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PART THREE:
A
NEW GUEST ARRIVES
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Narrator: OUTDOORS,
OVERLOOKING THE GARDEN AND THE DRIVEWAY … NANNY, THE NEW ASSISTANT
TO THE DIRECTOR, IS STANDING AT THE MAIN ENTRANCE WITH LILLY, THE NEW
LIBRARIAN, WAITING TO RECEIVE THE DISTINGUISHED GUEST.
Nanny:
So we’re expecting the famous novelist.
( MURMURS NANNY, ALMOST IN A
WHISPER .) … She must be a good deal older
than the others.
LILLY
NODS. SHE’D READ THE FILE:
Lilly:
Her big success was in the late 30’s, wasn’t
it?
NANNY DOESN’T REPLY. SHE‘S STARING AT THE SLEEK BLACK CAR
HUMMING QUIETLY AROUND THE LAST CURVE OF THE DRIVEWAY.
(Sound of car approaching.)
* * *
(Clatter of pots, pans, cutting, chopping, water boiling, taps running…
)
Narrator: CLATTER
OF POTS, PANS, SOUNDS OF CUTTING, CHOPPING, WATER BOILING, TAPS RUNNING…
IN THE STAFF KITCHEN THE TALK IS MORE SPECULATIVE:
V. 1:
Bet she has them hopping in no time, the old goats
…
V. 2:
Not if she’s read the fraternization policy
in her welcome package …
V. 3:
Do they have bodily fluids at that age … ?
V.
4:
Vintage quality . Best saved for last. Look at Charlie Chaplin.
Look at Saul Bellow. A new book and a new baby at 84.
V. 5:
They’re not Canadian.
V. 6:
Bellow was born in Canada. Lachine still counts
as Canada.
V.1:
Only to publishers’ sales reps and magazine
editors in a dry month. Bellow is functionally and spiritually American.
V.2:
Can’t really quarrel with the spirit of his
functions, whatever flag he sleeps under.
(Narrator:
THEY’RE NOT CANADIAN … AND THEY’RE NOT WOMEN
, THE SOUS-CHEF
MUTTERS QUIETLY, THINKING ABOUT THE RE-BORN FUNCTIONARY IN THE HIGH WHITE
HAT SHE HAS TO CHOP AND DICE FOR.)
V. 1:
Well, she’s still Canadian, and pretty juicy
too if you ask me …
V.
2:
… In a non-domestic sort of way …
V.
3:
Wouldn’t mind being a book on her shelf or a drink
in her hand on a quiet night as she settles in here with nothing
to do…
V. 4:
Paul. You’re such a sucker for celebrity! Susanne,
stop dreaming. Are the beans done? Jenny, you get back to preparing the
polenta. Please, everyone …
* * *
(Sound: Kitchen clatter fades up …)
(Several Narrators, Sotto
Voce …
like hidden reporters at a political summit …)
A CAR
PULLS UP IN THE DRIVEWAY . A BLACK-STOCKINGED KNEE SWINGS OUT AND A WELL-SHOD
FOOT EMERGES TENTATIVELY TOWARDS THE GROUND.
AS
LILLY AND NANNY WATCH, HOLDING THEIR WELCOME PACKAGES AND SMILES AT THE
READY, A SECOND FOOT DESCENDS TO JOIN THE FIRST .
… AND A RATHER NICE FOOT IT
IS, TOO.
WE SEE A WOMAN OF A CERTAIN AGE LEAN SWIFTLY OUT OF THE SMART BLACK
CAR AND STRAIGHTEN UP IN A SINGLE, SMOOTH MOTION.
TALL, ATTRACTIVE IN A CALM WAY THAT SUGGESTS EXPERIENCE, EYES BEHIND
CHIC SUNGLASSES, TENDRILS OF HAIR ESCAPING UNDER A LARGE BRIMMED HAT,
CORNELIA LUMSDEN TURNS TO LOOK AT THE BUILDING ...
WE HEAR JAZZ IN THE DISTANCE … IT’S COMING FROM A WINDOW SOMEWHERE
ON THE THIRD FLOOR.
JEREMY ALWAYS POSITIONS HIS EASEL AT RIGHT ANGLES TO HIS STUDIO WINDOW
SO HE CAN SEE HIS CANVAS AND THE OUTSIDE WORLD AT THE SAME TIME. HE TURNS
UP THE STEREO AND PAUSES, PAINTBRUSH IN HAND, TO CONSIDER WITH INTEREST
THE SCENE BELOW …
* *
*
LATER THAT EVENING, IN THE CAFETERIA, HE HOLDS FORTH, MAKING A MEAL OF
IT ….
So this is what I see,
(HE SAYS )
Nan and Lil, the dreadful duo,
move forward down the entrance stairs; the visitor — all I could
see was the top of her hat -- pauses for a moment before mounting; half-way
up she pauses again, and shakes hands with each of them in turn. Two company
elves behind her begin unloading her luggage and I thought I saw a special
box with air holes. Couldn’t hear what anyone was saying, but all
three walked up the remaining stairs together, with Nan and Lil on either
side of the lady, smiling like idiots. ‘That woman,’ I think
to myself, ‘doesn’t know what she’s in for.’
THEY HAVE REACHED THE MAIN DOORWAY AND STEPPED INSIDE, THERE ARE DISTANT
KITCHEN SOUNDS AND A SMELL OF FLOOR POLISH. WHAT ACTUALLY WAS SAID WAS
THIS:
Nanny:
Welcome!
SAID NANNY FEEBLY, ONCE THEY WERE INSIDE THE BUILDING. SHE WAS ALWAYS
A BIT WEAK-KNEED AT FIRST IN THE PRESENCE OF THE BETTER-KNOWN ARTISTS.
Lilly:
We hope you’ll feel at home here at The Institute™
SAID LILLY, TRYING HARD NOT TO STARE AT LUMSDEN’S DECOLLETÉ
AND THE RUFFLE OF A LACY BRA STRAP JUST VISIBLE AT ITS EDGE.
Cornelia:
Don’t be silly! ( SAID
THE VISITOR ) We’ve all come here to die.
No need to fuss about it. Now, which one of you little darlings will be
the angel that pours me a drink? It’s been a long journey and that under-designed limo had
no bar.
*
* *
(Cycle of Narrators continues, still confidingly … )
AND SO LUMSDEN ARRIVED AT THE NATIONAL
INSTITUTE OF THE ARTS;
CORNELIA LUMSDEN, AUTHOR OF THE LEGENDARY BOOK, THE ALLEGED GRACE
OF FAT PEOPLE, THE MOST FAMOUS CANADIAN NOVEL OF ITS ERA, WAS DELIVERED
TO THE INSTITUTE™ ’S FRONT DOOR IN THE PRIVATE CAR OF
A DISCREET AND ANONYMOUS MALE FRIEND;
LUMSDEN, WITH SEVEN SUITCASES, TWO
TRUNKS, A DOZEN BOXES OF BOOKS, ALPHABETIZED, (‘ This
is the first batch ,’ SHE
SAID TO ONE OF THE PORTER-ELVES, ‘ The
rest arrive next week … ’),
AND A LARGE BLACK DOG.
Nanny:
That dog’ll be a problem.
THOUGHT NANNY, BUT SAID NOTHING. THERE’D BE TIME ENOUGH FOR THAT.
LILLY LOOKED AT HER, READING HER MIND:
Lilly:
Didn’t anyone tell her no pets? SHE WHISPERED.
ORDERS TRAVELLED QUICKLY THROUGH THE FIRST AND SECOND FLOORS. BY THE
TIME THE NOVELIST WAS ENSCONCED IN HER FIFTH FLOOR SUITE, A TRAY OF GLASSES,
WHISKY AND WATER HAD MATERIALIZED, AND A PLATE OF ATTRACTIVE HORS D’OEUVRES.
NO ONE REMEMBERS WHO POURED. BUT IT
WAS REPORTED ON GOOD AUTHORITY THE NEXT DAY THAT SHE SIPPED, SIGHED, AND
MURMURED :
Cornelia:
So this is The Institute™ … but what does one
do for love?
* *
*
SOME WEEKS LATER, ELSEWHERE IN THE BUILDING, MAGGIE THE HEAD NURSE AND
BILL, THE DIRECTOR, ARE CHATTING …
Director:
Think about it, Maggie, if an 84-year-old Lachine-born American writer
can produce a novel and a baby in the same year, it’s bound to reflect
on the cultural sector.
Nurse:
That’s not really the issue, Bill. It’s
more personal. The Residents are all talking about it, reconsidering their
medications and their relationships —- the men, anyway. There are
line-ups at the clinic. I never thought, when I took the re-training programme,
that I’d be having to deal with pushing the reproduction envelope.The
National Institute for the Arts was meant to be
a ‘a gathering place for living cultural treasures; a haven for artists
in their prime who want to concentrate on their work’. At least that’s
what we were told in Ottawa. I was retrained to do practical light nursing,
not nursery duty.
Director:
I wouldn’t worry too much about it, Maggie. If one of our residents
does father a child, the mother will surely want a separate family home
rather than raising it here. I’m more concerned about the intensification
of the sexual climate. Not all artists are monastically devoted to their
work, and this batch already has an appetite for trouble, but fertility
in the ninth decade certainly implies a new standard of conduct. There’s
national pride to consider.
Nurse:
How d’you mean?
Director:
It’s just that it’s bound to lower
morale if US seniors outdo our own. Speaking of morale, what about the
new resident, the Lumsden woman.
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Nurse:
What about her?
Director:
How’s she fitting in?
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Nurse:
Before we get to that, I think you ought to
know that she can’t possibly be the real Lumsden . The real one disappeared
before World War II, somewhere in Europe.
Director:
There have been sightings since then, I hear …
Nurse:
(Vehemently) … as there have been of Elvis,
Jack the Ripper and Garbo, but whoever she is, she’s never once been
in the library since she arrived and it’s been weeks. And no one’s
seen anything she’s written before or since. Plus we’ve already
got the Lumsden on the fourth floor, the
painter who uses the name so her family won’t track her down. We
can’t have two Lumsdens
, neither of them genuine.
Director:
Who did her evaluation as a potential Resident?
Nurse:
(Meaningfully ….) Good point.
Director:
(Reluctantly getting the message … )
I suppose I‘ll have to look into this. Who did you say drove her
up? I don’t suppose anyone got the license plate number?
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* * *
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AND SO THAT’S HOW IT HAPPENED
THAT CORNELIA LUMSDEN, OR THE WOMAN WHO CLAIMED TO BE CORNELIA LUMSDEN,
AUTHOR OF THE CONTROVERSIAL 1937 NOVEL, THE
ALLEGED GRACE OF FAT PEOPLE ,
ON HER WAY TO THE AUDITORIUM TO HEAR A VISITING LECTURER SPEAK ON "
HOW TO DRESS
FOR AN EXHIBITION ",
FOUND HERSELF CORNERED IN THE RESIDENTS’ LOUNGE OF THE
INSTITUTE™
- HAMILTON ANSWERING UNEXPECTED
QUESTIONS.
THIS DID NOT PLEASE HER.
WHY SHOULD SHE REPORT ON HER WORK TO THIS FADING FUNCTIONARY?
SHE THOUGHT, CONSULTING HER WATCH.
HOW DARE HE PROBE INTO HER PRIVATE LIFE? SHE LOOKED CLOSELY AT
BILL EVERELL AS HE SPOKE. HE DYES HIS HAIR, SHE MUSED.
BUT SHE ANSWERED POLITELY ENOUGH:
(Briskly) SHE
WAS WORKING ON A LIBRETTO BASED ON KAFKA’S THE TRIAL, AND
WAS TALKING TO COMPOSERS.
(Bored) SHE
WAS ALSO WORKING ON A LONG MEMOIR IN WHICH ALL THE QUESTIONS HE WAS ASKING
HER WOULD BE ANSWERED IN FULL. THE FIRST HUNDRED PAGES WERE IN THE HANDS
OF HER AGENT
YES, SHE HAD INITIALLY TAKEN THE NAME CORNELIA LUMSDEN OUT OF ADMIRATION
FOR THE FAMOUS NOVELIST, LATER ADOPTING IT LEGALLY.
(Mischievous) SHE
LIKED THE IDEA THAT ALL THE LUMSDEN BOOKS, HERS AND HER NAMESAKES’,
WOULD STAND BESIDE EACH OTHER IN THE CANADA’S LIBRARIES …
* * *
BILL EVERELL’S OFFICE, LATE EVENING …
Director:
It’s no use, Maggie, I got nowhere. I can tell.
That woman and her dog are trouble. The dog will have to go in any case.
HE COMFORTED HIMSELF WITH THIS THOUGHT.
Nurse:
Don’t blame yourself, Bill. You knew when you
took this position that working with artists wouldn’t be easy. And
this is an inventive lot. But think of all the wonderful work going on
downstairs in the studios and rehearsal rooms. Think of the chap from
the French Embassy and how much he appreciated what we do here.
(Echo of Jean-Marie’s speech in background …. )
Director:
(He shrugs, distracted, his mind elsewhere.)
Mmm, yes, of course
… Maggie?
Nurse:
Bill?
Director:
(A bit awkward)
You’re a good listener, Maggie. I just
want you to know that you’re … more than a nurse to me. (PAUSE…)
You really are. (ANOTHER PAUSE … ) How ‘bout you pour us a drink?
(Sounds of footsteps, glasses taken out of a cupboard and placed
on a tray, bottle cap unscrewed, pouring … as the Narrator says:)
*
Narrators:
* WILL
MAGGIE AND BILL DEEPEN THEIR BOND?
*
WILL THE RE-TRAINING CENTRE
SUCCEED IN MATCHING FORMER CULTURAL OFFICERS AND THEIR NEW TASKS?
* WHO
IS CORNELIA’S ANONYMOUS FRIEND IN THE BIG BLACK CAR?
* WHICH
LUMSDEN WILL JEREMY CLOSE IN ON, THE PAINTER OR THE WRITER? WHAT ABOUT
HIS RUMOURED RELATION WITH HANNA?
*
WILL
PARLIAMENT APPROVE THE NEXT STAGE OF THE PROJECT WITH AN ELECTION COMING?
*
IF SO,
IN WHAT ORDER WILL THE OTHER BRANCHES OF
THE INSTITUTE™ OPEN ACROSS THE COUNTRY?
*
WILL PETS BE ALLOWED
… ?
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Some of these questions may be answered
on Frenkel’s pages of The
Arts Today website. Or maybe
not. But visit the site anyway at for a backstage glimpse into the making
of this programme and clues as to what might happen. The address is:
http://www.cbc.ca/programs/artstoday/artontheweb
(The song "No One In Charge" fades up
and continues to end of programme.)
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Credits
:
Artists in Residence
featured the voices of Jamel Oubechou,
Lisa Steele, Kim Tomczak, and Vera Frenkel, with special guest appearances
by Eleanor Wachtel and Sascha Hastings.
The song, No
One In Charge , was composed and
written by Vera Frenkel, and sung by Mad Love, the group of sisters,
Audrey, Linda and Wanda Vanderstoop, arranged and played by Rohan
Staton of Massive Music, and produced in the context of a residency
at the Banff Centre for the Arts.
Sound recording and
web design for Artists in Residence were carried
out by John McCarthy, and the programme was produced for
The Arts Tonight
by Sascha Hastings.
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Artists in Residence
©VFrenkel, Toronto, 2000
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