Never peine so dur, never agony so hot,
It was like pushing a pumpkin through-
'No, no, cut,' Mosay shouted. 'Oh, Rafiel! What do you think you're doing there, taking a little nap? Your wife's giving you hell about the kids she's borne for you and you're gaping around like some kind of turista. Get a little movement into it, will you?'
'Sorry,' Rafiel said, as the cast relaxed. He saw Charlus coming, deferentially but with determination, toward him, as he turned his face to the server that came over to mop the sweat off his brow. There wasn't much of it, in spite of the heat; in the dry desert air it evaporated almost as fast as it formed.
'Do you mind, Rafiel?' Charlus offered, almost begging. 'I was just thinking, you might want to wring your turn out and let the arms go all the way through when she starts the "puking every morning" line.'
'I didn't want to upstage her.'
'No, of course not, but Mosay's got this idea that you have to be interacting, you see, and-'
'Sure,' Rafiel said. 'Let's get on with it.' And he was able to keep his mind on his work, in spite of the heat, in spite of the fatigue, for nearly another hour. But by the time Mosay called a break for lunch he was feeling dizzy.
Instantly the sexy young Bruta was at his side. 'Let me keep you company,' she said, almost purring as she guided him to a seat in the shade. 'What would you like? I'll bring you a plate.' 'I'm not really hungry,' he said, with utter truth. He didn't think he would ever be hungry again.
Bruta was all sympathy. 'No, of course not. It is dreadfully hot, isn't it? But maybe just a plate of ice cream - do you like palmfruit?' He gave in, and watched her go for it with objective admiration. The girl was slim as an eel, with a tiny bum that any man would enjoy getting his hands on. But it was only objectively that the thought was interesting; nothing stirred in his groin, no pictures of an interesting figure developed in the crystal ball of his mind. Only-
His mouth was filling with thin, warm saliva.
It could not be possible that he was about to vomit, he thought, and then realized it was quite possible, in fact. He got briskly to his feet, prepared to give a closed-lipped smile to anyone who was looking at him. No one was. He turned away from the direction of the buffet table, heading out into the desert. As he got behind Oedipus's castle he picked up his pace, pressing the palm of his hand against his involuntarily opening mouth, but he couldn't hold it. He bent forward and spewed a cupful of thin, colourless fluid on to the thirsty sand.
It wasn't painful to vomit. It was almost a pleasure, it happened so easily and quickly, and when it was over he felt quite a lot better - though puzzled, for he hadn't eaten enough that morning to have enough in his stomach to be worth vomiting.
He turned to see if any of the troupe had been looking in his direction. Apparently no human had, but a server was hurrying toward him across the desert. 'Sir?' Its voice was humble but determined. 'Sir, do you need assistance here?'
'No. Hsieh-hsieh,' Rafiel added, remembering to be courteous as ever, even to machines.
'I must tell you that there is some risk to your safety here,' the server informed him. 'We have destroyed or removed fourteen small reptiles and other animals this morning, but others may come in. They are attracted by the presence of warm-blooded people. Please be careful where you step.'
Rafiel almost forgot his distress, charmed by the interesting idea. 'You mean "rattlesnakes"? I've heard of rattlesnakes. They can bite a person and kill him.'
'Oh, hardly kill one, sir, since we are equipped for quick medical attention. But it would be a painful experience, so if you don't mind rejoining the others ... ?'
And it paced him watchfully, all the way back.
It didn't seem that anyone had noticed, though Bruta was standing there with a tray in her hand. 'Nothing to eat after all, please,' Rafiel begged her. 'It's just too hot.'
'Whatever you say, Rafiel,' she said submissively. But she stayed attentively by him all through the break, watchful as any serving machine. And when they started again he saw the girl reporting to her father, and felt Mosay's eyes studying him.
He managed to keep his mind on what he was doing for that shot, and for the next. It was, he thought, a creditable enough performance, but it wasn't easy. They were shooting out of sequence, to take advantage of the lighting as the sun moved and for grouping the actors conveniently. Rafiel found that confusing. Worse, he discovered that he was feeling strangely detached. Docilia did not seem to be the Docilia he had so often bedded any more. She had become her role: Jocasta, the mother of his children and appallingly also of himself. When he reached the scene where he confronted her dead body, twisting as it hung in the throneroom, he felt an unconquerable need for reassurance. Without thinking, he reached out and touched her to make sure she was still warm.
'Oh, merde, Rafiel,' she sighed, opening her eyes to stare at him, 'what are you doing? You've wrecked the whole drecklich shot.'
But Mosay was there already, soothing, a little apprehensive. 'It's all right, Rafiel,' he said. 'I know this is hard on you, the first day's shooting, and all this heat. It's about time to quit for the day, anyway.'
Rafiel nodded. 'It'll be better in the morning,' he promised.
But it wasn't.
It wasn't better the next day, or the day after that, or the day after that one. It didn't get better at all. 'It's the heat, of course,' Docilia told him, watching Charlus trying to perfect the chorus in their last appearance ('Deeper plié, for God's sake - use your legs!'). 'Imagine Mosay making us work in the open, for God's sake.'
'Of course,' Rafiel agreed. He had stopped trying to look as though he were all right when he was off camera. He just stood in the shade, with an air cooler blowing on him. And Charlus said the same thing.
'You'll be all right when we finish here,' he promised, watching Bruta and the Ismene. 'It's only another day or two - no, no! Chassé back now! Then a pas de chat, but throw your legs back and come down on the right foot that's better. Don't you want to lie down, Rafiel?'
He did want that, of course. He wanted it a lot, but not enough to be seen doing it on the set. He did all his lying down when shooting was over for the day, back in the borrowed condo, where he slept almost all the free time he had, with the kitten curled up at his feet.
Even Docilia was mothering him, coming to tuck him in at night but making it clear that she was not intending, or even willing, to stay. She kissed him on the forehead and hesitated, looking at the purring kitten. 'You got that from Alegretta, didn't you? Permesso ask you something?' And when he nodded, 'No offence, Rafiel, but why are you so verrückt for this particular one?'
'You mean Alegretta? I don't know,' he said, after thought. Forse it's just because she's so different from us. She doesn't even talk like us. She's - serious.'
'Oh, Rafiel? Aren't we serious? We work hard.'
'Well, sure we do, but it's just - well - you know, we're just sort of making shadow pictures on a screen. Maybe it comes to what she's serious about,' he offered. 'You know, she started a whole new life for herself - quit medicine, took up science....'
Docilia sniffed. 'That's not so unusual. I could do that if I wanted to. Some day I probably will.'
Rafiel smiled up at her, imagining this pale, tiny beauty becoming a scientist. 'When?' he asked.
'What does it matter when? I've got plenty of time!'