Malcolm Bradbury - Doctor Criminale

The courgettes were as dry as macadamia nuts, the armadillo was gasping, by the time Ros got back three days later, two bottles of Frascati in her hands and an erotic grin on her face. ‘Brilliant,’ she said. ‘What? We did it?’ I asked. ‘You did it, I did it, mostly Lavinia did it,’ said Ros, ‘She went to the Commissioning Editor at Eldorado and came back with a two-hour arts feature special.’ ‘Two hours?’ I said, ‘I thought it was only one.’ ‘Yes, but they fell in love with it, Francis,’ said Ros. ‘What, with my treatment?’ I asked. ‘I don’t know about the treatment,’ said Ros, ‘I’m not sure they exactly read the treatment. It’s far too long. No, the title. The Mystery of Doctor Criminale, that really pulled them in.’ ‘Oh, that’s terrific,’ I said.

‘Anyway,’ said Ros, ‘They’ve given us twice the develop­ment money, they’ve hooked in PBS in the USA, and they think the Europeans are interested. I told them Criminale was a European, he is, isn’t he?’ ‘Oh, definitely,’ I said, ‘As European as they come. So it’s good after all?’ ‘Brilliant,’ said Ros, ‘And when I say brilliant, I really mean brilliant. We’ll get a major slot, major budget, major production values. So come on, let’s celebrate. Up the stairs, Francis.’ ‘Surely we can drink Frascati down here,’ I said. ‘I have better things to do with Frascati than just drink it,’ said Ros, ‘Oh, and Lavinia thinks you’re brilliant too.’ No sooner were we standing there naked in the shower, pouring Frascati all over each other for some reason, when the portaphone rang. ‘It’s her, I know it,’ said Ros, popping out of the shower to get it, ‘That bloody bitch Lavinia. Darling!’ Ros talked a moment and then put down the phone. ‘Bitch, she wants to celebrate too. She’s coming round right away.’ ‘Oh, not Lavinia too,’ I said. ‘No, let’s be quick, honey,’ said Ros, ‘You can have too much of Lavinia at times.’

Well, there’s no doubt about it – television arts documentary is a fast and furious world. No sooner were we dry and dressed again than the doorbell rang and there was Lavinia on the step, a code-locked briefcase in her hand and a gratified grin on her wide face. ‘Not celebrating?’ she asked. ‘No, Lav, we just finished,’ said Ros, ‘But we can give you a drink instead.’ ‘It’s Francis I’ve come for,’ said Lavinia, ‘Francis, listen, I’ve put out a contract on your life, okay?’ ‘What do you mean?’ I asked. ‘This is it,’ she said, taking a long and legal-seeming document from her bag, headed with the distinctive, indeed weird, logo of Nada Productions, ‘Just sign at the bottom, please.’ ‘What’s this?’ I asked. ‘Just a sort of paper thing that assigns us the rights in your glorious treatment, darling,’ said Lavinia, ‘I just wanted to do the right thing and regularize your position. You do like a regular position, don’t you?’

‘I don’t know, I haven’t been in one for ages,’ I said, ‘I’d better talk to my agent.’ ‘Does he have an agent?’ Lavinia asked Ros, ‘Isn’t he too young?’ ‘No, he doesn’t,’ said Ros, ‘I’ll be your agent, Francis. Sign it.’ ‘Shouldn’t I get a law­yer to check it out?’ I asked. ‘Listen to him,’ said Lavinia, scratching her way into a bottle of wine, ‘This is a cracked-up out-of-work journo who lives off women and he’s just been offered the best TV deal in town.’ ‘Have I really?’ I asked. ‘Take a look, darling,’ said Lavinia, ‘You see? Researcher credit. Writer credit. Presenter credit. Three credits on one programme.’ ‘And the money?’ I asked. ‘That’s credit too,’ said Lavinia, ‘If we ever make this thing, and remember, TV is a very tricky world, you’ll get yours, dearie. Especially after Ros and I have got ours. Sign it, Francis.’ I looked at Ros. ‘Sign it,’ she said, ‘Everyone signs for Lavinia,’ I looked at Lavinia, bigger and bolder and rounder than ever. I signed it.

That’s terrific,’ said Lavinia, shoving the contract into her briefcase and then taking from it a plastic wallet, ‘Now you need this.’ ‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘It’s an air ticket, darling,’ said Lavinia, ‘Austrian Airlines, economy class, check in seven o’clock tomorrow morning, Terminal Two, Heathrow, flight to Vienna. No upgrades allowed, by the way.’ ‘Why are you giving me this, Lavinia?’ I asked. ‘Just sit down here with me, darling, and I’ll explain,’ said Lavinia, ‘It may be a great treatment, God knows, I haven’t had time to read all of it, it’s very long.’ ‘Thirty pages,’ I said. ‘But it’s all questions and no answers,’ said Lavinia, ‘Now we actually have to make this programme. Our work isn’t done. The writing time’s over, recce time starts. You see?’ ‘I don’t see why I’m going to Vienna,’ I said. ‘Because, honey, you’ve only got one lead, haven’t you?’ asked Lavinia, ‘This man Otto Codicil. You have to go and talk to him. Nestle in his bosom like a viper. And get him to tell you all the mysterious secrets of our enigmatic Doctor Criminale.’

‘How do we know there are any secrets?’ I asked. ‘Because it says so in your treatment, darling,’ said Lavinia, ‘That’s why they bought it. The Mystery of Doctor Criminale.’ ‘I only meant he seemed a bit of a mystery to me,’ I said. ‘Let me quote one bit, darling, if I can find it,’ said Lavinia, putting on glasses and opening my document, ‘It struck me forcibly. “Criminale has evidently led a life of contradictions and obscurities, of blanks and deceptions, of fragments and evasions, slippages and,” what’s this word here, darling?’ ‘Aporias,’ I said. ‘What’s that?’ asked Lavinia, ‘Is he sick or something?’ ‘No, what it means is that there are gaps,’ I said, ‘To me, the reader, his presence is obscure, his sign is occluded. He’s hard to read and interpret.’ Lavinia stared at me. ‘What do you mean, hard to read?’ she asked. ‘I mean, he’s an incomplete text, difficult to deconstruct, yet for that reason requiring to be deconstructed,’ I said.

‘That’s what you mean by the Mystery of Criminale?’ asked Lavinia, ‘Thank God they didn’t read the damned thing. Now look, Francis, we have to have a better mystery. That’s what they paid for, that’s what they’ll get. I want political deceptions. I want sexual betrayals, financial frauds, that kind of thing.’ ‘I don’t know there are any,’ I said. ‘There’d better be,’ said Lavinia, ‘I want some.’ ‘Where from?’ I asked. ‘Find out from Codicil,’ said Lavinia. ‘Why would Professor Codicil tell me anything like that?’ I asked, ‘He calls Criminale the greatest contemporary philosopher, the leader of modern thought.’ ‘Darling, he’ll tell,’ said Lavinia, ‘They all tell. Just make him think you want him to be in the programme. Then he’ll tell you anything.’

‘Do you mean he won’t be on the programme?’ I asked. ‘I don’t know, till we’ve checked him properly,’ said Lavinia, ‘He may not speak good English.’ ‘You could use subtitles,’ I said. ‘He may not even be telegenic,’ said Lavinia, ‘You can subtitle words, but you try subtitling his face. No, just go there, talk to him, probe him, find an angle, get a story. And then you’d better get him to tell you where you can find Criminale.’ ‘You want me to go after Criminale too?’ I asked. ‘Maybe, if the budget runs to it,’ said Lavinia, ‘It’s very tight, don’t forget. And we have to shape the programme first. So find out where he is, and then check back here with Ros.’ ‘With me?’ asked Ros, ‘I thought I was going to Vienna too?’ ‘Oh, no, darling, I need you to stay here with me and edit,’ said Lavinia, ‘Oh look, taxi’s waiting. Good luck, Francis, and auf Wiedersehen, pets.’