Rafael Yglesias - Hide Fox, and All After

“Yes?”

“Their attitudes toward the Player change many times, what is a general interpretation of that?”

“You mean — what are the different attitudes and why they change?”

“Yes.”

Line by line they picked the play apart. They discussed the way the production was being blocked, decided they didn’t like it, and made up a list of those members of the cast who should be spoken to, dividing it in half. They smoked more, and slept.

A bright, exuberant sun; a sleepy, peaceful morning. Smoking, drinking their coffee, they were whimsical, calm men. They walked in a spring breeze with clever smiles, quiet, husky voices. They broke apart to begin their day. Alec was off to a seduction, Raul to a class or two, both eventually descending for the rest of the day upon the theater and the cast.

Alec was too polite; his comments were modified by compliments, his softening of criticism took away its energy. Raul was too severe; he pointed out so clearly the faults and limitations of others that they felt hopeless. They reacted defensively, driving Raul to unreasoning severity, turning him into a prima donna.

Following an agreement, Raul and Alec met in Miller’s office at the end of school. Lighting cigarettes, they looked at one another. Neither was willing to speak.

Raul smiled, Alec frowned. “We blew it,” Raul said finally. Alec nodded. Raul stared at him. “Well, there was nothing we could do, really. I mean it was pretty egotistical of us to decide we’d advise everybody on how they were going to act.”

“Okay. But it still pisses me. This is an important production and it’s getting the same apathy the other productions get.”

“Well, since when are people gonna start hustlin’ their ass for Sabas and Shaw?”

Alec looked at Raul severely. “I just wish this theater had a little more energy.”

“Devotion, determination.”

“Exactly.”

They finished their cigarettes, lit others. Then Raul finally spoke. “We have many scenes alone, and they are all very powerful. When another actor comes on the stage, it’s like giving lines down an empty well. Nothing meets you. No tension, no force, no energy. Lines are spoken limply, movement becomes stilted. One is suddenly conscious of the fact that it’s a high school production. All right, that’s the situation. We understand it. We should be on top of it, then.”

“How does that put us on top of it? We have no control over it.”

“We do when we are alone on the stage, which is quite often. We’re blocking our own moves, building our own tension.”

“Still, it will be thought of as a high school production.”

“Look, Alec, you’ll go out of your mind if you think of the image others project for you.” Silence. Alec sighs, unsatisfied. “I don’t believe this, Alec, we’re losing everything. So don’t get depressed. We are playing to an audience, not just to parents.”

The opening came near, and the process of ego-building began. All about the school, signs went up advertising the play. Cast members were off from afternoon classes. Raul and Alec were off full day. They spent their days giving their lines over and over. Sitting, walking, they never stopped. The pace of their life became hectic, as if they were running toward oblivion.

As the opening came closer, Alec’s organ made greater and greater demands on him. Raul worked a full hour a day as his secretary. Alec had passed the word along that Raul was living with him and handling his calls. Raul kept a yellow sheet of typing paper in the inside pocket of his jacket, a new one each day, of the excuses he was to give, whom to put off, and whom to encourage. After his hour he would come in, voice hoarse, hair messed, exhausted and pale, fall straight to the floor, looking up into Alec’s smiling face, and say, “What the fuck are you trying to prove?”

Alec would laugh. “That’s exactly what I’m trying to prove.”

“You’re going to be impotent by the time you’re thirty.”

Alec looked reflectively at Raul. “You know, medically, it’s possible.”

Raul groaned. “You’ll have children of exhausted loins.”

“ ‘Your lines will be cut.’ ”

“To dumbshows, etc., yeah, exactly.”

“Oy, bitter, butter, batter, aren’t you bitter?”

“Bitter, nothing. You’re lucky I’m not horny.”

“Oy, my God, my God, listen to him!”

“What is it? You don’t consider me any serious competition.”

Alec looked at Raul agape. “Are you serious?”

“No, my tone’s false. But I do want to know whether you consider me any competition or not.”

“I never think about it, because of your principles.”

Raul smiled broadly. “Okay,” he said quietly.

Meeting people became a greeting, an invitation to a performance. They never ceased playing games, nor could they. They walked the campus, strutted about the stage, with the arrogance of those free from serious emotion.

Flinging doors open and entering the cafeteria, a group of Raul’s classmates, who hadn’t seen him for a few weeks, stopped, asking him what he’d been doing. Raul, not stopping, said, “Man, we’re livin’ hard and fast.”

Alec swung about, looking tough. “You got that, you mothers.”

When they walked, they walked smartly. Entering, they would sit as if expectant of applause, staying with no one for more than a few minutes. They went to the cafeteria not to eat but for money. There was a system to this: certain people were hit for certain amounts, certain people were paid back quickly, with others it was drawn out, and some were never paid. With this money they bought cigarettes, invariably ate out, and bought grass.

The partnership became legendary. Raul was already notorious, and those who suspected Alec of evil ways were now confirmed in their belief. Sabas and Shaw were inseparable. Most were attracted by their banter, others were frightened of it, and still others were contemptuous. The image they projected became so powerful that its implausible nature was overlooked.

Alec walked over to where Raul was standing. Their eyes and quiet smiles revealed their consciousness of the eyes upon them. Alec leaned against the wall next to Raul. They didn’t look at each other but surveyed the cafeteria as if it were prey. “How much do you have, Raul?”

“Six.”

“Seven,” Alec said, with a small satisfied smile.

“You won again.”

“Yep. Frank’s giving me the grass in an hour or so.”

“I should give you five then.”

“Yep.”

Raul’s eyes didn’t stray from observing the cafeteria, as he gave five singles to Alec.

“Thank you.”

Frank and Richard approached them. Frank, nervous, said loudly, “What the fuck you two guys doin’?”

Raul looked at him coldly.

Alec smiled challengingly. “Are you ready yet?”

“Well, if you want to get it now, we can. I thought you had to wait an hour.”

“I come and go. I thought I’d need more time, but I didn’t.”

Raul turned to Alec. “Are you going?”

“ ‘Why? They have us placed now.’ Richard,” Alec said, “will you drive us?”

Frank’s house was pure residential, rich Riverdale. They were let into the comfortable living room; two or three other students were there, listening to jazz on the stereo. Raul and Alec stared hostilely at the wall while Frank disappeared into a back room. In a moment he returned. “Do you guys want to smoke now?”

Alec looked at Raul. Raul dragged on his cigarette and said, “Well, it’s not our usual time, but we don’t owe anything to anyone.”

Alec slapped Raul on the knee: both of them rose and followed Frank into his room. The others followed. Frank’s room was small and uninteresting, but it had good exposure to the sun, which drenched the room. Alec and Raul settled comfortably into chairs, the others sitting on the bed and squatting on the floor. Frank opened his bottom drawer, taking out a small bucket filled with grass. The amount was incredible.