I have never before hidden my apprehension. Apprehension before starting a new production, familiar sensation of the large blank page that terrifies, paralyses, haunts the nights and shortens them terribly. Apprehension too of meeting these men. What would we have in common? How to accept one another coming from such different worlds? A vision of the world, a language, anything could separate us. How was I going to relate to these unscrupulous rogues, me, a puny man of the theatre, bringing nothing but hot air and dreams to the table?
And so we met. Effortlessly. Painlessly. No trickery. No seduction. Nothing to prove. We all laid our cards on the table, no mask, no deceit. And the worlds that were keeping us apart drew closer together. And fears melted away. And smiles emerged. And laughter. And then we had regular meetings. On stage, over a meal, over a drink. Rituals. Landmarks. And pleasure at each stage…
Rarely have things been so simple, people especially. All my earlier apprehensions quickly disappeared like a morning mist on the arrival of the first rays of sun.
We worked, not much. Three weeks. Nothing, a joke.
I remember the day I realized that I had nothing to teach them about presence. It was in Lyon, in the welcoming environment of the performing arts centre, Les Subsistances. There they were, on stage, in one fell swoop,with no intention of swopping places.
I remember the day; it was the last of the week, when I knew how things would go on stage. It was obvious. The concern is when the obvious is a long time coming…
And then there was the food. Just as important as the rest, if not more so.
In Lyon, we enjoyed excellent cuisine prepared by a nearby restaurant. Everything was delicious and we ate like horses. That was during the early days when we were caught up in the enthusiasm of discovery and awakening.
In the Camargue, second week of rehearsals. Here, it was Paulette who came every day with her pots and pans. She concocted tasty dishes for us, all lovingly prepared. Fresh market products, sensuous desserts and daily surprises. Spoken words followed by sweet treats. A mouth that gives and receives. We were, I think, in a moment of harmony, of calm. Less quantity, more pleasure at the moment.
In Marseille, home straight. Evening meal taken together at the theatre. Dreary room with gloomy lighting. Exotic dinner prepared by a community restaurant that treated us to Kurdish dishes, Berber and others…We took pleasure in eating, but the countdown had begun and we had an appointment. A peaceful austerity, a quiet concentration.
Meals tell a story. The dish makes it clear.
Didier Ruiz, for Prison Insider
Paris, 7 June 2016
