The European Enigma (LSD, #9)

44. The Welsh Writer

The Welsh Writer

"Do I look dumb?"

Florence looked at the Welsh writer and closed her eyes. Negotiations with women were tough. Negotiations with men were a lot tougher. But all that was nothing, compared with negotiations with stupid men; those negotiations were always a direct attack with nuclear, biological and chemical weapons of mass destruction at her over-sensitive nerves: "No, Bertrand. You don't look dumb."

"Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"Yes, Bertrand. I understand you perfectly."

"So you agree with me: it can't be done. If you want me to let others think I'm Dutch, it has to start with me, looking dumb. Dutch writers look dumb. Well, to be honest, I only know one Dutch writer, that bloke who was on TV during the Poetry In Motion Contest of the European Games, but you have to admit he looked pretty dumb. And second, when I open my mouth, I have to speak with that incomprehensible accent those Dutch people always have when they speak English, like: «Haw do you do? Ant haw do you do your waife?» That's already two arguments why it can't be done."

Florence opened her eyes again, conscious of the problems. She put her elbows on the table and let the tips of her fingers of her spread-out hands touch each other, almost like a prayer. She had no choice. She'd heard his voice. The man had a point, he had two points at least, but she had no alternative and he had to understand that: "I don't have any alternative, Bertrand. And if you're honest: you don't have any alternative either. How many manuscripts have you sent me so far?"

Bertrand started to count on his fingers but Florence knew the number by heart: "Twenty-seven. And they all received my warm welcome during those long winter nights, burning in the chimney, making me hot. You can hardly write your name, Bertrand. I recall your fall from grace, another time, another place. Face reality: as a Welsh writer, you have no future. Now as a Dutch writer, though... No! Don't interrupt me. I don't want excuses. I want to hear how we're going to solve the problems. Let me hear positive thoughts. Tell me I can trust you. Swear you'll do what's necessary. That's the attitude I missed in your writing, Bertrand, and you're not leaving here before you have adopted this positive attitude in your thinking and your acts. Am I clear?"

Bertrand lowered his head and muttered: "Yes, ma'am."

Florence started her summary from the start: "So I have this problem with a novel, in fact with a series of seven novels: my company signed to publish them, but the author of these novels is in jail. Yes, it's Ronaldo Siète, the same guy you saw on TV, in his pathetic poetic performance, which put him behind bars for the rest of his life, and the first thirty of his afterlives as well. How can he do any publicity for me whilst in jail? How can an inmate go to shopping malls and congresses, meet the press and readers, and promote his novels?"

Bertrand interrupted her, again: "That's why writers have publishers, you know: the writer takes care of the writing and the publisher takes care of the publicity. What part of the publicity is left when the writer has to do all the promotion?"

"Oh, don't interrupt me all the time, Bertrand. I try to clarify the situation. Of course, the publisher handles the publicity: we find someone who goes on tour to promote the book. Usually, that 'someone' is the writer, who is an expert on the topic and doesn't cost us one cent. The only problem here is that I have a signed contract with a writer whose residence is the State Hotel. His straightjacket doesn't quite fit the image we want for the people we work with. But I have a simple and practical solution: we find another writer who can disguise himself and do the promotion instead. This writer... is you, Bertrand. Go everywhere, tell people you're Ronaldo Siète, sign a few books, flash a few smiles, tell readers you're so happy they liked your book, things like that. Most other writers like to get attention from their readers, you know. I'm doing you a big favour."