Dídac found himself floundering. Rarely had he been on the receiving end of such a powerful gaze, such a burning beam of intensity. Because Kim’s smile was not one of friendship. It was the smile of a radiantgod seated on Mount Olympus, gazing down at some delectable mortal that intrigues him, knowing that all the choices are his, all the power to take what he sees fit. Dídac would normally have been outraged, incensed that anyone meet his eyes with such brazenness as Kim had just displayed. But strangely, having Kim see him like that for the first time, he had felt intensely vulnerable—yet seen. It was as if Kim had looked deep inside him, reading his innermost secrets, his fears, informing him that he had complete power over him, and yet letting him know that Dídac was safe in his care. It felt humbling, but not unpleasant.
Then, a round of applause from the assembled press pulled him from his reveries. Kim was standing up to address them, Laia at his side. With the director’s attention now outward, on the audience of reporters, Dídac was free to observe him again. The man’s body was tall and muscular, the light slacks he was wearing hugged while showing off a spectacular ass. Dídac found himself wondering who had been in there. Did the man have a lover or partner waiting for him back in Melbourne? Very little information about Kim Delatour’s personal life was available on the web. You might have thought he was straight if not for him having pulled together a yearly production for Melbourne Pride from 2015 up until 2020, which was only curtailed by Covid. It was during the Covid confinement that he had started writingThe Swan. This was pretty much what he was saying and Laia was translating right now. But Dídac had already looked all of this up online, and knew the man’s biography well. What he didn’t know was anything about the guy’s personal life.
His speech had now turned to Catalonia, causing Dídac’s ears to prick up. He was saying how when deciding on the perfect country to stageThe Swanfor the sixth time, he had had to engage in very little internal debate. Had he used that word “country” to acknowledge thathe knew that Catalonia thought of itself as that within the state of Spain? Where else but thecountry(there it was again) that produced the world’s bestcava? No champagnefaux pasthis time—he had quickly learned his stuff. The guy was nothing if not a consummate diplomat. In that moment, Dídac saw through him. He had almost been caught, but the reality, plain to see, was that the guy was a worthless sleaze. A snake-oil salesman. Dídac wanted zero more to do with him.
Even so, Dídac joined in the applause that the press were washing over Delatour. Then suddenly, it was his, Felipa and Domènec’s turn to give the press something quotable. Dídac had been thinking about what he would say, something made up, obviously. He wasn’t a brilliant actor for nothing.
However, suddenly he was standing there, before the lights, facing another audience—an audience of press, but an audience none the less. And he relaxed. This was his element, his natural milieu.
“When I was in my final year of high school,” he found himself saying, “I was trying to decide on my career between becoming a chef or becoming a teacher. They were two totally conflicting and contrasting career choices, yet each one represented certain values that were fundamental to who I was at that time in my life.
“To me cooking meant creativity, sharing and giving something to others. It was a primary activity that every human being needed in order to live healthily, and so I thought it would be a worthy path to pursue in my life and career.
“Teaching was also giving and sharing, but rather than stopping there, you were giving young people the tools to make their own lives, to cook their own meals, stand on their own two feet. ‘Give a man a fish, he eats for a day; teach him how to fish, he eats forever.’ I don’t know who said that, but it was my favorite quote back then. So, I wasstarting to lean more towards teaching as the most noble profession, even if cooking might give me the tools to travel far and wide and visit amazing countries.”
Dídac had no idea why he had gone down this path. This was not what he had meant to say at all. But now he was in the flow, the confession just seemed to keep unreeling out of himself, and he was helpless to halt it.
“And then my parents took me to see a theater show, one of the big lights of the Festival Grec that year. It was a touring company, from…”Here it was…“…from Australia.”
Below he heard, or felt rather a murmur or ripple flow through the audience, like the sighing of a massive beast. He knew he had them. This was why you did this, for this moment when you had them eating out of the palm of your hand. He went on:
“That production, ten years ago now, was the first major starring role of one of Australia’s greatest talents. Being in the audience of that show, feeling the transformation that young actor worked on me, ripped from me all of my carefully laid-out plans; every conviction, every sensible career choice I’d carefully pored over in consultation with my parents. It thoroughly transformed me, burning out of me all my adolescent certainties, the way a forge vaporises the wax original from a mold, leaving an empty cavity ready to receive the molten bronze.
“From that night forth, I knew that, though I might cook for friends or even work as a kitchen hand, even if someday I gave the occasional class, I would never be a professional chef or a full-time teacher. From that moment on I knew my destiny was to be an actor. I wanted to shatter people’s preconceptions, help lay bare their soul, examine ideas, inspire hope, make people laugh, cry, and think—and even perhaps, to transform humanity as thoroughly as I had been moved that night. Iwanted to change the world for the better for years to come. What force could ever be a greater good to which to dedicate one’s life than that, the theater?
“That show wasBoomerang, by the Melbourne Theater Company, on its European tour, and its young star was a dynamo of talent, who was just twenty-five years old. His name was Kim Delatour. So, my dedication toThe Swanis a further step in my evolution as an actor, and a further commitment to change the world for the better through the power of acting and the stage. That is why I stand before you today, ready to give everything I have within me, toThe Swan. The only thing I ask is that you come here in five weeks’ time on press night, sit in the same seats where you are presently seated, and judge for yourselves whether we have been successful in transforming humanity, just a tiny bit. Thank you.”
The applause, as Dídac returned to his seat, sounded enthusiastic—not quite thunderous, given the audience were only a few dozen press bodies, but excellent under the circumstances. He was drained, found himself blushing, whichneverhappened when he was on stage, and was afraid to look over at that figure seated under the spotlight. Had he just said all that he had said? About a snake-oil salesman? He had practically bared his innermost soul! Why? For the rest of the press conference, he stared at a spot on the stage, possibly a grease stain, which somewhat resembled a cat’s smiling face.
9
After the press conference ended, Laia, guiding Kim down off the stage, suggested that he be available to talk further with the press:
“Getting them on side this early on in the rehearsal process is good. We feed them material, regular interviews and so on. It all helps with building impact, the buzz, and a friendly reception as we approach opening night.”
“Yes, of course, that’s what we’re here for today. Just stick beside me, as your interpreting is invaluable.”
However, while saying that, she saw his eyes scanning the theater. Was he looking for Dídac? If so, he’d already left. While translating Dídac’s speech into his ear, Laia had seen a side of the director she had not expected to. If she hadn’t known better, she would have said he was deeply moved. And vulnerable.
But then, straight after Dídac’s speech, the press conference broke up, and they were coming down off stage into a mêlée of reporters gathered below. Photographers were asking him if he would mind posingfor a moment. With the questions coming thick and fast, and as able as Laia was in fielding and translating both questions and answers, she could see his head was spinning. At one moment, he turned to her in a murmured aside, almost as if she were his fellow conspirator:
“This is amazing! It would be almost unheard of in Australia for a theater practitioner to get this sort of attention. Not with the show five weeks away!”
She smiled:
“We take our theater seriously in Catalonia.”
But she sensed he was flagging in energy, and began ferrying him toward the foyer. Near the doors, well removed from the group of reporters, a slim young man was standing. He was dressed simply yet tastefully in similar off-white colors to Kim. But with his diffident, languid air, short-cut black hair, dark eyes, and aquiline nose, he cut quite a different figure. As Kim and Laia approached, he stepped into their path.
“Good afternoon, Mr. Delatour, it was incredibly moving to hear you speak just now. I have been a fan of yours since forever. My name is Isard Muntaner.”
“Isard, of course. I loved your audition tape. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Since Isard’s command of English was superb, Laia stood to one side, momentarily at a loss. Had Dídac seen Isard in the theater, or had the other actor entered after he had left? As far as she could see this was not a planned meeting. If he was going ahead with auditioning other actors, surely Delatour would have said something to her, wouldn’t he? Or maybe not, seeing as how he knew she was Dídac’s friend.
“Mr. Delatour, I was wondering if you would have five minutes of your time to spare me? I would love to be able to talk to you about mywork and projects? I think there is things that could be of great interest to you.”
“Yes, by all means.” And Delatour was walking Isard into the foyer, his hand resting on the younger man’s back in a friendly manner. “Let’s go and have a coffee in the bar, and I’m all ears. Laia, could you give us twenty minutes? Then I’ll meet you upstairs and we can go over tomorrow’s rehearsal.”
