THE LITTLE DOG LAUGHED TO SEE SUCH A SPORT
We went to another hospital treatment center in Winston-Salem where I waited outside in the car while she disappeared for a few minutes and then came out with another vampirish looking guy with a beard. Up close Richard Atwood had a twinkle in his eye, unlike Stephen the vampire who kept a cold stare—probably from working with the King, if Kay’s stories about him were true. Richard did have a folder under his arm just like Stephen.
We drove to a fast food joint down the street where we had coffee—and ice at a central booth with an ash tray.
“Instead of sucking ice with your cigarettes, why don’t you switch to menthol?” I asked BG.
“Mind your own business,” she said.
Here I was shamelessly prying into the personal lives and background of a hidden, frightened community and she told me to mind my own business.
“Tell Richard what you’re trying to do,” she added.
She had heard the story over and over again. It was almost as though she was waiting for me to slip up. So I repeated the entire history of the project and the contacts we had made and so on. Until I finally said, “I need money.”
Richard opened his little folder and flipped through the unbound stack of papers and read with a slight smile, “Hemophilia literally means, Love of Blood.”
“I didn’t know that,” I said.
BG got a smile on her face and said, “Read something else, Richard.”
He flipped to another page and read something about the Babylonian Talmud and circumcision and bleeding disorders.
“I do know that,” I said. “Susan Resnik mentioned that in her dissertation.”
BG said, “Richard collects facts about hemophilia.”
It was his delivery that was intriguing. I soon realized that this was an audition. With all of the auditions I had been giving I was finally the recipient of one. Richard became our “Greek Chorus”. He would talk about the history of hemophilia in our film.
“He’s perfect,” I said.
“I thought you would say that,” BG said pleased with herself.
We dropped Richard back at the hospital and he left the stack of papers with me to go through. More stuff to read, but I knew I had to do it. It was my job because I had to write the script since there was no one else that would do it.
We made two other stops in the area. The first was to visit a man who had had his leg amputated. He was severe factor VIII deficient and HIV positive. He lived in a small town and no one knew he was positive, even his kids. Of course, BG had me tell my story first. I mustered all the enthusiastic animation I could gather, paying my entry fee with myself, before finally asking the man if he’d be willing to talk about his condition on camera.
“They’d give them hell in school if anybody knew,” he said.
He was basically a prisoner in his own house. His wife worked full time and he could do nothing. BG questioned him about the meds he had been taking and about the weight he had lost, a part of that being the leg from above the knee down. He was pissed. It was more than being pissed, it was the despair of living on a planet where the apes were in control of who thought what. I didn’t see his teeth. He didn’t smile.
Our next stop was Parnelly’s house. He was also severe factor VIII deficient and HIV positive with no sign of AIDS yet. He had the limp and good teeth and a beautiful wife and a dog that wouldn’t stop barking. I performed first, causing the dog to chatter and bark until I finally moved down onto the floor and let it bite my hand. That made the dog shut up. It didn’t bite hard. The little dog just laughed and laughed and came over and clamped its jaws on my wrist while I tried to carry on a conversation sitting on the floor at Parnelly’s feet talking about blood and guts.
The people I had been meeting, with the exception of Craig who was in his early thirties, were in their forties or fifties. Brent and the Duke were in their late twenties. For this multi-generational project, I also needed someone older, I told BG. Especially since the King, Dr. Brinkhaus had been involved in blood since the 1930s, we needed someone who had seen all the changes the treatments had gone through since that time, as a recipient of those treatments.
BG and I stopped off at a roadside hot dog joint and picked up food for the ride back to her house in Carey, Dutch treat. My money was fast disappearing, and the next payment from the fascist water man would be the last. On the ride home she told me about the Judge.
“I’ve seen him speak,” she said. “He has this very quiet distinguished voice and no one is more knowledgeable about hemophilia that I know of. And he knows the King, Dr. Brinkhaus. He’s in his 60s,” she said.
I saw an opportunity for another meeting with the King. OM.