for Giulio Perrone
It is almost two years since Herb’s death, and I miss him – the shared minutia of our daily lives, the small intimacies of touch and affection. I miss his daily phone call from work and the funny haikus he would leave for me on the kitchen table.
I miss adoring and being adored.
There are some wonderful new people in my life since his death, and though I am something of a loner, being a writer and all, I need that back and forth of relationship, the spark, the mutual flame of interest. Without it I go dull.
This week an old colleague of Herb’s came to town, someone we’ve known – me at a distance – for years. Like Herb, she is a poet as well as scientist, and she invited me to catch up over drinks at her hotel. I was pleased she had reached out and looked forward to talking with her outside the ‘science’ interest she shared with Herb.
But it was not what I expected. I found myself playing ‘audience’ to her ‘recitative’ rather than being an equal participant in a two-way conversation. It was disappointing, as I’d been looking forward to real exchange and not one of those mutual monologues that so often pass for conversation in our society, but I know scientists tend to be like that. So I did what I do – I asked leading questions and tried to look interested. Sadly, when I started to express my own thoughts she talked over me to signal the waiter for another drink. The timing was too perfect, and I was cut to the quick.
“I’ll wait,” I said quietly, but she never cued me back in. Clearly, I’d been invited to be a listener.
Maybe she was lonely and just needed someone to talk to. Perhaps she wanted a woman’s ear to pour out some hard relationship stuff to – which she did. Whatever it was, I got bored and eventually I smiled goodnight and went home.
Oh, if I could have told the whole story to Herb!
The real exchange we all long for, the meeting of minds and hearts seems to be a rare bird in our society, and most of us walk around lonely much of the time, longing for authentic connection. This is despite the fact that our population keeps growing, and you’d think that with so many folks to choose from, we’d never be lonely!
It has happened lately that several friends – men, women, gay, straight, all beautiful people – have confessed to me their love problems: either they long to find their perfect partner, or they want to leave their imperfect partner. Their loneliness is palpable, their frustration painful to witness.
I’m reminded of that poignant scene in “Fiddler in the Roof” in which one of Tevye’s daughters sings,
“Matchmaker, matchmaker/ make me a match…”
Coming, as I do, from ancestors who were partnered by village matchmakers in the ‘old country’, I know that the resulting couples are far from ideal, to say the least. My grandparents were not happy people.
So how do we find one another to love?
I wish everyone could have it happen by chance, by magic – as it did with Herb and me, two Jews meeting at a Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve in New York City, tickled to recognize one another in the crowd of well-dressed Episcopalians.
How splendid if all of us could have that kind of experience, as if there were an Oberon and a Puck in our midst, playing tricks on us at night in the forest, bringing us together despite ourselves when we least expected it.
I’d be so happy if we all had active fairies working on our behalf to find us our own true loves!
The magic of connection actually happened in real time yesterday at a free production of Midsummer Night’s Dream by The Inferno Theater, outdoors in a local park. I’d already seen it the week before, but came again because I was so moved the first time! The sets were a couple of sheets strung across bamboo poles, the young actors were a diverse group of gifted actor/acrobats and the action was swift, hilarious and all over the place! It was true Commedia dell’Arte.
Shakespeare would have loved it! In my favorite scene, the players-within-the-play came out barking, decked in dog-masks, their fake doggie ears swinging. This caused a real doggie in the audience to bark back, so the actors played along and returned his barks. Soon every dog in the park was barking and then the audience joined in, barking crazily in an impromptu scene Shakespeare probably never anticipated!
Laughing, we shared exclamations with folks on the next blanket, offering cookies and smartass commentary.
Barking, we bonded. It was that easy. Woof!
After the show, I looked for the Director to compliment him on the staging and ask how he worked. The show was so tight, so funny, such an enchantment!
“Let’s have tea,” was his response.
We did. At my house later in the week he told me it was all about relationship between the cast and the audience. Scenes were choreographed to create bonds between the actors and between the actors and the audience.
“Each audience is different,” he explained. “The actors can read each audience from the beginning by how they respond, and then they play to them. You want to make the experience real in the moment – felt, physical, emotional.”
He went on, “The actors have to have the technique to start with, of course, and then the work is to open their hearts and encourage their bodies to move together. Then you wait for the magic to happen.”
We were quiet together for awhile, pondering. Then he said,
“It’s a good way to do the work of the world, don’t you think? And these kids are so wonderful at it!”
“Yes. I get the feeling they understand just how important their work is – bigger than just being on the stage.”
“The arts are the key to the Big Work we have to do,” he said musingly.
“Yes,” I agreed. “Thank you for what you do, helping us all find the unexpected connections and to meet one another in a new place.” He made a small bow and returned the compliment.
“I am so glad to know you,” I added, touching his arm and taking another sip of tea. We smiled conspiratorially at one another.
“Two peas in a pod,” he said.
Who knows, maybe the two of us will dream up a collaboration one of these days?
May it be so.
Woof! Woof!
