The Magnificent Showboats (13 page)

Gassoon made a nasal and reedy expostulation, with one white finger held high. “Always within the limits imposed by the original version!”

Zamp made a gesture of easy acquiescence. “Now as to the ship: we will naturally require a suitable stage and seating arrangements. A more festive appearance would not go amiss. A few touches of pink and green paint, three dozen banners and a hundred yards of bunting will work wonders for this stark old death-ship. Another matter: you are a proud and competent mariner and naturally will command your craft as we ply up-river — until we reach Bottomless Lake. Then is the time and place of my great concern, and I would wish to assume command until after our performance before King Waldemar.”

“These requirements are not altogether unreasonable,” said Gassoon. “However, I must make still other stipulations. I intend that Damsel Blanche-Aster should accompany us. A stage, as you say, must be constructed and seats provided; however, I do not propose to disrupt the arrangement of my museum.”

Zamp pursed his lips dubiously. “I fear that some small dislocation might be necessary, if only to accommodate the machinery of the stage. Additionally we must equip ourselves with double robber-nets and the usual precautions against nomad attack.”

Gassoon was obstinate in his refusal. “Quite unnecessary! Throughout history wandering minstrels, scholar-poets, bards, scops, druithines and troubadours — all are accorded safe passage across the most dangerous lands. Such is human tradition; why should it be otherwise on Big Planet?”

Zamp sipped the Brio, which, having sat too long in the bottle, had become musty. “These are noble ideals and do you credit; I wish that the nomads were as high-minded.”

Gassoon smiled and drank down his own Brio with relish. “Approach any man, no matter how base or ferocious, greet him with dignity and candor, and he will do you no wrong. The precautions you suggest are not only expensive, they are unnecessary. Peace is the word! Think peace! We come in peace and go in peace!”

Zamp gave a non-committal nod. The matter could be deferred until later.

Gassoon cleared his throat and poured a few more drops of Brio into the cups. “I understand that you became acquainted with Damsel Blanche-Aster at Lanteen?”

“Quite true.”

“She seems a most remarkable person.”

“So she seems, indeed.”

“Where might be her place of origin?”

“She has never commented upon this matter. In fact, we have never discussed our personal affairs in any degree whatever.”

Gassoon blew out his cheeks and stared off into space. “After so many years of placidity, I am suddenly quite excited.”

“I as well.” Zamp raised his cup. “To the success of our great adventure!”

“To success!” Gassoon tossed down the rank liquid with a flourish, and wiped his mouth. “We must discuss financial arrangements. How much iron can you contribute to the venture?”

Zamp stared across the table in shock. “I already have offered my expertise and the absolutely indispensable summons of King Waldemar! Do you expect iron as well?”

Gassoon’s mouth, between the long nose and the long pale chin, became almost invisible. He said at last: “Am I to understand that you can contribute no iron?”

“Not a groat.”

“This is sour news indeed. The costs will be exorbitant.”

“For a stage, a few seats, a bucket or two of paint? Hardly more than ordinary maintenance!”

“We must assemble a troupe,” Gassoon insisted mulishly. “They will require certain sums from time to time.”

“No problem there,” replied Zamp bluffly. “I know precisely how to deal with such demands — namely, ignore them.”

“These persons cannot be put off forever; they will become sulky.”

“We will derive income from performances along the way; in no time all expenses will be reimbursed.”

Gassoon was still not reassured. “Possibly so. Still, I had not intended to advance so large a sum.”

Zamp threw up his hands in annoyance. “The project will then go by the boards, since I am penniless. Excuse me, I must notify the Damsel Blanche-Aster of your decision.”

“Not so fast!” Gassoon squeezed shut his eyes and sat motionless a strained five seconds. In a bleak voice he said: “The matter is not all that significant. As you point out, casual performances must surely cover the expense.”

Zamp resumed his seat. “Allow me to make a suggestion. The time of the Mornune Festival is not far in the future. Our preparations should begin instantly.”

Gassoon leaned back and turned his eyes so far up to the ceiling that cusps of white showed below. Once again the entire venture quivered in the balance. He sighed. “I will meet you later in the day; we will discuss our plans in greater detail.”

Zamp reported the events of the meeting to Damsel Blanche-Aster.

“So then,” she said in a soft voice, half to herself, “the project is underway.”

“I would think so. He may still change his mind.”

Damsel Blanche-Aster shook her head slowly. “He will not change his mind.”

“You don’t seem exultant.”

She shook her head. “I do what I must do.”

“As always, your moods elude me,” growled Zamp.

Damsel Blanche-Aster only asked: “Where do you next meet Master Gassoon, and when?”

“At the Mariner’s Rest, when the sun hangs above Farewell Mountain.”

“I shall be there.”

Zamp, for want of better entertainment, marched back and forth along the sea-wall, tossing pebbles out into Surmise Bay. To the west, the shoreline curved seaward, to end at the dark crag known as Farewell Mountain. As Zamp walked he carefully gauged the descent of Phaedra, and in due course posted himself where he could watch along the quay.

Precisely at the appointed hour he observed Gassoon approaching and stepped smartly forward; the two met in front of the Mariner’s Rest.

“You are punctual,” said Gassoon. “It is a virtue I appreciate.”

“I return the compliment,” said Zamp. “I believe that we have arrived exactly at the same instant.”

“A happy omen.” Gassoon led the way into the tavern and spoke a word to the proprietor, who ushered them into a small private parlor, with a bow window overlooking the river. A lamp of three flames and eight lenses hung over a round table upon which Gassoon placed the leather case he had brought with him; Zamp meanwhile placed an order for sausages and beer with the innkeeper.

Gassoon settled himself into one of the chairs. “I have carefully considered our conversation.” He paused a portentous moment. “Our goals are reconciled if, and only if, we totally agree upon the style and quality of our presentation.”

“Certainly,” said Zamp. “All this goes without saying.”

Gassoon peevishly moved his portfolio to make room for the innkeeper’s tray of beer and sausages. “My remark is really not so trite as it may seem. I wish to nip in the bud any thought of buffoonery, waggling of rumps, topical ballads sung in bogus dialects.”

Zamp made an easy gesture. “Agreed, signed and certified.”

Gassoon grunted and opened his portfolio. “This afternoon I looked through my collection and selected certain works which might be suitable for our purposes.”

With his mouth full of sausage, Zamp reached for one of the volumes; Gassoon deftly moved it back out of Zamp’s reach. He spoke in his reediest, most didactic voice: “The program which we have in mind presents formidable difficulties. The language has changed; conventions and symbols also change. Men as knowledgeable as ourselves will puzzle over some of the obscure allusions: how then for the folk of our audiences, who, no matter how earnest and keen, will still be unprepared?”

Zamp quaffed a hearty draught of beer, and setting down the mug, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “To these folk we usually present the vulgarisms which you deplore, and there is never any difficulty.”

Gassoon ignored the remark. “We can either adapt and edit and to some extent alter the flavor of the original, or we can present the matter without compromise, and trust in the perceptivity of our audiences. What is your opinion?”

Zamp wiped his hands with the napkin. “Our basic purpose is to win King Waldemar’s approval; hence we must at least be intelligible.”

Gassoon made a prim correction. “Our basic purpose is recreation of the classics. If King Waldemar is sensitive and subtle we will win the prize.”

“In that case,” said Zamp thoughtfully, “we should prepare several programs, to be ready for anything.”

Gassoon’s response was once again negative. “It would be pleasant to hire a large number of skillful performers and prepare an extensive repertory. Needless to say, I cannot afford to do this. We must settle upon one or two works which are not too costly to stage. For instance, here is a work known as
Macbeth,
which has long been considered a classic.”

Zamp thumbed through the work with dubiously pursed lips. Gassoon watched him expressionlessly. Finally, Zamp said: “In my experience audiences prefer any kind of spectacle to verbiage. If we can augment certain of these scenes and truncate others, and all in all introduce a bit more color, we might have a feasible product.”

Gassoon said mildly, “This work, in its present form, has stood the test of time. Don’t forget, I plan to transcend the efforts of the ordinary showboats!”

In spite of his firm resolve, Zamp found himself arguing with Gassoon. “This is Big Planet, where eccentricities abound! What succeeds at one town, fails at another twenty miles along the river. At Skivaree on the Pelorus, the folk have a hysterical tendency; if once they are amused, they cannot stop laughing, and the wise shipmaster presents a program of religious tracts. At Henbane Berm, masculine roles must be played by females, and females by men; do not ask me why; they insist that dramas be performed in this way. Down-river towns such as Badburg, Port Moses, Port Optimo, Spanglemar, Ratwick, are somewhat easier; still each has its peculiarities, which are ignored at risk.”

Gassoon raised his finger into the air. “You ignore the single essential element: the fact that all these folk are men. Their perceptions and instincts are basically alike; all —” A knock sounded at the door. Gassoon jumped up, opened the door a crack, peered forth, then threw the door wide. “Enter, by all means!”

Damsel Blanche-Aster came into the room. Gassoon brought forward a chair. “Please be seated. Will you take a glass of wine? Or one of these quite tolerable sausages? You will be interested in our conversation. We are debating aesthetic theory and find ourselves at loggerheads. I maintain that art is universal and eternal. Master Zamp — I hope that I fairly state his case — feels that local idiosyncrasies invalidate this precept.”

Damsel Blanche-Aster said: “Perhaps both of you are right.”

Gassoon knit his brows. “I concede that this is possible. So it becomes our mission to dissolve this stunted parochialism.”

“I only want to win the Mornune competition,” said Zamp gloomily.

“Understandable! Nevertheless we must focus on the main objective. It might be wiser to —”

Zamp sighed. “Unless we agree as to the Mornune Festival, our association ends almost before it starts.”

“I would regret this,” said Gassoon. “Still, you must do as you see fit. Damsel Blanche-Aster and I will pursue our own goals.”

Damsel Blanche-Aster said: “In my opinion a victory at the Mornune Festival is extremely important, if only for the sake of prestige. In this instance I support Master Zamp.”

Gassoon’s face fell. “Such a victory no doubt would enhance our reputations,” he said grudgingly. “Well then, I believe that we should settle upon the classic tragedy
Macbeth
as our basic vehicle.”

Zamp opposed this concept. “What if King Waldemar detests tragedy? Suppose that he is highly partial to pastiches like those I presented on
Miraldra’s Enchantment
? We should prepare two, or better, three programs. Include
Macbeth
if you must, but also let us have something with music and gayety and merry spectacles.”

“The matter of expense must curb any elaborate ambitions,” declared Gassoon. “I am not the wealthiest man of Lune XXIII.” He shuffled through his books. “Here is a musical work:
H.M.S. Pinafore,
which seems gay enough, though it is not particularly broad.”

“That need not trouble us, so long as the work has popular appeal.”

Gassoon sniffed and put
H.M.S. Pinafore
aside. “Here is an odd work:
The Critique of Pure Reason
, which evidently carries serious import.”

Zamp glanced through the book. “It could not be presented except as a costumed allegory or a dithyramb.”

“Now here is another work …”

The discussion continued for another two hours, and eventually agreement was reached, both Zamp and Gassoon making concessions. Zamp was forced to abandon his program of gay miscellaneities, and Gassoon undertook to provide costumes and settings for
Macbeth
on a scale considerably more lavish than he had intended. Zamp privately considered the work too heavy and was resolved to introduce diversions and spectacles; Gassoon had satisfied himself that Zamp’s tastes were vulgar and insensitive. Damsel Blanche-Aster showed small interest in the proceedings and studied the pictures in a tattered volume of
Paradise Lost
, which Zamp had wished to produce, but which Gassoon had rejected for reasons of excessive expenditure. Zamp was reluctantly granted control over production details, while Gassoon assumed responsibility for navigation. Gassoon was also conceded the office of adviser and monitor in regard to the production. “I will insist upon meticulous techniques,” Gassoon declared. “We can’t afford untidy execution. Every detail must be keen and bright as a diamond, every gesture must be rich with emotion; silence must carry a meaning heavier than words.” Warming to his theme, Gassoon jumped to his feet and paced back and forth across the parlor. Damsel Blanche-Aster watched him as a hypnotized rabbit might watch a serpent, turning her head back and forth.