Jacob glanced back up at the stage, realizing he had temporarily forgotten where he was. He held the paper in his hands, folded it over a couple of times, rotated it in his palms. Claude was moving back into character. He did not get very far before Phillip grew frustrated again, and was refusing to enter the scene.
“Phillip,” Bruce said, with a little less calm in his voice this time as he removed his glasses and twirled them in his hand. “Do you have an alternative symbol in mind, since the metaphor of the ark resting upon Ararat causes you so much distress?”
Corynne laughed. “Low blow, Bruce. Phillip is an actor, not a writer.” Phillip glared at her with mock indignation. “Corynne, how dare you.” He broke into a smile, and she grinned back at him.
Jacob felt nudged to stand and slowly head toward the stage. As he was doing so he had a quick memory of Alex pulling him up on the platform in the student union for some improvisation. About 20 years had passed since that innocent morning in late summer at the start of his freshman year in college.
Phillip spotted him at last, and smiled.
“Well, you made it!”
All heads turned to look out at the seats, from which Jacob was emerging.
“Good evening,” Bruce said, pleasantly enough. “Can I help you?”
Phillip stepped up to Bruce before Jacob had a chance to respond. “Bruce, this is Jacob,” he said. “Before he sold his soul to become an evil marketing genius, he was a playwright, actor and director. I thought he might be able to give us a fresh perspective.”
A bowl full of tension soup seemed to spill into the theatrical air. Jacob laughed and quipped, “I’m not a genius.”
Bruce paced a bit, as if trying to determine how to handle the intrusion. He addressed Phillip rather than Jacob as he wiped his glasses on his shirt and settled them back upon the bridge of his nose.
“Phillip, it’s very generous of you to seek to help the play improve,” he said. “But just as you spoke earlier about partnership, it’s quite considerate to discuss things with your partners ahead of time.”
Phillip shrugged. “Oh, Bruce, it was all so spontaneous. You know how I tend to lean toward the improvisational.”
“Always a strength of yours, Phillip,” Bruce said, quietly. He turned to Jacob. “You are certainly welcome to observe the rehearsal tonight, Jacob. I don’t know how much Phillip has told you about the plot, however, so it might be hard for you to follow along.”
Jacob smiled, considering his words carefully.
“Well, I can’t stay long as it is. But I do have a suggestion for you. Just a suggestion, feel free to dismiss it.”
Bruce raised his eyebrows.
“I’d be happy to hear your ideas after the practice is finished,” he said calmly, and turned to face his cast members once again. “Now, shall we…”
“I’d like to hear Jacob’s idea,” Corynne said flatly, and the Jac resemblance felt eerie for a moment. Claude stood next to her, nodding. Bruce looked at Phillip, who offered a sheepish grin.
“Fine,” Bruce said, turning to Jacob with his arms folded.
Jacob climbed the steps up to the stage. With each motion he felt a small burst of youthful energy, a sense of tapping into a context he had not experienced in many years. I’m back, said a fluttering thought, and he nearly laughed out loud at the silliness of even the notion of being “back.” Back to what? How does one go “back” in any true sense of the word?
“I think Bruce is on to something,” Jacob began, carefully making eye contact with each of the players and the director. “Claude is looking for a symbol, a vehicle for congruency, for convergence. His life is teetering between hope and despair, between possibility and pain. He needs a unifying motif, something to help him transcend circumstances and mood swings.”
The three actors were intrigued, and their facial expressions indicated a hunger to hear more. Phillip was almost smug with delight. Bruce was listening politely, although his eyes clearly communicated that Jacob should wrap up this bit of theatrical consulting as soon as possible.
“But,” Jacob continued, “as Phillip has expressed, I’m not sure if Ararat is the right symbol. I wonder if you might consider the lotus instead?”
Bruce was descending from impatience to annoyance. “The lotus?” he asked blankly.
“Imagine this,” Jacob said, quickly moving toward the spot where Claude had been standing. “Claude is up on the garden of the roof, staring out into space as if the answers can be found external to himself. Then, the wind blows this note toward him.” Jacob held up Otis’s folded piece of paper. He quickly unfolded it and read the quote from The Upanishads.
The group was silent for a moment. Bruce wanted to interject something, but restrained himself so as to give the others a chance for input.
“Read the quote again, Jacob,” Phillip said calmly.
Jacob did so.
Corynne was getting very excited. “The lotus is a powerful, sacred symbol in many cultures,” she said rapidly. “It’s associated with enlightenment, with satori. I think Jacob is right—Claude’s greatest need is to look inside and see, not stare out there somewhere.” She pointed to the empty seats.
Claude was nodding, scratching his chin in a manner that suggested he was deep in thought. “And my character has so many distractions on the outside, so many things to keep him from truly looking within.”
“Not to mention all the voices inside his head as well,” Phillip smirked.
Bruce cleared his throat.
“I appreciate Jacob’s input,” he said, gritting his teeth a bit. “But you do realize this would require a complete revision of the script, don’t you? The mount of Ararat is a thread woven throughout the story. To suddenly add a lotus would clutter things up quite a bit, leave the audience with metaphor confusion.”
Jacob stifled a laugh; Bruce didn’t realize he had made a pun. Phillip merely sighed. “Couldn’t you simply swap out the metaphors? What is most sacred to you, the concrete metaphor itself or the larger truth toward which it points? I mean, what does Claude need the most here?”
“He needs to find inner peace,” Corynne said cryptically. She looked at Bruce and smiled. “So do you, Bruce. Imagine if you let go of your need to have things just so.”
An awkward silence rushed upon the stage, interrupted only by the creaking of shifting shoes upon wood.
Bruce shrugged.
“Have it your way, my friends,” he said, forcing a smile upon a face clearly under distress. “I will work on letting go, Corynne. I will start by fully letting go of this production.” And with that he calmly turned and proceeded down the steps and out of the theater, without a final glance at Jacob or a look back at his former cast members. None of them moved to dissuade Bruce from his decision.
After a few more seconds of the awkwardness, Phillip smiled at Jacob and held his hands apart. “Welcome back to the theater, Mr. Director.”
Jacob laughed. “Excuse me?”