The Half Brother: A Novel Read Online Free PDF

old-fashioned.” “But what about Vikings in outer space?” I asked. One of the cell phones went off. They all began fumbling for their own like rather tired gunfighters. It was Tim, the Englishman, who won. There was talk of high sums and a couple of equally elevated names in passing — Harvey Keitel, Jessica Lange. There was no alternative but to smile at one another and drink. I managed to get up and go to the bathroom. I swallowed some gin, leaned with my forehead against the wall and tried to work out what I should say. I didn’t want to give them what I had. I was the empty-headed screenwriter they had waited for for three hours. The mirror image from the elevator was suddenly vivid before me. It was no pretty picture. My damaged eyelid hung down heavily. I tried to find a moment to hide myself away in. But I didn’t find it. When I got back, Peder had exchanged my schnapps for coffee. I ordered a double schnapps. Tim was sitting ready with his planner, more hefty than the Bible in the Kempinski Hotel. “As you know, Barnum, you’re high on the list of scriptwriters we want to work with.” Peder grinned from ear to ear. “Do you have any fixed projects?” I asked. “We would like to hear what you have with you.” “After you,” I said. “Then I’ll have more of an idea of the lay of the land.” Tim looked slowly from me to the Danes. Peder was sweating profusely again. “Barnum likes to play ball,” he said quickly. It sounded so meaningless that I couldn’t help laughing. Barnum likes to play ball. Peder kicked my leg again. Now we were behaving like some old married couple. Suddenly there was schnapps in front of me. Torben took over. “OK, Barnum. We’re willing to play ball. We’re keen to do The Wild Duck. As I’ve said, action is out. The public wants what’s familiar, what’s close to home. Like the family. Hence The Wild Duck.” Peder sat and stared at me continuously. It was extremely exasperating. “This is something for you, Barnum,” he finally said. “You’d turn the piece around for film in a couple of months, right, Barnum?” But no one was listening to Peder now. “Would it be a Norwegian production?” I asked. “Or Scandinavian?” “Bigger,” Torben replied, smiling. “American. Keitel. Lange. Robbins. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t bring in Max or Gitta. But the dialogue’ll be in English. Or else the money won’t be there.” “And we’d have to update a bit,” Preben put in quickly. “It would be set in our time. The Wild Duck of the nineties. “What’s the point of that?” I asked. “Of course it would be set in the present,” Peder said. “We’re not interested in costume drama, are we?” Quiet fell for a moment. I discovered another schnapps. Tim whispered something to Preben, who then turned to me. “We were thinking of something along the lines of Rain Man meets Autumn Sonata” I had to lean closer. “Excuse me? Who meets what?” “We only want to illustrate Ibsen’s genius,” said Torben. “And fundamentally his timelessness.” “Timelessness? Miss Daisy meets Death of a Salesman, so to speak?” Torben’s expression looked a little wilted. There was a momentary burst of laughter from the others. Peder couldn’t stand it any longer. He tried to salvage the situation. “Anyone want something to eat?” he asked. Nobody answered. Peder lit up. He’d given up smoking eight years ago. Torben clasped his hands and looked at me over his knuckles. “And what kind of ball are you playing, Barnum?” “Porn films,” I answered. “Porn films?” “I sat in my room this morning watching pay-TV. And I realized just how untalented and awkward these porn films really are. No dramatic composition. Pathetic characterization. Appalling casting. Particularly bad dialogue. Repulsive sets.” Torben was getting impatient. “You mean erotic films, right?” “No, no, I’m talking about porn. Hardcore porn. With strong narrative,