The Method of Farhead
To be away from computers was a dream Farhead had long cherished but never known how to realize until now, and he had not realized it now from success but from failure, from being laid off after just moving from an apartment in Toronto to a house in Nova Scotia to take advantage of the pandemic-inspired opportunity to work remotely.
His wife Nearheart had scoffed at his latest new job. His first, as a bus driver, was of course just a drop in the bucket where their finances were concerned. And in truth exchanging technology for a daily sardine can of screaming children was not what he had had in mind. But his second job was something else, something from the wildest of his dreams.
He was working in the movies. And though Nearheart was far from being appeased, the wage still being near minimal, he hoped that she would come around on seeing how happy it would make him. Because surely it would. He was convinced of that. He would work with his hands. He would meet movie stars. And he would be mostly outdoors.
These thoughts coloured his mind like a rainbow as he approached his first assignment, which was to scout out a location. The millionaire's affair with a fisherman's daughter had one scene in the village of Prospect. There was a shed along the shore with boats. His friend Driver, who had got him the job, wanted pictures all around the shed. "You know, so they'll know where to set up whatever they have to set up. Because the shed is important."
"Also," said Driver, "if anything catches your eye, anything you think might add to the scene, might make it extra special, shoot that too. If they use it, they'll give you a bonus."
Thus inspired, Farhead circled the shed over and over, traipsing through slippery snowy salt marsh and shallow water, coming closer each time, till he was right between two dragged-up boats and the structure's ground floor window. Invigorated by his sense of adventure and the lung-tickling fresh cold salt air, he searched intensely for his bonus, at the same time wondering what the scene in the shed was about. Driver had said it was best not to know. "That makes the imagination more free-like, me son."
Then he saw it. An antique blue bottle on the window sill with the rays of the afternoon sun making the glass glow and the upraised lettering seem to promise past treasure made present. "Liniment," he thought, not recognizing that particular bit of English, "now that has got to be something exceedingly special."
He was focusing on the bottle when he noticed on the floor behind it a pair of black panties. Dismissing them as an oddity that did not qualify for a bonus, he snapped the picture and left. He was nearing the road and his car when a ruckus behind him made him turn and look. It was a naked man running toward him while shouting and waving his arms. He had come from the shed.
"It's rehearsal!" the man shouted. "You're not supposed to photograph rehearsals, you idiot!"
Then the man fell on his face in the snow. Behind him, in the doorway of the shed, stood a naked young woman, her arms crossed on her chest, her red hair long and luminous against her creamy skin. She regarded her prostrate lover dispassionately, as if his outrage were nothing to her.
"I recognized them right away," Farhead said later to Driver at the bar, after wolfing down his second beer. "How could I not? Even in Iran, they are famous. I thought I would die. I thought the car would not start. Whatever will I do? I am sure to be fired."
"You'll do nothin', me son," Driver said. "It was all in the way of a joke, see? I knew they was going to be there, and what they was going to be doing. I didn't know they'd go that far. These method actors, they like to stay in character, eh? Don't you worry, I'll fix it. Lord the look on your face. Fookin' priceless. And liniment. Extra special? Oh my god!"
To Nearheart, as they sat down to dinner, Farhead said, "Look, my only and my altogether everything, I kiss your feet, I kiss your lips, I kiss your heart. It was only because I was out of my mind with concern. Otherwise I would never. And it was only two beers."
To himself, as he lay down to sleep in the guestroom, he said, "Farhad, you are jumping the shark. She will never believe you. She will cancel your show. You are old as a thrown-away liniment bottle worn by the tides. Your method of love has not kept you in character. Next time, Farhad, move to Mars, where no one has known you and no one will know."
It was winter still. He knew that and he knew that spring would come. In the meantime he would pray to all the deities. Surely one of them would listen.
9 February 2022
Texas Jim
Prospect, Nova Scotia
www.granitecoast.ca