Page 60 of Andalusia Dogs
“How do you twofindthese parties?”
“How don’t you?” Vicente threw his head back, staring into the trees above and letting out an exhausted gasp. “You’re living in party city and in case you haven’t noticed, ding-dong, the Fascist witch, therealwitch, isdead.”
“You might want to ask Joanna what difference that makes to the Basques.”
“You know we only ever hear about that from other people, right? Joanna knows who she is, no matter who thinks they’re in charge.”
“I know. Still an outsider, though. Just like I’m Andalusian. You’re Galician.”
“Are you trying to collect the set? Why’d you bring this up, anyway?”
“You brought up politics.”
“Fuck,” Vicente said, taking another cigarette from its pack and lighting it. “Okay, but so what if Jago’s a witch or warlock or wizard or wanker or whatever the fuck you think he is? Are you going to stop seeing him?”
“He’s away for a few days, in the Basque country—”
“Ignoringthatslightly odd coincidence, Alex, that wasn’t my question. Are you going to stop—”
“No, Vis, I’m not. Maybe. I… I don’t know. I’m a little scared. I mean, I’m excited too, but…” Alex hadn’t mentioned his suspicions about what had happened to Paco or Si-Man. That would have put Vis over the edge, sent him running from their project and maybe worse, from Alex’s life altogether. “I need him, Vis. I don’t know if it’s for the show or what, but…”
With a slow nod, Vicente lifted the cigarette to his lips. “So are we waiting for him to come back before rehearsal, or—”
“We’re not rehearsing, Vis.”
“Say what now?” Vicente’s face pulled back into an impish look of bemusement. “For a second, I thought you said—”
“No rehearsals, I mean it. What the audience sees will be what we create in the moment.”
“Alex, that’s fucking insane. We’ll be closed after one night.”
“Think about it, will you? What did you feel last night? How did you know what cues to hit? You’re bloody good, Vis, but you’re not psychic. Neither is Joanna, so how did she know what I was thinking and feeling so intimately she was able to manifest it on stage in an instant? We can’t rehearse that, but I know we can do it again.”
“Now you’re scaring me. How, exactly?”
“Maybe through Jago? I mean, who knows what power he’s got, really?”
“Or you?” Vicente asked with a smile, which vanished when Alex didn’t smile back. He clapped his hands, sending a small tumble of ash to the ground. “Ignore me. I’m talking shit. So, you want each show to be spontaneous,hopingthat whatever connected us… Man, if this fucks up…”
“It won’t. Jago wouldn’t do that to me.”
“I hope you’re right,ifhe’s the one doing it. You’re sure it’s magick though? Come on, Alex.”
“What do you mean ‘Come on, Alex?’”
“Think of it like flamenco. Nothing’s scripted. Nothing’s rehearsed. They just turn up, start the rhythm and away it goes. After a while, they get so good at it—”
“I know how flamenco works, Vis. My grandmother—”
“Yes, I know the story. So, isn’t that what we’re doing? Perhaps that’s how should we promote it? Psychic flamenco? Unless you’re keen on the whole memorial for Si-Man idea.”
Alex winced. “Might look a bit disingenuous, coming from us. And psychic flamenco sounds terrible.”
“That’s why you’re the creative,” Vicente answered, unoffended.
“I’ll think it over. Maybe talk to Joanna. I think a title is the least of our problems right now.”
“No kidding. If I understand you, you’re suggesting we do a new show every night. Each one, improvised? Gutsy, man.”
