is sitting in front of a computer … he spins around and looks down and to his right as though looking through the floor of his containing frame …

PIP man: Look you two … you aren’t supposed to take any notice of my machinations, cinematographic or otherwise and you certainly aren’t supposed to remark on them

IM: well then, I suggest you make them a little less intrusive … tone them down a bit maybe … anyway you usually do novels what’s all this screenplay stuff about? And what is wrong with me in this thing … all the fuzz and the buzz … what’s that all about?

PIP man: even though it’s none your concern really if I tell you … explain stuff can we get back to the script?

IM: so it is a script then? OK, tell us … by the way where did you get this French guy from … I’ve not met him in one of your novels before … I like him 

PIP man: you mean Monsieur Sabotier or to give him his real name Monsieur Auduoin? I borrowed him from a Robbe Grillet novel … I needed an ex-pat Frenchman  and he kind of came to mind so I dusted him down, gave him a really fascinating back story and here he is. I’m glad you approve (heavy sarcasm). As to the camera directions and stuff well I was recently proof reading my two last novels and it struck me that they sound a bit like Beckett radio plays so I thought I’d give this screenplay thing a try … as a framing device … pun intended … Are we Ok with that? Can we continue now?

NPR: not just yet Monsieur L’Auteur … you have not answered my new friend’s question about his character’s visual and audible flaws … s'ils vous plait Monsieur …

PIP man throws his hands up and says exasperatedly: alright … alright … have it your way … those things are supposed to indicate that at this stage in the script I have not fleshed him out in my own mind … he is portrayed as indistinct because that is how he is in my head … you, on the other hand are completely formed and so you are visually sharp and audibly clear … satisfied?

IM: not exactly … you’ve used me over and over in your past work … how come I’m Mr Indistinct all of a sudden? and he’s Mr Crystal Clear.

PIP man: Look David, to get you into this work I’ve got to develop some backstory that puts you there and that involves some changes to your usual gig with me so bear with me while I work it out

IM: well now we know can you at least get rid of those signifying artefacts? I mean everybody knows now … so … so what about it?

PIP man: I suppose so … if it’ll make you happy … if 

IM: yes that’ll do nicely (he nods to NPR man looking for approval - NPR man nods back) OK … lets get back to it but like I say ease back the directorial stuff huh?

PIP man leans toward the front of his frame and extends his hand: Ok then, OK … let’s go then … get on with it … take it from the introductions 

the picture in picture frame goes blank and then disappears.

————————————————————————————————— 

Let’s go on ….

IM who is now clear edged and unfuzzed: Hold on. Oh dear … he’s gone … I wanted to ask him something … nevermind … I think we shall see him again if I know my author

NPR: I also wanted to ask him some things but for now tell me about him, this author of yours: what sort of writer is he? Does he often use other writer’s characters? 

IM: What did you want to ask him? 

NPR: It does not matter. If, as you say he will likely be back, it can wait. So, tell me what you know of him?  You say you have you worked for him before … perhaps more than once?

IM: Mmmm, I’ve been working with him for quite some time … more than a decade or two certainly. Maybe ever since he started, it’s hard to know. He has a small stock of characters and names and he reuses them in pretty much every thing he writes … maybe there are early works I don’t know about and wasn’t in. In the last couple of years he has been writing a lot more and a lot more often so I reckon I’ve been in at least … at least oh … five novels? Also a couple of short stories and a novella. 

NPR: Are you saying that he just keeps writing the same novel over and over, like your Thomas Hardy? 

IM: No, not really, all his stuff is different, very different but he recycles us, his characters, it’s not that he reuses us as such … it’s more than that … OK, try this … think of a painter who paints lots of different scenes but always uses the same colour palette. Enough about him … you’re sure to meet him again … this is one of those things where he butts in all the time so he’ll be back for sure. Tell me about your writer … your original writer … this Robbe Grillet fellow … what is he like? … will he miss you?

NPR laughs sardonically: Miss me? Monsieur Alain? I rather think not, he was never big on characters … when he even bothered to use characters we always came a poor second best to his technique. In any case Monsieur Alain died ten years ago now. Until your writer came along I had thought my career in literature to be over. I have to say though that what I have read of the backstory your writer has conjured up for me I am rather looking forward to the next few thousand words. Let us hope that he clarifies his recycling of you in such an interesting fashion. 

IM: I’ll second that wish … I’ve often been a secondary character … sketched … not fleshed out but … well any gig is better than no gig. But before you get too excited you may discover that pretty much all you have is a backstory, it’s unlikely there’ll be much plot going forward … well, unless this cinema thing bounces him out of his normal rut

NPR: So … shall we go on? 

IM: Let’s go on.

Together: We go on.

Death and the Maiden

Monsieur Sabotier: You say you were here 5 years ago … and that you came back to find me … I am suitably curious … tell me more … this place has never been a tourist destination and especially not for the English …

Zoom in on David - we are so close that we can see the sweat on his skin and the open pores under his eyes 

David: I was with my wife that time … her friend from University was here doing some field work … she was or is an ethnomusicologist … she was researching your folk music … your traditional instruments … the valiha in particular … she booked everything for us … said it was a beautiful place and that we had to experience it before it was spoiled … so we spent four days here before heading south to meet up with her … well she didn’t book this hotel … she booked us into the Hilton but our taxi driver refused to take us there  …. flat out refused … said it was a dump in a swamp … that we would contract malaria there and brought us here instead ….

Switch to a tight close up on Monsieur Sabotier

Monsieur Sabotier: you were fortunate, very fortunate in fact …. your taxi driver was a wise man … you had what you would call a close call … and was it during those four days that you noticed me sitting here in my hotel? surveying the news and the world? 

Switch to a tight close up on David

David: it was indeed … the morning after we arrived … we came down to get breakfast and there you were … where I assume you always are … at the same table … this table … it was Rosa who saw you first … my wife Rosa …

Switch to a tight close up on Monsieur Sabotier

Monsieur Sabotier: and where is Madame now? why is Rosa not with you on this return trip? Hold on a moment David … Monsieur L’auteur! Monsieur! Can we please stop this switching between close ups?  My complexion does not bear close inspection and apart from that it is beginning to feel like a lawn tennis match with all this back and forth with the camera. Can we please? Sorry to interrupt David … I do not know about you but I was beginning to feel somewhat seasick. Your wife, where is she?

The PIP frame pops up and we can see the writer facing front and putting up both thumbs

The PIP frame disappears and the camera pulls out to the original talking heads shot

David: Thank you … can we stay with this for a while? Sorry Monsieur Sabotier. My wife? Where is my wife? My wife is scattered on Adam’s Peak in Sri Lanka … she died earlier this year

Monsieur Sabotier: My condolences on your loss David … I know Sri Lanka well myself and have ascended Adam’s Peak several times … I can understand why you scattered her ashes there … such  a deeply peaceful and spiritual place … and beautiful too … 

Behind Monsieur Sabotier we see another Grace Jones lookalike enter through the door and exit the shot to our right

David: it was her last wish … to be scattered there and for me to sound the bell to bid her farewell … it was a magical experience … as I queued to ring the bell … as the sun rose … the local pilgrims peeled away and left me to it … they all blessed themselves and do you know nobody else rang the bell for a good minute … it was beautiful … and it was what she wanted

Monsieur Sabotier: I can imagine … see it in my mind’s eye … hear that hush and the the bell ringing out over the peaks … across the mists, the clouds … but what did she die of? she must have been quite young … surely? 

David looks puzzled - looks up and shakes his head: I don’t believe this shit … yes she was young .. just 37 but as to how she died I don’t have a fucking clue (looks up again) do I Laz? not a fucking clue because our distinguished writer hasn’t got to that bit yet … have you Laz ? … bit of an oversight there … I’m sorry Monsieur but this kind of crap does happen sometimes … with him … 

The screen fades to black

——————————————————————— 

Script Conference

A film set, our three men are sitting in canvas director chairs arranged in a triangle with Monsieur Sabotier and David flanking the writer, all of the paraphernalia of the filming process is visible. Voices are raised in an angry babble that resolves as we close in to lose the paraphernalia 

David: That was just so embarrassing … how the fuck did you let that happen? Poor old Sabotier had no idea what was going on and lord knows what the viewers made of it …

Monsieur Sabotier: I was actually amused rather than shocked myself … there is something in mistakes and accidents that always amuses me … I am one of those readers who finds Kafka’s works comic … it was, if you like, a surprise but a pleasant one 

David: that’s as maybe … you’re too generous … so Laz … explain … come on …. how did it happen?

Laz: I wish you wouldn’t shorten my name Dave, you know I don’t like it … do you do it just to annoy me? If so it works … every bloody time … you ought to show some respect for your maker the mad molecule …  I made you and I can unmake you … remember that … and as for how it happened well it wasn’t supposed to … our friend Monsieur Sabotier ad libbed and I hadn’t seen it coming …. yes, I should have … I might have known he would go there … it is the obvious question and, of course the monsieur is not used to my ways … but no … I’ll not blame him … it was my fault … I’ll hold my hands up to it … and I’ll put it right 

David: does this mean we’re going to have to do it again? please tell me it doesn’t … you know i hate rewrites or is it a reshoot here … in this text?

Monsieur Sabotier: I have no objection to doing it again … had you ever appeared in one my original writer’s texts you too would be used to it … the rewrites, the editing, the endless changes, revisions of revisions … as if the whole thing wasn’t already tedious enough rework slowed us down and sent us back again and again …

Laz: now calm down you two … I’ll fix it … no there won’t be any reshoots or the like here in my text … I don’t work that way but … but look it’s going to take a while to work out how to sort things out … it’ll be good though … disrupting the creative flow sometimes … no, oftentimes pushes me into new and more interesting territory … I don’t know how I’ll fix it but I will … It’s gonna take me a while though so why don’t you two go and get drunk while I get to it?

Monsieur Sabotier: well Monsieur l’auteur I shall trust you and getting drunk sounds like a good way to wile the time away. Come David, let us get very very drunk. 

David: When you know Laz better you won’t trust him at all … I don’t … his fix will be a bastard … they always are … it could get rocky from here on … but hey ho let’s go and get pissed while he pisses about

They rise and exit left, David has his arm around the shoulder of Monsieur Sabotier who we notice is perhaps a full 10 centimetre shorter 

Laz the writer drops his head into his hands

Aperture closes the screen

The scene is exactly as it was when the talking head shot faltered over the cause of death of Rosa. Not exactly as it turns out:

Continuity woman (Gladys Pearce - check her out on IMDB) can be heard off screen: look, David’s shirt is different, the shade is lighter and the buttons are different  - Monsieur Sabotier’s shirt is grubby around the collar - and they’re both sporting a day’s beard growth - it’s a continuity clusterfuck

Laz whispers: thank you … I take your point but nobody is going to notice apart from cont-wonks and cont-wonks won’t be watching this. Let’s roll people!

David:  Monsieur would you clear up this thing about your name please? Both you and Laz have hinted that this Monsieur Sabotier is not your real name. Is it some sort of nickname or soubriquet? Does it have something to do with a love of chef’s knives or something? I'm guessing here …

Monsiuer Sabotier: We can certainly clarify things … we can if you agree to do the same about our writer - is he called Laz as some short form off Lazarus? 

David: Oh that? That’s easy … easy but not comprehensive … all I know for sure is that his nom de plume is Papalazarou … sometimes he goes by Papz … I call him Laz … some of his online pals call him Laz too … I have no idea what his real name is though  … he always publishes under the Papalazarou monicker and that’s as much as I know …

Monsieur Sabotier: interesting … I imagine that this Papalazarou might be a genuine Greek family name but he does not look or sound Greek to me … as to my own “monicker” as you so enchantingly refer to it well you are to some extent correct …. Sabotier - not Sabatier which is the name of the kitchen knife manufacturer - Sabotier not Sabatier … in French a Sabotier is a man who makes clogs … clogs not knives note and the reason the people here call me Monsieur Sabotier is because my family money came from clog manufacturing … my family name, my real name as you insist on calling it is Audouin after my family’s village … to my friends I am simply Luc - perhaps you will call me Luc … I think you will be my friend 

David: Thank you and yes … Luc. Please call me Dave from now on and please stop calling him Monieur L’auteur it’ll  just  make his head swell. 

Luc: His head will swell? really?how does that work? 

Dave: no, not really … it’s a figure of speech … it just means he will become even more arrogant … more self confident …

Luc: oh I see … that expression is new to me … I shall remember that. So now …  do you think we are in a position to find out how your wife died?

Dave: I’ll check! Yup, she died in a motorcycle accident - wow I wasn’t expecting that - 

Luc: No more was I ! How did it happen?

Dave: First off you need to know that Rosa was an adrenaline junky … it was her … she lived for thrills … this place was on of her thrills, she wanted to go somewhere dangerous that nobody we knew had ever visited … but she dallied with all sorts of dangerous things … dangerous sports, dangerous places … she loved them all … cave diving, rock climbing, sky diving, wing walking, drag racing, war zones  … think of something dangerous and it will have been on her list … she was forever ticking things off that list but she could always find something else, something new, to go on the list … so the list never really shrank … and now, of course, it never will 

Luc: how sad and yet … and yet so wonderful that she died doing what she loved …

As Dave begins to speak the PiP frame appears and a video of all the fatal crashes in the IoM TT races begins 

Dave: Yeah, I thought the same at first but then I got to read her diaries … after the funeral I looked home out and you know what? She never really loved any of the dangerous things she did … she did them because she had to … they were the only things that … I don’t know validated her to herself … she had this thing, it turns out, shit, I never knew, she never hinted at it, where she didn’t think she was worthy of having a life at all … as if her life, any life, had to be valid in a concrete sense … bizarre I know … but it turns out that’s how she saw it … and the danger was what did it for her … validated her life … so anyway to cut a long story short she became fixated on the idea of racing in the TT … and it killed her … she came off on the mountain course … hit a wall … end of …

The PiP closes

Luc: and you knew nothing of this feeling … she said nothing … gave no indication … uncanny … how can such things happen … I was reading in your Guardian just the other day about this thing called Imposter Syndrome where sufferers believe that they are not worthy and fear that somebody will expose them … it is especially common amongst women the article said … maybe she had that problem …

Dave: Not that I’m aware or was aware … fact is she was constantly reassuring me on that score on account I do suffer from that syndrome … and it’s not just women … most working class people in the UK suffer from it … males and females … when I went to grammar school I figured I’d be the class thicko … that the other kids would wonder how I got there … despite being the cleverest kid in my other schools I just assumed that everybody else was cleverer … same when I got a job that should have needed A levels when I only had O levels - they’d spot me immediately I figured and when they didn’t I knew they would … that somebody would sooner or later … and then … and imagine when I was interviewing graduate applicants to work under me … yeah, every step of the way I was sure somebody would expose me for not being good enough … it runs deep, trust me … and the upper classes … even the middle class conspire to make it stick … I worked my way up … became one of the top consultants in my field … ended up doing presentation to boards of big multinational companies and even the … one day I presented to this board and afterwards the CEO came p to me and said and I quote because I’ve never forgotten it and I don’t think I ever shall .. he said to me “Very good presentation, especially for somebody who is really just a jumped up barrow boy” 

Luc: I am not sure I understood all of that bit I think I got the gist of it … but what is a barrow boy and a thicko ? He laughs and says: I do not think we French suffer from this syndrome ,,, perhaps that is why you British think of us as arrogant … but then we do not have your invidious class system to perpetuate such nonsense

Dave: you could be right there Luc … the class system certainly has to hold up its hand to a lot of iniquities in British … well English society … and that impostor syndrome's one of them but Rosa didn’t have it … she never doubted her ability … not ever … never felt a fraud … her thing … her obsession with risk was something existential not something societal. Sorry, I dropped into idiom back there a thicko is somebody congenitally stupid and for barrow boy think street vendor … somebody low on the social ladder … perhaps one of Hugo’s miserables.

Luc: OK and thanx

The scene starts to fade out as the conversation continues …

Luc pointing to top right : well, he did a good job on the backstory don’t you think? 

Dave: pretty damned good I’d say … there is hope for us yet … but do you think we’ll ever get out of this bloody bar … it’s hot in here …

Laz can heard off set: you’ll stay there until I say otherwise …

Screen goes black

Meet my Wife

Scene: an intimate library room - the flanking walls are a rich dark green while the back wall is lined with books - a mixture of hardbacks and paperbacks all of post WW2 vintage. Luc and Dave are seated screen left and right respectively in two Charles Eames chairs, an Eames reproduction round moulded plywood coffee table in ebony colour fills no more than a third of the space between them and on the table there are nine art deco old fashioned glasses, all but one of them, the one on Dave’s side of the table is empty, on Luc’s side of the table there is a large zinc ashtray, an unopened pack of Gitanes Brunes untipped cigarettes and an empty but crushed pack together with a classic brass Zippo lighter and, beside them, to Luc’s left is a brass bell of the type to be found on an hotel’s reception desk. The ashtray is empty of butts but the bottom is covered in ash.

Dave: well this is a very Robbe Grillet room - where are we?

Luc leans forward, takes a cigarette out of the packet after re-crushing the crumpled pack, lights it and leans back in his chair looking around him: well spotted on the Robbe Grillet front, it is well done and I feel very much at home but as to where we are I would have to guess because although your writer. well our writer now, has constructed a fair simulacrum of a room he seems to have failed to make either of us privy to its whereabouts. My reading room? My study?

Dave: your office perhaps? but is it even in the hotel?

Luc: my office, dear Dave? My office is that table in the bar where we were sitting in the last scene … I run my entire business empire from that simple table and chair setup … I suspect that we are still somewhere in the hotel … where, I cannot even guess … perhaps this is Laz’s concession to your recent request to get out of my bar … you know him better than I do … what do you think

Dave: You may be right … a Robbe Grillet room for you and a change of scene for me … that sounds a lot like him

Luc: he has an English sense of humour then …

Dave: he has, but enough about him and his funny little ways … tell me Luc … I’ve told you about Rosa so  level things up … tell me … do you have a wife?

Luc: I have Dave … I have always had a wife since I turned 17 … I have outlived and buried two, and divorced one … not a legal divorce but close enough … my current wife you have met I think … her name is Zainab, it is a popular name for girls here …  it means fragrant, beautiful plant and although she is both beautiful and fragrant she is more animal than plant … she runs the brothel here in the hotel and manages all of the housekeeping … here. let me introduce you ...

he leans forward and dings the brass bell twice - we wait in silence until the tall, older Grace Jones enters scene left. As the door behind him, which we cannot see but which we hear whisper open, Dave cranes his neck around - we see the surprise on his face. She stops in front of the table with her back to us and looks toward Luc, ignoring Dave altogether.   

Luc: Zainab, say hello to Dave … I think we shall be seeing a lot of Dave in the coming weeks … please ensure he has a comfortable say with us … a very comfortable stay …

Zainab turns toward Dave and leans forward. leans from the waist, her hand held out we switch to Dave’s point of view. His eyes flit between her face and her cleavage - she is a perfect vision of Grace Jones … Grace jones from the Jean Paul Goude days - she is stunning. She opens her mouth to speak a hello but Dave sees only the famous Ciroen car advert - her mouth opens and a car drives out. Dave takes her hand and kisses the fingers.

Luc, offscreen: amazing isn’t it? did you see the car? I guess so looking at your face. 

Zainab: A pleasure to meet you monsieur Dave … I shall make sure you have a good stay with us … do you prefer girls or boys? young or very young?

Dave: the pleasure is most definitely mine Zainab … I’m sorry but what was your question? 

Zainab: Companions, Monsieur Dave … boys or girls? .. or something else? young or very young? one or a variety? If you are to have comfortable stay you will require company … but of course you will

Dave stammers and blushes: Oh, I think not Madame but thank you …

Zainab: Oh no Monsieur Dave, my workers are all very clean ,,, I make sure of that personally ...do not worry on that score … and if you do not want to fuck well that makes no difference … when I say companion that is what I mean .. human beings need company and Luc is not always good company … or would you prefer me to warm your bed myself … she nods toward Luc … that is, of course also possible … I might enjoy that myself … just ask

Cut to a full scene shot  

Luc: Thank you Zainab, could you please have these glasses cleared ( he waves vaguely at the table) ... and have a bottle of Armagnac brought to us please 

Zainab turns on her heel and goes out the way she came in … the door whispers shut behind her and Dave breathes out heavily

Dave: Your are a very lucky man Luc …

On Beauty

Same scene - the library room

Dave: Zainab is an amazingly beautiful woman Luc ... and definitely more animal than plant

Luc: I think myself that she is striking rather than conventionally beautiful ... she has a beautiful body though ... that much is certainly true … some people are beautiful, some are pretty and some are striking and this is as true for men as it is for women … rbut emember that we are only talking about surface looks ,,, the soul is a different kettle of fish as you English would say … pretty is a passing thing, a delicate but temporary balance of features and skin … the thing with pretty is that it doesn’t challenge one … it is attractive but seldom if ever compelling … nobody ever committed a crime for someone merely pretty … beauty though tends to last and has to do with an almost ideal balance between structural elements … beauty might be something acquired after puberty … sometimes it appears in later life as features settle … as balances adjust and settle but … but beauty can decay, crumble, even disappear … people have throughout history committed crimes, often violent crimes, for beauty … striking though … ah striking … let me declare a bias … every woman I have ever married has been striking … that might tell you more about me than about them ... many women I have loved have been beautiful … some men too … striking is the other side of beauty … or rather it is often a flawed beauty … one feature out of balance in an otherwise beautiful person … striking is compelling … almost always,  and some hideous crimes have been committed in the name or pursuit of the striking person … striking never fades ,,, striking is forever …

Dave: .. and handsome? You’ve obviously thought this through 

Luc tips his head on one side and takes another cigarette: how very English a word that is … from the middle english I believe … we do not have an equivalent word in French and even in English the word means many different things to different people but current usage with regards beauty seems to be restricted mainly to men and middle aged women … the Americans use it a lot about men too and it seems to me that what I would call a beautiful man would be referred to be you anglo-saxons as handsome … at one stage it used to mean striking but no longer … at least not when used about people … horses and hounds yes but people no … perhaps it has to do with homophobia in English speaking countries … using the word beautiful about another man would probably say more about you than about the object of your gaze  … by the way Dave was Rosa beautiful do you think? 

Dave scratches his left ear, fiddles with the lobe and takes a drink: I thought so yes but … but given your definitions I guess I’d have to revise that to striking … beautiful to me but striking to you … she had the most luxurious  jet black hair and the most amazingly green eyes … almost fluorescent they were but … but looking for your flaw I now recall that a hint of anxiety always played around her eyes and I wonder perhaps I missed that at the time …. to me, by my judgement, she will always be beautiful

Luc: do you have a photograph? Of her?

Dave: I don’t as it happens … strangely none of the photographs of her ever looked quite like her … or not to me …

Luc: ah now that is interesting … the photographer in the small town where I grew up …Monsieur Genet ... I helped him sometimes at weddings … used to say that the camera cannot capture everything and that if somebody’s face leaked some of their soul then the photograph would always look wrong to those who know and love them … I understand your unwillingness to keep photographs of her … the human memory is a much better device for capturing such things

Dave: speaking of beauty as we are, that ring that your wife wears … an engagement ring is it? … is properly beautiful … the stone … is it a padparascha? it is gorgeous … Rosa’s engagement ring was a padparascha but I’ve not seen another until today …

Luc laughs gently: How strange that our wives should share such a thing … Rosa’s came from Sri Lanka I assume … you indicated that you had been there … Zainab’s is from right here … and thereby hangs a tale … 

Dave: I didn’t know you had them here and yes we got Rosa’s in Sri Lanka … we went to Ratnapura on our first visit  and funnily enough that stone was one of the reasons we married … Rosa fell in love with it at first sight and although the gem dealer was loth to sell it we persuaded him … with money and pleading … she said it would make a perfect engagement ring and so … well that was what made us think of marriage … we had it made up by a friend in Hatton Garden and … and Rosa was cremated wearing it …

so it returned to Sri Lanka …

Luc smiles to himself :  how uncanny … the parallels are odd indeed … Zainab and her padparascha are bound by fate too … a few years ago ... I heard stories of the finding of this stone and since I operate as a gem merchant in my own small way I went looking for it up country … I knew vaguely of some pink sapphires, mostly only medium grade stones, coming out of the area but this was different … I have time for such quests … so as I say I went up country and started asking around … after a few months I tracked it down to a small village … Zainab’s village it would transpire … and that was when I struck the strangest deal of my life … I secured the gem but with strings … Zainab’s father was a revered wise man of the village .. an expert on lore of the ancestors and on taboos and the man who had the gem was in his debt … I could have the stone and have it cheaply but only if married Zainab … how could I refuse? … would you have? I mean you have seen her … 

-------------------------------------- 

Dave: wow, I mean just …wow … but why would they do that? 

Luc: I wondered the same thing … of course I did and of course I asked I asked her father about it … too many women he said … not enough men … I had thought that the high proportion of girls and women in the village was because the men were away working but no … for the past two decades female births … live births that is … have outnumbered male births by nearly 2 to 1 so they have an imbalance … they have too many women and girls and not enough men … it’s a big problem … village life depends on a certain balance among the genders and they don’t have it … they needed to export some women … they still do 

Dave: but does anybody know why this has happened? is anybody doing anything about it?

Luc: oh Dave … who would be doing anything about it … this is a third world country remember, not England or France … the government sent a team to investigate and they just confirmed what was already known … the gender balance has changed … and nobody knows why … and that is it … case closed

Dave: could it be some environmental problem? pollution? 

Luc: who knows Dave … more to the point who would do anything about it? there is no money … the environment is collapsing … the wildlife is dying … but nobody does anything … not that’s not quite right … a global NGO is trying to save the odd endangered species but the people? nobody is interested … I do what I can … we do what we can … most of Zainab’s girls are from her village … we import a few every year but it makes little difference … some get pregnant and if they are carrying boy children then they return to the village to give birth … 

Dave: when you say you import them do you mean to work in the brothel? they work for Zainab? isn’t that a kind of slavery?

Luc: I can see how you might think that but no … no, it does not work that way … they get paid properly … they get training … Zainab makes sure they learn to read and write … in both French and English … they learn how to fuck … and they are free to leave whenever they like and .., and remember, they know exactly what they are coming to … they choose the life … they also get health coverage and a pension … we are aware of our responsibilities … we are not monsters … or exploiters …

Dave: Healthcare? Pension? Really? How does that work?

Luc: it is really quite simple … Zainab and I are both socialists not capitalists … all of our employees across all of our enterprises: the brothel, the gem operations, the crocodile farms … all of them pay a percentage of their income into a centralised fund that we administer on their behalf to provide health and pensions benefits … to each according to their needs … we live by that … if they work under our umbrella we take a small percentage of their earnings, they pay into the welfare fund … and that is non-refundable … if you like we operate as if we were a complete welfare system … for our people we are exactly that …

Dave: are you for real? I had you down as an entrepreneur but your setup sounds more like a well run charity. So all the girls are from Zainab’s village … is that why they all look remarkably like her? is there a shallow gene pool … could that be part of the problem with the gender imbalance?

Luc: do you know Dave ,,, that had never occurred to me but … all the girls in her village look like her … and the men all look very similar … to each other, not to Zainab … you might be on to something there … though we shall never know … but no not all the girls are from her village … most are from the same area … well, apart from the white girls that is … they find us … we do not actively recruit ,,, ever 

-------------------------

Dave takes an outing

Dave: sorry to digress … not that your socialist brothel tale isn’t engrossing or anything because it is, but have you noticed, Luc that our lord and master hasn’t changed the scene or moved the camera for a while? D’you think he’s fallen asleep? Or maybe he’s thought better about his quote framing device unquote for this text? 

Luc: Yes I had become aware of that but … but, unlike you dear Dave, I have read ahead somewhat in the script and that is all about to change … I think that the Laz has been resting … or rather, gathering himself for the next section which, for him, you could describe as an action-packed segment … action-packed of course being both relative and subjective … first though we have to segue, is that the right english word? anyway we need to close this conversation down so that he can move you on … the next segment is yours so I can have a rest … or perhaps spend some alone-time with Zainab and her girls … maybe attend to some business issues … 

Dave: OK than Luc … I’ve caught up now … so what time is it … I have a plane to catch … 

Luc removes a fob watch from his shirt pocket and flips open the face cover: It is just coming up to midday  Dave … we seem to have been chatting for some time now … why do you ask? Do you have somewhere you have to be?

Dave: Wow, it’s later than I thought and yes, I have a plane to catch … I’m going to visit another character I ran into the last time I was here … I need to get to the airport … I’m off to Ile Sainte Marie and then on to Ile au Natte …

Luc: ah you are going to visit my good friend Napoleon? Is he expecting you?

Dave: Well yes I am, although how you know that … oh, of course, you’ve read the script … but come on, unless I hurry I shall miss the plane … 

Luc: fear not Dave, Imhotep is waiting outside in my Citroen DS to take you there as soon as we finish this business here … 

Dave: Imhotep? Should I know him? Is he your chauffeur? I have a DS too you know … a DSuper5, in London … the Ds is the most beautiful car ever made ... 

Luc: indeed it is … among other duties yes Imhotep  drives me wherever I need or want to go and yes you should know him … he keeps the beggars out of the bar and is also the nightwatchman … he is the one who reminds you of Boris Karloff in The Mummy .. and that apparently is because that’s where the Laz got him from in the first place … during your first visit, if you recall, he greeted you and Rosa when the taxi driver dropped you here … anyway enough of this … off you go now … and give my regards to Napoleon … Imhotep has a small present for you to give him … a bottle of pepper vodka - 

Luc winks disconcertingly at Dave and the screen apertures into sepia 

There follows a short sequence in sepia (all flashbacks are in sepia) where we see an old Japanese car from the seventies pull up at the side entrance to the hotel in total darkness, Imhotep stands impassive and almost to attention and stiltedly moves around the stationery taxi and opens the rear door for a tall woman with big hair - his red Fez is the only coloured part of the scene. Dave exits from the passenger seat, leans in to pay the driver, and follows Imhotep and Rosa into a dark doorway where they all three disappear from view - close aperture.

Aperture opens on a full, vibrantly colourful, scene where a burgundy red Citroen DS Pallas cuts through traffic and eventually heads out on an unmade road where turns left and arrives at an airport. Aperture closes.

Aperture opens on the view from the cockpit of a Twin Otter plane. We can see the propellors rotating and beyond them what is obviously a jungle canopy below the plane.  The jungle canopy is replaced by a thin strip of beautifully blue sea - we are arriving at an island - the sea is soon replaced with fields. A short, rough, runway appears in what looks like a ploughed field and the plane descends into an abrupt and bumpy landing, it turns 180 degrees and taxis back toward a small convoy of waiting vehicles: there are three pick-up trucks of Japanese origin, their drivers stand in the load beds watching the plane come toward them, a single  lorry of military origin -  a Simca Unic Marmon in that fawn colour of the French army with a tricolour painted on the open driver side door and a desert camouflage netting covered load-area. Off to one side of this group of four vehicles sits an immaculate frog-eye Citroen DS Safari - we can just make out somebody in a chauffeur’s cap in the driving seat. The Safari which is a pale green in colour has the two part rear door the top of which is open 

Back in the cockpit the pilot turns toward camera and says: Welcome to Ile Sainte Marie Monsieur Smith … I trust you had a pleasant flight?

Dave: Indeed Monsieur, fascinating … what a beautiful place this is … all of it … and that was some landing … thank you for allowing me to ride shotgun …

Pilot; shotgun Monsieur? I do not understand …

Dave: So sorry Monsieur, it’s an American expression … the person sitting in the front passenger seat is said to be riding shotgun … a reference back to the wild west and stagecoaches I suspect … 

Cut to a shot of Dave coming down the plane stairs to be greeted by a chauffeur in full pale grey livery who takes his bag and gestures toward the Citroen Safari. As they pass the camera we realise that the chauffeur is in fact a chauffeuse. She opens the rear door and Dave gets in. She goes around the car closes the rear door on the way and finally settles into the driver's seat - she starts the car (we hear it purr into life) and it rises majestically on its suspension to full height. They drive off toward a chainlink fence that surrounds the landing strip. The lorry follows them.  

Girl on a bicycle - wherein the mandatory sex and chase scenes are combined (kind of)

Scene: A tidy room filled with sunlight. A king sized bed under a mosquito net. A slender, dark haired, woman, enters from an open doorway to our left to sounds of a toilet flushing she walks across to the bed and stands beside it entirely naked. In the bed a mound under a sheet that moves now and then. The woman leans forward and pokes the mound.

Woman: Wake up sleepy head … if we’re to see Napoleon today you need to stir your stumps else there’ll be no time for breakfast …

Dave - muffled: it’s too bright … let me sleep … have breakfast without me … 

Woman: come on … I’ve hired the bikes … once we’ve had breakfast … I got them to hold breakfast for us both … if we don’t get started soon we’ll get caught in the rain … shift your skinny arse … the sun is up, the sea is warm … no need for a shower just take a swim … 

She pulls the mosquito net open and drags the sheet off Dave who is trying to hold on to it. After some tug of war she pulls the sheet, with Dave clinging onto it off the bed and onto the floor.

Dave looks up at her and we take his viewpoint - scanning upwards he sees her smooth legs, her luxurious pubic hair, her breasts and finally her face framed by long brunette hair. She smiles down at him. 

Dave: you are a hard woman … just because you fucked me it doesn’t give you the right to roust me out of bed you know …

Woman: well, you are a hard man … but take it with you and go jump in the lagoon and cool it off … I’m going to pull a few clothes on and then we’ll eat … I’ll see you at the restaurant 

From Dave’s point of view we see her pull on a pair of pants, a short sleeved blouse, and a pair of sawn of denim shorts. She kicks him gently and strides out through a door behind us.

The camera turns 180 degrees and watches her buttocks disappear through the open door. Beyond the door is a fringe of grass, four metres of white sand beach and a cerulean blue lagoon on which there is barely a ripple, The sky is perfectly blue with not a single cloud in view. 

Cut to: a red dirt road flanked by woods and palms - the camera is pointing directly at a bicycle saddle, the back wheel which is splashing up red mud and a pair of firm buttocks encased in denim cut-offs. The camera shakes because the road is rutted and the camera is mounted on  a following bicycle -  we know this because we can see the handlebars and a bell. We watch the buttocks for way too long. Dave sounds his bell repeatedly- we see his hand enter the shot.

The bike in front stops and we catch up. Both riders dismount and face the camera.

Dave, panting: you’re setting a helluva pace there girl … your legs are younger and a lot lovelier than mine … and I’m a thirty a day man … can we rest a bit? 

The woman takes a pack of cigarettes from her breast pocket and fishes a zippo lighter from the back pocket of her skin tight cut-offs. She is not sweating and is not out of breath - both she and Dave are spattered with red mud.

Woman: you weren’t panting that hard last night … you need some exercise that involve more than your dick …

She lights the cigarette and offers one to Dave who accepts 

Dave: breathes out smoke and asks: so … apart from driving the car, riding a bike like a pro, and fucking like a slow motion rabbit what else do you do? and what the fuck is your name? and where are you from?

Woman: what’s the slow motion rabbit thing about … is that good or bad … you have lots of questions … what good are the answers though … do they take the action on at all? Name? I’m called Zazie by most people … Zee ay zee eye eee pronounced Zah-see after the book by Raymond Queneau …

Dave: a pleasure to meet you Zazie and the rabbit thing is a compliment … enthusiastic as a rabbit but never rushed hence the slow motion ...

Dave looks up toward the PiP frame usually appears: because of course you’d be named after a character from French literature … wouldn’t she Laz? … but isn’t that Zazie just a young kid? Isn’t it her mum who’s the raver?

The PiP appears with Laz facing the camera wearing a pair of flannel pyjamas: I only took the name Dave … not the character … she’s one of my originals … leastwise I think she is …

Continuity woman off screen: no she’s not you lying toad … you got her from the same place you got me … an episode of The Avengers … the TV series … season 2 I think …might have been 3 … I, apparently, did continuity … she was a bit part … she didn’t even have a name …. the script had her as  "sexy chauffeuse"...

Laz: are you sure Gladys? You could be … I am, I admit, a serial borrower … you probably are right …

The PiP disappears.

Woman: who were you talking to? and where were they? I didn’t see that in the script … were you ad-libbing … am I allowed to ad-lib? 

Dave: to use a great TV cliche “it’s complicated” … in this case it really is complicated but here goes … you and I aren’t real … we’re figments of a writer’s imagination … it just so happens that this time round he’s writing a screenplay or well more like he’s writing a novel or a novella and dressing it up as a screenplay for stylistic reasons … don’t ask, I don’t know either … because I’ve been in several of his works before I’ve worked out how to talk to him about what’s going on around me in the text and sometimes … not always but sometimes … he’ll try to explain …got it?

Woman: you fucking what? stop taking the piss … look can we get back on the bikes and go see Napoleon … please?

Dave: suit yourself but give me another fag to smoke on the way … is it far now?

Woman: no not far and no you can’t have another cigarette

They mount the bicycles and we revert to Dave's point of view - her buttocks basically - she rides off and we follow

Aperture closes and opens quickly on a similar scene with her buttocks as our focus but the camera pans up above her shoulders where we can see a palm fringed lagoon with a tiny island across a narrow strait of deep blue sea - somebody is waving from the island … 

Aperture closes and opens again looking at the back of a tall, muscled, man who is very black and who wears a grubby white singlet and a pair of faded red shorts - we are in a dug-out canoe

Zoom out to take in: the canoe: the three figures are in single file, the woman is at the back, Dave in the middle, and the black paddler is at the very front; the fast approaching shore and another tall black man who sports enormous dreadlocks, we zoom in and see that he is waving vigorously with both arms and is smiling broadly. The canoe beaches and Dave jumps out and embraces the waving man

Dave: Napoleon, how good to see you again … how the hell are you ?

------------------------------------

Cut to a beach scene, think the Bounty ad with still blue sea, white, fine sand beach, tall palms etc  etc but with a swish standalone beachbar maybe 4 metres from the shoreline.  In front of the beach bar three men sit in directors chairs that look suspiciously like they were recycled from the script conference scene earlier. Dave is seated between Napoleon and another black guy with massive dreads - Napoleon is building the biggest spliff ever seen on screen - about the size of a subway sandwich. Dave is wearing shades and is smoking a normal sized joint, he is half slumped in his chair. The other black guy is drinking from a king coconut, a machete rests against his chair. Zazie and the guy who was piloting the pirogue are frolicking in the sea both stark bollock naked - we will see them now and then as they cross between the sea and the guys in the chairs to lay on the sand but they will be out of focus because too close to the camera which is set in the sea. A UB40 album is playing quietly.

Dave: I can’t believe you’ve still got that cassette Napoleon

Napoleon: man dat cassette long gone … did da vinyl … picked it up in Kingston when was dere

Dave: glances out to sea taking in Zazie in her glory splashing in the lagoon. Napoleon catches the glance.

Napoleon: don’t ya fret yourself about ya lady Dave she totally safe with the boy Yannick … yeah she safe - he queer.  

Dave laughs: what, me worry? no way … I only met her yesterday … have no claim on her … nor want any  … a fuck is a fuck … end of … I think she might be one of Monsieur Luc’s girls … or Zainab’s rather … didn’t bother to ask … 

Napoleon: yeah Dave she one of Zainab’s sure thing … 

He finishes up making the giant spliff and lights it up with an equally big lighter that would be better suited to lighting a wood burning stove - the screen fills with ganja smoke 

Dave looks at the third man and then looks across to Napoleon: Is Zeb OK there? he’s awfully quiet

Napoleon: he meditating man … mos likely … Zebedee my man ya wanna go get that pepper vodka Monsieur Luc send to us? and a couple glasses … and some ice yeah?

The third man rises slowly - he is taller by some measure than even Napoleon and seems to keep getting up for a long time

Zebedee: ya want some straw wi dat shit? 

He wanders slowly toward the bar without waiting for a reply. Napoleon is taking a huge toke on his torpedo spliff 

Dave: well this has been a day of revelations … no biblical reference intended … first you’ve turned gay while I was gone … then it turns out not only do you know Monsieur Sabotier but he helped you pay for this bar … what next?

Napoleon: I ain't be gay  … ain't no batty man … I be  bi-  but Zeb him like my brother … he like de bottom … is enuff … I keep him happy … he look after me

Dave: oh yeah I forgot that one - while I was gone you became Jamaican rastaman speaking some bizarre patois… did I miss anything else ? 

Napoleon laughs and coughs out a cloud of ganja smoke: whattabout Yannick … you remember Yannick? last time you was here with Rosa he was boy climbed the tree for your king coconuts … was jes a boy back den  … you remember him? he a big boy now … he works for me … too young for me do … way too young … but what any a dat matter … you say you come back all den years ago … you come back … dat all dat matter .. knowed you would … 

Napoleon cups his hand to his mouth and shouts: Zeb my man bring da old guest book over when ya come back willya?

Dave: guess you’re right shit happens … stuff changes … and yeah I came back like I said I would … just a shame Rosa didn’t make it back …

Napoleon: ya gotta let go Dave … past is past now is now … man gotta keep going forward … how we built … what ya doing nowadays Dave? … ya didn’t say … is secret?

Dave: no secret … I’m a writer … that’s what I’m doing here … working on a new novel … since Rosa died I’ve been writing up a storm and I always wanted to write about you and Luc … so here I am …

Napoleon: so you write stories den? the pay you for dat? nice life … ver nice … you gonna write me and Monsieur Luc into one a yah stories … we get paid?

Zazie comes in and sits wetly on Dave's lap, throws her arms around him and says: come on … come in the water … that boy is no fun … I can’t even get a hard on on him … come and fuck me in the water … it’s lovely 

Dave: give me a while … I'm catching up with Napoleon right now … get some rays … dry off … 

She gets up leaving a huge wet stain on Dave who clearly has a hard on now … looks sulkily into the camera and disappears

Napoleon: dat girl … Zazie you say? … she mighty fly … she got lovely snatch … Monsieur Luc sure look after you good … Zainab got some lovely girls and no mistake …

Zebedee comes into shot carrying the vodka and an old leather-bound  A3 guest book which he hands to Napoleon

Zebedee: ran outa hands … girl bring de glasses and ice soon … dat de book you wan?

He takes the jumbo joint and returns to his chair where he lowers himself slowly into recumbent mode his long legs stretching out in front of him 

Napoleon riffles through the guest book: yeah dis de one Zeb … well done … come over here Dave … wanna show you sumting … sumting interesting … put your dick in place and get over here … she’ll wait …

He opens the book in his lap as Dave comes and stands behind him adjusting his shorts 

Napoleon: look here Dave - he points to an entry and we look over his shoulder, his finger traces an entry signed Dave and Rosa about the best coffee and the best lobster, the best smoke in the whole southern hemisphere  and ends with a promise to come back “One day” - dat you and Rosa see … July 16th … he move his hand down the page to the next entry but one - look dis from July 30th … look who it from … the entry which is in French is signed Monsieur Audoin. Dat Monsieur Luc ya know … him real name … dat de first time I ever meet Monsieur Luc … aint dat strange?

Dave: dat stranger dan strange man … oh for fuck sake I’m catching your patois …

Dave, still leaning over Napoleon’s shoulder and scrutinising the guest book: OK it’s strange that Luc turned up a couple of weeks after me but … not as strange as those dates … look at the year … I mean look at it … that’s fifteen fucking years ago … that can’t be right … five … it was five years ago … it must be … surely …

Napoleon: no man … don’t make no mistakes in dem books … it your handwriting yeah?  … five years?… you lost it man … has to be fifteen … Yannick was but a boy back den … lookit him now … he done his national service, done five years in de kitchen at Soanambo … gotta be fifteen … what make you think it five? dat joint too strong for ya?

Dave: I honestly have no idea how that happened … of course it’s fifteen … the book is true … I mean look at us … has to be fifteen … crazy shit …

Napoleon shouts to Zazie who is again in the water : Hey missy … ya wanna put some cloves on ? dis man a yours keep stabbing me in da back … you making him hot and hard … give us all a eye rest … Yannick, you get yo arse outta here and go get us some food … leave that lady lone …

Dave: gottit … it’s that bloody Laz … must have been a typo of his way back when I was talking to Luc … must have missed off the leading one … dopey sod … and of course he never proofs his stuff … that’s why I thought five …

Aperture scene change to a half finished traditional building that has a roof but no front wall, a large table that has the remains of a three course meal and accompanying drinks scattered hither and yon is centre stage. Napoleon, Zebedee, Zazie and Dave are all arranged on the same side of the table looking out at us looking for all the world like a last supper painting but Zazie is slumped on the table fast asleep - she grunts softly now and then … the men are all smoking Havana cigars and each has small tumbler in front of them as does Zazie although hers is overturned - Dave lifts his glass to his lips

Dave: what the fuck is in this stuff Zebedee? I swear to god you could fuel a bloody rocket to Mars with it … I’ve drunk local hooch all over the place but this stuff is potent as fuck … 

Zebedee smiles cryptically: it called Toaka Gasy … moonshine rum … it mainly sugar yes like normal rum but  it have some tamarind too … and some other tings … dis de best stuff from de south … it powerful stuff … jes look at dat Zazie … she way gone … and she didn’t have no toke … in de south they say dis stuff can raise de dead … I down know bout dat but it can put men to sleep … mos close to dead

Napoleon: so Dave what ya tink a me new eatery? sweet huh? an de cook? dat Yannick learned good …

Dave: I like the place a lot  … are you going to put a front wall on or is this it? I mean the view is spectacular and all but still … most people expect four walls … even if one of them is glass … as to Yannick’s cooking skills that’s a definite five stars … a superb lobster bisque followed by zebu steaks with choux pastry cream filled swans to finish … it doesn’t get much better than that even up at Soanambo itself … he certainly learned his stuff … where do you get your supplies?

Napoleon: ya need tell de boy heself … he preciate some praise … yeah we gonna put a front on but me want it fold-away and me carpenter say he can’t do it … need new carpenter I guess … hear tell bout some German guy maybe can do it … aint no rush along … all in good time … hey lookit sun … time you and dat Zazie went back to de big island … ya gonna carry dat gel or you gonna try wake her?

Dave: can Yannick carry her? my back is, in technical, medical terms, a bit fucked … it’s a ways back to the crossing point so best get her ambulatory I suppose 

Napoleon shouts: Yannick, you get de limo, bring it round … dese folk gwine back Soanambo … 

We hear an engine start off screen and after a few minutes a faded red Citroen Pony roars into shot belching blue fumes everywhere …

Napoleon: Yannick, put de lady in back and take dese folk back over to big island … Zebedee do washing up while youse gone … 

Yannick lifts Zazie who snores and farts as though she were a baby and puts her down in the flat bed of the Pony, Napoleon and Dave embrace, Zebedee joins the group hug, Yannick joins too

Dave: you be safe people .. you've not seen the last of me …

Napoleon: know dat … you be back soon enuff … cant stay away …

Yannick and Dave get into the Pony and in more blue fumes they leave

Zebedee: nice man dat Dave … dat Zazie tho ...

-------------------------------

Scene: we are looking out through the dusty front windscreen of the Citroen DS Safari, there is a splat of birdshit top left - the dashboard, including the dials and some of the steering wheel can be seen at the bottom of the frame  - we are looking out at the rutted airfield where a Twin Otter is being unloaded, its propellors have stopped and fuel is being loaded from jerry cans.

Zazie: that was good but I suppose we should get dressed … they’ll be loading in a few minutes … and look at the cloud coming in … Pierre won’t be hanging around for long 

An arm comes into shot pulling on a shirt

Dave: you and your one for the road … I’m all sweaty now …

the camera  pans to watch Zazie pulling on a T-shirt, sweat beads her breasts and her forehead where a few hairs are glued to her - it pans back to the view through the windscreen

Zazie: yeah, right … I didn’t hear you complaining a few minutes back … anyways it got rid of your tension, you’ll be well relaxed on the flight now … great therapy … even in the back of a car …

Cut to a shot of the car from outside - Zazie and Dave are getting dressed in the back seats of the car - the windows are open, the door closest to the camera opens  and Zazie steps out clad only in a T-shirt, she bends, her back to us, and pulls on a pair of black lace panties, leans into the car and retrieves a pair of charcoal grey breeches that she steps into, Dave gets out of the other side fully clothed - red linen shorts, white shirt, striped belt - his hair is plastered to his head with sweat, he looks to camera

Dave: you’re insatiable girl … never can get enough can you? …

Zazie: you complaining? or just envious? men don’t like it when a woman enjoys sex as much as they do … makes them insecure … are you insecure Dave? sex is just good plain fun to me … a bit sticky but fun nonetheless … 

She steps to the back of the Safari, opens the rear door, fetches out a matching jacket and hat and puts them - she sets the cap jauntily and pulls out Dave’s baggage 

Zazie: you ready Dave? looks like the other passengers are boarding … time get this show on the road boy … stir your stumps …

She strides out in front of him toward the plane - the propellors start as we watch them head toward the stairs 

Cut.

--------------------------------------

We are back in the bar of the Hotel de Paris at the very same table where we first saw Luc. Luc and Dave are sitting with the zinc ashtray and two glasses before them. It is daytime.

Luc: It is good to have you back Dave … did you have a good time … and how was Napoleon … he is quite the little businessman now would you not say … quite  change since last you saw him … and mamselle  Zazie … did you get on well with her … most people do … she is a wild one that Zazie but she has such a zest for life … it is, I think, infectious … sometimes it can be exhausting but always it is exhilarating … no? 

Dave: it’s good to be back to … back to … well I was going to say civilisation but that seems like a step too far … it’s good to be back to  …

Luc: I consider that to be unfair Dave … this is civilisation … not your imagined civilisation but a civilisation nonetheless … different is not worse or less … you need to check those western knee jerks if you are to know us properly … and I think you do want to know us …

Dave: you’re right, of course, Luc, completely right … sorry for that and thanks for pointing it out … I think Zazie threw my equilibrium off kilter … she is, as you so rightly said, a wild one … in the sixties we would have called her a free spirit … they were a flourishing group back then but somehow they just seemed to disappear … it was great to meet up with Napoleon again after all these years … he has changed but not changed at the same time … and you, I understand, have been instrumental in that change … 

Luc. lights a small cheroot and draws deeply on it, in a zoom we see that his fingers are stained a browny yellow: I help where I can … I encourage Napoleon in his ideas … he is a good employer … he enrols all his staff in our welfare fund  … his environmental behaviour is good too … he has learned well but all along his instincts have been sound …

Dave, leans over and takes a cheroot, he pulls a cheap lighter from his short pocket and sparks up, he looks at Luc: yeah, OK I’ve started smoking again … I don’t know, it just works for me here … it’s not demonised … feels natural … feels good in fact … there’s a freedom … there are freedoms here that we’ve lost … freedoms from disapproval … freedoms we’ve forgotten we ever had … oh by the way, does Zazie work for you?  

Luc laughs and takes another drag on his cheroot, he blows out a big dense cloud of blue smoke before knocking the ah from his cheroot into the zinc ashtray: you thought I was disapproving of you smoking? you’ve got it bad Dave … I don’t judge you … if it doesn’t hurt me and mine I don’t give a damn what you do with your life … I think you are right though … about forgetting the freedoms you once took for granted … not just you you understand but most westerners … and no … Zazie doesn’t work for me … she is self employed I think you would say … she used to work here under Zainab’s supervision as one of the girls … she was a quick learner and very enthusiastic but she felt constrained and … and she branched out on her own … the driver idea was hers but she could not compete with the taxis here in the city so she moved … she loves to drive … she loves the island life … she loves her DS … she is buying it from me … at bottom she loves the life she has made for herself … at bottom she is a lover … she has, I think, fucked just about every visitor she has ever driven … male, female, old, young, gay, straight … she fucks them all … she is truly, a force of nature   

While Luc was speaking the PiP frame opened and Laz could be seen trying to attract his attention 

Laz: do you mind Monsieur Luc … none of that shit about Zazie is in the script … where did you get that from … not me … in fact the pair of you have been making her up … there’s no ad-libbing in my texts … it’s a no-no … I’m the boss and you’d do well to remember that …. and you Dave … yes you, you don’t smoke … you’re the abstemious monk like writer not a hard drinking, tobacco smoking old lecher

Dave: I object to that characterisation … both of them in fact … I smoke now and then and I drink now and then … the lechery … well that’s something else … I have to admit I thought I’d packed all that carnal knowledge stuff up but Zazie is a bit special … and that seems to be thanks to Luc here …

Luc smiles broadly and looks directly up at Laz: has it occurred to you Monsieur Laz that you might not be the only creative in this text? We live and I hope we all learn for when one stops learning one is to all intents dead and none of us is at that stage yet, n'est ce pas? Now, if you don’t mind Monsieur Laz can we please get back to the action? Back to your script if you will?

Dave: yeah, butt out Laz we’ve got this … next up, when you sod off ,,, is that didactic stuff about socialism in business 

Laz: OK boys, let’s get on with it but … but I’ll be watching you two from here on in … like a fucking hawk … no more taking liberties 

The PiP frame disappears 

Dave: well that was interesting … so you’ve been messing with his text while he wasn’t looking … how does that work?

Luc: I noticed that when he introduced her she was little more than a sketch … an outline … and I thought why should I not fill her out somewhat … being on the spot as you would say helped but really it is a huge compliment to Le Laz that his characters not only come off of the page but can have lives of their own … why not …

Dave: one day I’d like to be that good … but come on, let’s get down to his script … he’s probably watching and listening … so all these businesses of yours … you’re quite the serial entrepreneur aren’t you ?

Luc: I do love that word but … I am not an entrepreneur … well not in French … do you remember that idiot president of the united states who foolishly remarked that the French don’t have a word for entrepreneur ...

Dave that was supposedly Dubya … George W Bush … but there’s no evidence he actually said it … he was very inept though so who knows … not as inept as the current office holder but as the americans would say dumb as a box of rocks …

Luc: be that as it may but in French the word entrepreneur has traditionally been applied to two types of businessman, the building contractor and the funeral director … and I have no interest in either trade … not do I ever envisage entering those trades ,,, our family trade though … the one that built the family fortunes … was a true craft … one practised by individual craftsmen … well until my grandfather changed everything in the clog trade … 

Dave: so that’s where the Monsieur Sabotier thing comes from? my mother used to say I had a great voice - for clog-dancing … it was a family joke …

Luc: my family … our family had been making clogs for generations … a good clog maker could always make a living … people who worked the land needed clogs … shoes were too expensive and wore out too quickly … mud and water takes a heavy toll on footwear … my father always maintained that the clog goes back to ancient greece but I have my doubts … whatever the case hand made, skilfully made clogs supported our family for many many years … one of my brother still makes very good money from clogs … they have become a fashion item I am told … as you can see for yourself I have no interest in fashion … 

Dave: yeah i had noticed that … but tell me about your grandfather … how did he change the clog trade?

Luc: ahhh Papi Victor … yes he was the true innovator … Papi was the one who decided that he would make clogs from leather and wood … up until then clogs were just made from wood but Papi started making them with leather uppers and wooden soles … they were easier to make and cheaper … and, looked after properly, were almost as durable as the all wooden ones … Papi Victor was one of eight brothers, he being the youngest of them,  all of whom were clog makers … it was the family trade after all and soon … very soon it became clear to the brothers that they were making clogs faster than their little village needed them … what to do with the unwanted clog potential? … Papi convinced his brothers to make as many of his new clogs as they could and he then set out to find somewhere to sell them … now all of the surrounding villages had clog makers of their own and so he looked further afield, pun intended, and somehow he ended up in england … not just in england but in Lancashire and this at the very birth of the industrial revolution … and what did the new workers in factories need? sturdy, cheap, hard-wearing footwear … it was a perfect fit … at first Papi would travel back and forth selling the family over production but soon he met a girl and married and soon after that he had a new family … 

Dave: wow, so what did he do then? 

Luc: he brought three of his brothers over to england to serve the new marketplace … so there were four brothers in france and four in england … his brothers fitted in well and soon they were selling all the clogs they could make between them and there was a shortfall in the supply of clogs to the new lancashire factory workers … but Papi Victor was not done yet … Papi’s mind was always working and Papi had become friends with the men who made the machines that the factory workers used … Papi and his new friends made a new machine that could make the wooden soles in three different sizes … children worked the mills too you know … so the sizes were child, woman, and man … and these later became small, medium, and large … and then they made a machine to cut the leather to size and shape … the assembly was still a hand craft but the parts were machine made … and then … well then - his world changed … the world changed forever when Papi met a young prussian man named Friedrich 

Dave: Friedrich? a foreigner in Lancashire? way back then? 

Luc: indeed Dave, a Prussian at the court of King Cotton … Freddy, as Papi always called him, was sent to Salford to work in his father’s business … his father hoped that by sending the boy abroad it would help to dispel some radical ideas he had developed … and that really did not work out for Friedrich senior … in Salford … in his father’s business in fact … young Freddy met and fell in love with an Irish firebrand … a girl of outstanding beauty and how do you say it in english … backbone … this girl who enchanted Freddy with her red hair and lithe body was Mary Burns who was also, unlikely though it might be …  the close friend of Annie, Papi’s wife …. 

Dave: oh wow, I know where this is going … genius

Luc: you do? how? 

Dave: never mind we don’t do plot spoilers here … do we Laz? So, Luc, do go on … I’ll explain later …

Luc: so, Papi and Freddy and Annie and Mary would sit around talking about the terrible state of the working class in Lancashire … talking about what could be done about it … how to do anything about it … Papi and Annie brought the Rochdale Pioneers to the argument and Freddy brought early German socialism and of course all of them knew of Robert Owen … 

Dave: I knew it … brilliant … and then what … what did they do next?

Luc: well, by this time Papi was a wealthy man with two factories and several patents to his name … the brothers in France had a factory and machines for clog making and … and, well Papi decided he was tired of it all … between them they came up with this idea to give the factories and the patents to a co-operative that they would set up … legally giving everything to the workers in his factories and their families … Mary and Freddy went to Europe … the co-operative got off to a good start and then Papi and Annie disappeared for a long time … nobody knows where they went but … but then few people cared …

Dave: yes! I knew it … young Freddy was Friedrich Engels wasn’t he? yes. of course he was … I know my history … I know my socialist history anyway … and what became of the co-operative … and where DID they go … Annie and Papi?

Luc: as to Papi and Annie nobody really knows … some say they went to Africa … some say he went to south america but really … really, truly ,nobody knows … the co-operative … it’s demise is well documented if one cares to look … the family always said it failed because socialism could never work … the truth, of course, was more complicated … more nefarious

Dave: tell me Luc, what DID happen to it?

Luc: what do you think Dave … what always happens … some unscrupulous businessmen … is there any other kind these days …. or, apart from Papi, any at all, ever … copied Papi’s designs, built their own machines, opened their own factory … they ignored and then challenged Papi’s patents, tying the co-operative up in legal wranglings that drained their resources … and when they went into production they undercut the co-operative’s prices by what is nowadays known as predatory pricing … selling their product for less than it costs to produce … the co-operative first lost heart and then lost everything … the worker-owners went back to being workers … oppressed and exploited by the very people who put them out of business … 

Luc draws breath, Dave glances at him and nods, they both stand and shout: Author, author …

until the PiP appears with Laz beaming broadly

Together: Bravo Laz, excellent …

Dave: Paul Auster would be proud of that piece … love it

Luc: Bravo indeed Monsieur Laz: a tour de force

Laz takes a bow from the waist and we fade out on his grinning self satisfied face - it is at this stage that we notice that he looks a lot like an older version of the actor playing the character Dave

Jealousy

 The camera is looking at something, we cannot understand what it is at first, it seems to be some object that is solid cream coloured but on closer scrutiny we see some horizontal lines that are a slightly darker cream. The horizontal lines become minutely thicker as we watch - we count them to ourselves and as we do it dawns on us that we are looking at the back of a venetian blind - cream in colour - and that is ever so slowly opening. It will take two and a half minutes to open completely leaving only the edges of the eleven slats showing on screen. First we will catch glimpse of a deep green at the left and right margins of the screen. Next we will perceive a pale central panel that we gradually discern as a building of some type constructed in a pale wood. As the image opens further we realise that we are looking at a building with a veranda set in  a jungle clearing. As this realisation strikes us the soundtrack cuts in: intense and loud insect sounds - a tsunami of insect noise - as if we have suddenly developed a particularly unpleasant form of tinnitus. 

The scene does indeed show us  a square shaped building surrounded on three sides by a wide and high veranda flanked by dark green, possibly tropical, possibly jungle. The roof of the veranda is supported by a single column at each end and the left side column, our left, casts a shadow that perfectly ends at the corner of the building. The veranda is perhaps just shy of two metres or possibly exactly six foot above a small clearing the width of the building and perhaps three metres deep - nothing grows in the dirt that carpets the clearing. At the right end of the veranda is a square table with three rattan chairs which are arranged on three of the sides of the square table - the fourth side of the table, the side that faces the clearing is empty. In the rattan chair with its back to the house, if house it be, sits Luc. To his right, our left,  in an  identical rattan chair sits Dave. On the table sits a large zinc ashtray almost full of butts, a packet of cigarettes with a cheap plastic lighter atop it, a pack of cheroots that is half open and beside which sits a brass zippo lighter, two half full glasses and a decanter of what might be scotch or even a golden rum. The third identical rattan chair is empty save for a brightly coloured batik patterned sarong. 

There is a doorway set almost centrally in the wooden house but the door is open and beyond our view and two window openings: one directly behind Luc and one on the other side the windows of which are also wide open. A dark lithe figure moves across the left side window, our left, and we catch the briefest of views of Zainab, who is wearing a tight fitting floral dress, as she closes the windows from the inside. The insect noise gets noticeably louder until Luc hammers his clenched fist on the table top causing the glasses to jump and rattle and the insect noise to cease completely.

Luc: sometimes one can hardly hear one’s own thoughts in this place … and sometimes that is a good thing … not today though … not right now … so tell me Dave, what do you think of the farm …

Dave: well Luc … well, it’s not like the one Rosa and I visited … it is fascinating … I’m not sure I approve but I am impressed … 

Luc: of course it is unlike the one you visited with Rosa … this is a working farm not a tourist attraction … but what do you mean when you say you are not sure whether you approve? 

the frame freezes for ten seconds 

A Title Card appears superimposed over the still image of the two men on the veranda - it reads 3 days later

Luc leans forward in his chair and taps Dave on the hand: well this is embarrassing isn’t it?

Dave: Embarrassing? what not having moved or spoken for 3 days … embarrassing … you could say that … I just hope they cut the actual footage out … a single still image will do surely … with some indication that time has moved on … where the fuck is he?

Luc: do you think that perhaps he has died? is dead? that would explain the hiatus …

Dave: well yes it would but I think not … if he died we’d disappear … leastwise that’s how I understand the strange existential physics of writing … more likely that he has gone off somewhere else for a while … could be he has another text that he’s working on … that has happened before …

Luc: really? there is a specific set of physics that applies to the written text? Who would have thought it? Even the Oulipo writers … and let us be fair they were fairly odd … and did some fairly odd things with texts … even they didn’t not, at least as far as I know suggest such a thing … could it not be that he simply hadn’t thought this scene through and is still working on it … that happened not long ago … back around the time when you were explaining Rosa’s death … 

Dave: oh yeah … I remember that … could be I guess … but … but there is another … more worrying possibility … no, no we don’t want to even talk about that … strike that idea …

Luc: which idea Dave? explain … please …

Dave: well there was this other text I was in … one of his of course … a weird thing about vampires and immortals and the like … a kind of mock history of vampires going back to Minoan times … and well it was rattling along at quite a lick … and then, just like here and now it just stopped … and you know what? it never ever started again … he seemed to write himself into a corner so he just gave up … turns out … I talked to another character from that text and she told me that she’d been in three of his texts that he suddenly abandoned …

Luc: he did what? he just walked away? well let us hope that this isn’t his latest abandoned text … anyway what happened next … to all of you? 

Dave: right, as far as I know he hasn’t abandoned a text for quite a while but I guess it’s got to be a possibility …

Luc: well that is hardly satisfactory … we just sit here and hope? for how long? and then what? what do we do? how do we resume our lives? 

Dave: mmm, now this is where it gets tricky … the old physics of the text stuff comes into play … and I don’t know everything about those physics that physics … back in the vampire text we all just hung around for a while until characters just started wandering off … minor characters first … I mean they didn’t have much invested so they … well they left … the main protagonists tried to dissuade them … but … well when I slung my hook out of there it was only the main characters that were hanging on waiting for him to come back … who knows one or two of them might yet be there … who knows … how could we tell … I’ve certainly not met any of them … could be they’re still there … waiting for him to this moment …

Luc: and what happened after you, as you so eloquently put it, slung your hook? 

Dave: I have no idea … no, really … next thing I knew was when I turned up in your hotel bar … the rest is a blank … 

Luc: OK, I see … let me think for while … this must be, as you point out, a question of what I shall refer to as textual or intertextual physics … 

Luc sinks his head into his hands and Dave lights another cigarette. Luc hears Dave’s lighter, sits upright and fills their glasses. Luc drinks deeply and looks toward the ceiling of the veranda 

Luc: it seems to me that you have established that there is some degree of autonomy for a character in a text … my earlier taking over of the text, however trivial that might have been, confirms that we, as characters do indeed have some, perhaps limited ability to act independently of the writer of the text … some agency both within and outside of the text in which we appear … the nature and scope of that agency however, is beyond our current knowledge … it is a terra incognita if you will … perhaps we should explore this unknown land …

Dave: well, aren’t you a clever fucker? so shall we just leave? 

Luc: I suspect not … that did not work for Vladimir and Estragon in Monsieur Beckett’s text … nor for you I suspect in your vampire text … that could mean oblivion … no, what I have in mind is an experiment rather than a reaction … why do we not just carry on with this text … we know we can do that … we have done that already in this very text … so … so why do we not just ad lib this text for ourselves and see if we can write our way out of this position? 

Dave scratches his head and stares at Luc for several seconds: now that’s an idea … an interesting one at that … but where do we take it to … from here … hey, hold on I’ve an idea … why don’t I pop out and see if I can find his notes … see what he had in mind … what do you think …

Luc: I can see how that might help us map out some opening moves … do you think you can do that? find his notes?

Dave: he usually scribbles his ideas on an A3 sheet … it can’t do any harm can it? to see what he had in mind? if I can climb up into his PinP box I might be able to find it …

Dave rises, moves behind Luc and clambers up the wall before he disappears out of shot up into the top right corner just above Luc’s head. Luc lights a cheroot, refills his glass and watches Dave disappear.

Luc: be careful up there Dave … 

Luc looks directly at the camera; the expedition begins

————————————————————— 

The blind is half closed, half open and we can just make out  Luc and Dave both on Luc’s side of the table examining something on the table. 

Luc looks up and shouts: Zainab, can you bring us some more rum, please?

The blind opens fully and a few moments later we see Zainab walk across the foreground toward the men at the table with an opened bottle in her hand.

Zainab: that is the final bottle Luc, shall I send one of the boys to the store for more?

Luc: mmm, that is a superb idea my little cauliflower, get him to buy a case … my wallet is on the side table by the front door …

Zainab recrosses the foreground and we watch the men poring over something on the table until she returns

Zainab: what is that? why is it of such interest? 

She goes behind them and leans forward - the camera zooms in on a sheet of paper that is the object of their attention - an A5 sheet with lavender handwriting on it - we focus on what we see is a list