Antonio Tabucchi - Little misunderstandings of no importance - stories

“The train’s leaving,” he said in a philosophical, knowing manner, and waved the flag. The engine whistled. The girls returned to their seats, only Elsa stayed at the window. She had combed her hair off her forehead and her eyes were still gleaming. At this moment Eddie came up and stood directly under the window.

“Goodbye, Eddie,” Elsa murmured, stretching out her hand.

“Shall we meet in another film?” he asked.

“What the devil is he saying?” shouted the director from behind him. “What the devil?”

“Shall I hold?” asked the cameraman.

“No,” said the director. “It’s going to be dubbed anyhow.” And he shouted into the megaphone, “Walk, man, the train’s moving, move faster, follow it along the platform, hold her hand.”

The train had, indeed, started, and Eddie obeyed orders, quickening his pace and keeping up as long as he could. The train picked up speed and went around the curve and through a switch on the other side. Eddie wheeled about and took a few steps before stopping to light a cigarette and then walk slowly on into camera. The director made gestures to regulate his pace, as if he were manipulating him with strings.

“Insert a heart attack,” said Eddie imploringly.

“What do you mean?”

“A heart attack,” Eddie repeated. “Here, on the bench. I’ll look exhausted, sink onto the bench and lay my hand on my heart like Dr. Zhivago. Make me die.”

The clapperboy looked at the director, waiting for instructions.

The director moved his fingers like scissors to signify that he’d cut later, but meanwhile the shooting must go on.

“What do you mean by a heart attack?” he said to Eddie. “Do you think you look like a man about to have a heart attack? Pull your hat over your eyes, like a good Eddie, don’t make me start all over.” And he signalled to the crew to put the pumps into action. “Come on, move! It’s starting to rain. You’re Eddie, remember, not a poor lovelorn creature… Put your hands in your pockets, shrug your shoulders, that’s it, good boy, come towards us… your cigarette hanging from your lips… perfect!… eyes on the ground.”

He turned to the cameraman and shouted: “Pull back — tracking shot; pull back!”