Jim Krusoe - The Sleep Garden

Naturally, there’s Viktor — with a K , no less — so there will be a lot of laughs every time he corrects people about how to spell his name. Viktor will be a control freak, an anal kind of creep, but sincere in his way, and obsessive, too, which is a good thing because it will lead to other jokes when he can’t stop repeating certain actions, and this will somehow feed into the spelling-of-his-name business. Should he also have Tourette’s? That could be a little much for the first episode. Maybe it would be better to introduce it, say, midseason, and it could start mildly and get worse. Does Tourette’s come on gradually or all at once? Note to self: check out Tourette’s symptoms . Or maybe it could be some other weird disease, like a bowel condition, so there could be a lot of jokes about that.

Who else? Raymond, the lovable doofus, kind of out of it, but with a natural sense of what’s really going on. An idiot savant, probably, and he can be doing something totally useless, collecting stamps or, better, comic books. He can have stacks of comic books filling his apartment, because he’s a hoarder, too. His whole living room is nothing more than an aisle between towering stacks of comics at this point, but every once in a while one of them will turn out to be worth a zillion dollars, and he’ll sell it to pay for an operation someone needs, or to buy a coffin for somebody’s parent so they can be buried in peace after everyone else has given up hope. Not ducks though. People won’t relate to ducks.

Then there’s Madeline: she’s like the Earth Mother of the place — kind of Anna Magnani crossed with Bette Midler — a redhead, naturally, a passionate individual with a big heart, but also wisecracking and cranky. She’s the one the other people come to with their problems, but does she have anyone to talk to about her own seeming inability to stay in any relationship for more than a little while, an inability that possibly borders on— say it! — sex addiction? No. So she’s an Earth Mother, although in the end she remains a lonely and tragic figure. Not bad.

But he also needs somebody he doesn’t already know — some wild card who will give him the artistic freedom to bring in new themes, outside influences, guest artists.

Who. .? And then it’s clear: a landlord. Somebody who can come in and stir things up every so often by hiking the rent or complaining that the residents aren’t taking care of things, or that one of them — Heather, of course — is keeping a kitten she’s not allowed to have. A landlord who is colorful, but not too colorful, a retired person, a retired military man, a sea captain, for example, a guy who’s been around the world and has a lot of experience, but who’s getting old and comically fails to understand the ways of the younger generation. Mostly he’ll be wandering around oblivious to what’s happening, so everyone can laugh at him, but then every so often, he’ll freak them all out by being wise, and save their asses. He’ll have a wooden leg like Ahab, too. Perfect.

So start with an episode that introduces the characters, though not too many all at once, but allows each one to make his or her own entrance, one at a time, like the opening of James Joyce’s story “The Dead,” which Jeffery read back in high school and which was also made into a fairly successful movie with Angelica Huston, directed by her father, if he remembers correctly.

Knock knock.

Who’s there?

Mister About-to-be-a-Celebrity

“Raymond, you ruffle my feathers,” Madeline used to say to him once upon a time and, even if she was kidding, to hear her say it made him happier even than carving all those beautiful decoys made him happy, which was very, very much. You ruffle my feathers , and she’d be kissing him here and there and laughing, with him and not at him, and he would be shy, but not shy in another way, and soon all his skin, and even the skin beneath his skin would be tingling, and then, Madeline never being one for ceremony, her clothes would be off — her bra, her stockings — tossed over a canvasback, redhead, or mallard — Raymond’s clothes, too, would be on the floor — and he’d be touching her, as soft as down, and he couldn’t imagine how she could do that, but she did, and then the two of them would be touching each other so that after a while it was hard to tell who was who, what part of the touch was Raymond and what part was Madeline, and there would be the sweat and the hair and he wasn’t sure whose of what was whose, and then almost without thinking he would find himself inside her — or she would be around him, however that went — so they were one moving thing, like a duck and the water beneath the duck, the duck in the water and the reflection of the duck in the water, and he wouldn’t be thinking about anything but what they were at that moment, not even who was who or about what they were doing, only that they were doing it and it could go on and on and on, and then, when it could go on no longer, when it couldn’t get any better and they were just lying there, out of nowhere, Madeline would start to sing to him, yes, would hold Raymond’s head against her breasts, and sing her old songs: old rock and roll songs, oldies but goodies, the top forty and top fifty, even those songs he had only half listened to when he was young, but then, thanks to Madeline, the songs would be again, back as fresh as ever — no, fresher — and there wasn’t any time anymore, because even though the songs were from a long time ago, she was singing them at that very moment, so her songs were new too, the mirror of the old songs, and there was no place other than where he was, no place other than where they were, that is to say in the Burrow in bed with the ducks all around them, and there wasn’t any ending because before a song would even end, Madeline would start a new one, in that same soft whispering voice, and how she did that Raymond never knew, and back then it seemed as if the songs would go on, not forever, quite — he knew that — but whatever was the next thing to it.

Does she do that with Viktor? Does she sing to him that way? He certainly hopes not.

TRANSCRIPT OF ADDITIONAL CONVERSATION FROM TECHNICAL STAFF

Tech #1:

What do you mean, “not yet”? They were supposed to be here three days ago. What’s the holdup?

Tech #2:

I think one of the tunnels might have collapsed.

Tech #1:

That’s great. That’s just great. I certainly hope not. Because do you know who’s going to be blamed for it? Take a guess: we are. We always are.

Tech #2:

I know. It doesn’t seem fair.

Tech #1:

You can say that again. And do you know what else doesn’t seem fair — these stupid hats we’re forced to keep on at all times. They’re like having a snail shell on your head. I mean — on our heads. And not only do they look stupid, but they make us look stupid, too. No offense.

Tech #2:

None taken. But aren’t they supposed to be some protection against the atmosphere down here, or air pressure, something like that? That’s what I remember from our training.

Tech #1:

Atmosphere? They told the group I was with that they were supposed to cushion the skull in case of collapse. And I think they also said there was some kind of automatic oxygen supply inside.

Tech #2:

You could be right. I halfway remember them saying something about not walking too close to an open flame, or an open something. But do you know what I hate the most?