Fearful Symmetries

by Thomas F Monteleone

  Feeling a flood of warmth and a special sense of gratitude, Dominic Kazan stepped forward to take his bow.

  finale

  When I was about fourteen or so, I was about two years into that great series of Ballantine Books paperback reprints of all kinds of classic science fiction, fantasy, and horror.1 It got to the point that I knew each month when the new titles would be delivered to my local bookstore, and Mike Keating, Bobby Schaller, and I would go down there to scoop up whatever was new that month. On one occasion, I can remember Mike picking up this book with a strange looking cover and saying something like: “Hey, this one looks pretty cool…” It was called The Survivor and Others by H. P. Lovecraft—and it proved to be cool, indeed.

  I remember reading this tale about a guy who discovered this underground passage beneath an old house in a New England town. And although I’ve actually forgotten the details of the piece, I recall the protagonist dealing with dank chambers that had a strange odor as if some hideous creature had recently slithered along the path. I discovered a whole new lexicon of strange words like “Silurian” and “batrachian” and “obsidian,” plus a bunch of strange references to places and things I never heard of—Arkham, Innsmouth, The Miskatonic University, and of course, the NECRONOMICON. And I haven’t even mentioned the dark litany of names of the Old Ones…2

  Yeah, I was hooked on this H.P. character. I was fascinated by all the esoteric references to what appeared to be a large body of work about a race of beings that inhabited the earth hundreds of thousands of years, perhaps even millions, before human civilization had chipped out its first flint arrowhead.3 I didn’t know it at the time, but I would gradually piece together a much larger tapestry, a protohistory of sorts, which has been called the Cthulhu Mythos—a body of fictional references to beings, places, events, discoveries, and stories of encounters with an earlier age of the Earth.

  I had also recently discovered Poe, so Lovecraft’s outrageously florid prose didn’t bother me that much. In fact, it probably infected me, and caused my own early writing to be heavily freighted with too many adverbs and adjectives. Years went by as I tracked down books and stories by Lovecraft, and the picture of his metaphysical arcana (see—he would love that phrase!) became gradually clear. The larger body of the Mythos has become a kind of canon to which many, many writers have contributed their own stories over the decades.

  I still read a Lovecraft story once in a while, more in appreciation for the groundwork he put into place in the literature of dark fantasy, then to discover something new. His work remains popular with certain small presses devoted entirely to doing work about him and his fiction. One of them, Chaosium, planned a book entitled Songs of Cthulhu, which wanted stories in the Mythos, which employed a musical theme in the tradition of Lovecraft’s classic tale, “The Music of Erich Zann.” After accepting the invitation, I decided I might re-read “Zann” to see what the editor, Mark Rainey, was looking for. It was not a good idea, I discovered. Lovecraft’s story pretty much “said it all” on the theme, and I was more bummed than inspired. I had no desire to re-invent the wheel, and had a tough time coming up with a tale that would be distinctively mine and yet nod in all the right directions.

  Then one night, while I was still casting around for just the right idea, Elizabeth was doing her nightly channel-zap with the remote and she settled on the film version of one her favorite (she loves musicals) Andrew Lloyd Webber productions. I watched it for about ten seconds before I knew what I was going to be writing about. All I had was the title, but that was all I would need. The story, I was confident, would write itself and as usual, it did.

  1 Published in the early Sixties, the line of books proved to be a seminal influence on me and my uniting. Many of them featured the surrealistic artwork of Richard Gid Powers—swirling landscapes of color and motion, populated occasionally by spindle-like mannequins—that were as captivating as the fiction therein. The Ballantine imprint introduced me to other magicians such as Ray Bradbury, Henry Kuttner, Theodore Sturgeon, Robert Bloch, Richard Matheson, Robert Sheckley, Joseph Payne Brennan, Frederik Pohl, Anthony Boucher, C. M. Kornbluth, William Tenn, John Wyndham, Harlan Ellison…and eventually some guy named H. P. Lovecraft.

  2 The names I can’t spell without looking them up; and since I’m sitting here comfortably, and nowhere near a book where I can check them, I’m just going to assume you’re familiar with them to some degree. If not, then your development as a reader and mutant has been severely retarded; and you need to go out and get books with titles such as The Outsider, At the Mountains of Madness, Dagon, and The Dunwich Horror.

  3 Oddly enough, some very current thinking by scientist-thinkers like Graham Hancock and writers like Art Bell and Whitley Strieber have been discussing the possibilities that the Earth, through violent, cataclysmic changes of climate and topography, scrubs itself clean every several hundred thousand years (or less). And in the process, removes all traces of the detritus of any civilizations or beings which may have evolved and flourished on its thin crust. If these guys are on the right track, wouldn’t it be weird if Lovecraft was in some way, kind of half-assed correct? Can you spell irony? I thought that you could.

  FAX

  DATE: March 3

  TO: Garrett Fairfax

  FROM: Shirley Zuckerman, The Actors Advocates Agency

  Great news, Garrett! I just got off the phone with Michael Morrison (yes, that Michael Morrison). He wants you to audition for the lead in a new musical/rock opera he’s going to be directing.

  10:00 a.m. This coming Tuesday. The Helen Hayes. It’s called Lovecraft, I love you! and I have no idea what it’s about. Morrison saw you in Soho. That dreadful little comedy about Saddam Hussein, and thought you’d be perfect for the lead!

  Call me as soon as you get this. Congratulations, and give my regards to Broadway!

  Shirley

  * * *

  (…so leave your message after the beep…beeeeeep!)

  Shirley, this is Garrett. Just got your fax and Jesus Christ, I can’t believe it! Tell Mr. Morrison I’ll be there, and he won’t be disappointed. Thanks, kiddo, for believing in me all this time! This is the break I’ve been waiting for. Jesus, I can’t believe it…! Call me and let’s catch lunch at Marv’s Deli. The reubens are on me this time. See ya and thanks again.

  (click)

  * * *

  April 14

  Dear Analia:

  So’s how’s my favorite sister doing back in Cincinnati? Are John and the boys doing okay? Last time I heard from you he was taking that new job at American Express. Hope it worked out.

  Anyway, you won’t believe what happened at the last casting call I went to—I got picked! Not only that, but I got the female romantic lead! That’s the best part! I’m playing the part of Sonia, the girlfriend of the hero, a guy named Howard. I haven’t gotten my script and songs yet, so I don’t know too much about the story. It’s a rock opera called Lovecraft, I Love You! and I heard it’s about some guy who was a writer in Rhode Island. Sounds kind of boring, but who cares! Your sister is on Broadway! Can you believe it? I’m not sure I do yet.

  Don’t tell Mom yet. I want to write her a surprise note, okay?

  We’ll talk soon.

  Love,

  Estela

  * * *

  MEMO

  TO:

  Michael Morrison, Director

  FROM:

  Isabel Cortez, Assistant to the Chairman

  The Arkham Foundation Board of Directors would like to formally congratulate you on your commencement of rehearsals for Lovecraft, I Love You!

  Please do not hesitate to contact me for anything you may need during this exciting phase of our production. The Board anxiously awaits opening night.

  * * *

  (excerpt from Lovecraft, I Love You! songbook)

  I don’t know why you write those

  Sill-lee stuh-uh-orrrr-eeees!

  And I don’t really care…

  The only thi
ng I know is that

  I luh-uh-uvvvvv you!

  So you know that ease-a-lee I don’t scare!

  * * *

  June 2nd

  Dear Analia:

  It’s me, your sister. I know I could just call you and just tell you all this stuff, but believe me, the letter writing is very therapeutic. It slows me down. Makes me take my time. That way, I compose my thoughts and I keep things under control. Everything in this city is so…high-energy, so frenetic. I need some time when I simply can’t be so UP—know what I mean?

  Anyway, it’s been more than a month since we started rehearsals on the musical and I don’t know what to think. I’ve learned all my songs and my dance numbers, and sister-dear, I have to tell you—this thing is a squawking turkey. If we get through opening night with our reputations intact, we’ll all be very lucky. If this show lasts more than a week, we should start dancing in the streets.

  Analia, you know me—I would never bite the hands that feed me, and you know I would have probably killed to get this job (or any job, really), but I have to confide in you…this is the worst show I have ever seen. The songs are stupid and half of them aren’t even written in English, I don’t think. The story (what I can make of it, that is) is unbelievably dumb. And the main character is this racist recluse named Howard who writes scary stories in Providence. He discovered the remains of this ancient civilization and the names of some of the places and the people are like…unpronounceable! I’m telling you—it’s the dumbest thing I have ever seen. Even our director (a really famous guy who did Dogs! and Goodbye, Molly!) is embarrassed by this show.

  I don’t know why I’m telling you all this, except that I guess I never thought it could be like this. I always thought that getting a part in a Broadway show was like the best thing that could ever happen to you. I never imagined it could be so…so bad.

  But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to stick this one out. Some of the other people in the show who’ve become my friends, we all say that even if this one’s a “bomb,” we’ll all have a “leg up” on the next audition, the next show. (That’s a little theater-talk, for you)

  So hang in there, sister. Tell John I said “Hi!” and give the little boys some hugs and kisses for me. If by some miracle my show lasts more than a week, I’ll send you some comps. Not that you’ll like it, but you should see it just to see how awful it is. You won’t believe it. (The worst part is that it will kind of prove to John that he’s right—that all musicals are dumb). Oh well.

  We still have six weeks of rehearsal before Opening (and probably Closing) Night. I guess I should wrap this up and get some sleep.

  Love,

  Estela

  * * *

  (…and I’ll call you back as soon as possible…beeeeep!)

  Okay, Harvey, this is Michael! Now where the fuck are you, man!? Everytime I call you about this show you got me hooked into, you are NEV-VER fuck-king there! Harvey, if you’re screening your calls, pick up the phone goddammit!

  (pause)

  Damn! I have to talk to you about this nutty show…Harvey, it’s terrible. It’s career self-immolation! I know I have a contract but I’m telling you—I can’t stay on this…this theatrical abortion! So Harvey, I’m telling you—if I don’t hear from you tonight, I’m quitting in the morning. I’m calling that Cortez harpie at that bogus Foundation…and telling her to find herself another Director. I’m telling her to get somebody who never wants to work on Broadway again.

  Because I can tell you—that somebody ain’t me!

  * * *

  From: R’lyeh@necronomi.con

  Date: Sat, 18 June 23:34:53 -0500 (EST)

  To: mmorrison@nymailex.com

  Subject: Your Resignation

  Mr. Morrison:

  Your agent, Harvey Goldstone, has just informed me of your wishes to disenfranchise yourself from the project. I am very sad to receive such news. I must take this opportunity to inform you personally the same thing I said to Mr. Goldstone, viz., you are under contract to the Arkham Foundation and are therefore an indentured employee of the Foundation. You have no choice but to fulfill your obligations. If you read the terms of your employment closely, as I have also requested of Mr. Goldstone, you might notice that you risk dire consequences if you attempt to disregard your contractual agreement.

  Thank you for your understanding and expected compliance.

  In sincerity, I remain,

  Albert Hazred, Chairman of the Board

  P.S. I am sending this message in duplicate by means of fax, phone, FedEx, messenger, and United States Postal Service as well because it is very important that you receive this warning.

  * * *

  The New York Times (AP)—It was reported by Lieutenant Detective Thomas Brancuso of the NYPD’s homicide division that Michael Morrison, the well-known Broadway Director, was found murdered in his Park Avenue South coop early this morning. “The circumstances surrounding his death are very strange,” said Brancuso. “We aren’t ready to divulge all the details, but I can tell you this—I’ve been on the force nineteen years, and I’ve never seen anything like it.” Mr. Morrison was working on a new rock-opera entitled Lovecraft, I Love You! He was a native of Painesville, Ohio, and was thirty-nine years old.

  * * *

  (…so leave your message after the beep…beeep!)

  Hey Shirley, this is Garrett…aren’t you ever home? Anyway, I guess you heard about Morrison—waking up this morning and finding himself dead. Know what I mean? The rumors are flying around here like feathers in a pillow fight, and I was wondering if you’ve heard anything or if you might know what’s really going on. The one that’s flying through the cast and crew is he quit the show yesterday. Not surprised ’cause it was no secret he hated it. Got so bad he was starting to hate all of us, too. Know what I mean? Bad scene all around. I mean, I gotta tell ya, (but please, don’t tell anybody I said anything…) the show’s a stinker. If we don’t tank the first week or so, I’ll be shocked, stunned, and all the rest of that surprised stuff. But a job’s a job—especially if it’s on Broadway. Know what I mean? So look, give me a call as soon as you can, as soon as you know something, okay? Somebody in the show told me they have a friend at the 84th Precinct and he told her Morrison was like…like torn into lots of pieces. Only some of the pieces were missing…So anyway, I’ll be waiting to hear from you. Ms. Cortez came by this afternoon and said we’ll have a new Director tomorrow. I’ll tell you who it is when I find out. The show must go on, right? C-ya!

  (click!)

  * * *

  (excerpt from WVXN-EM’s Eye On Broadway Weekly Feature:)

  EOB: There’s been a lot of speculation surrounding the new rock opera, Lovecraft, I Love You!, which is scheduled to open next week at the Helen Hayes. I’m speaking with one of the show’s leads, Estela Duarte…How’re you doing, Estela?

  Duarte: Great, Margot, just great!

  EOB: Your show has been pretty much of a secret from the beginning, but ever since the tragic death of your Director, the legendary Michael Morrison, the producers of Lovecraft, I Love You! have really put the clamps on, wouldn’t you say?

  Duarte: Well, yeah, I guess that’s true. But I know they’ve always wanted to keep the whole show under wraps until we actually opened.

  EOB: Do you have any idea why they’ve wanted it like that?

  Duarte: Well gee, I don’t know. Nobody ever explained it to us. I just know that it’s in everybody’s contract that we’re forbidden to reveal anything about the show until after Opening Night.

  EOB: Wow, then I guess my next question isn’t going to get answered—I was going to ask you what could be so exciting in the show’s plot that would make it more top secret than the Manhattan Project?

  Duarte: (giggling) You know, I’m not sure. Why don’t you ask me that question next week, after we’ve opened?

  EOB: I certainly will…But in the meantime, what can you tell us about the rumors that several other people involved with the sh
ow have either died in horrible accidents or have been maimed terribly…

  Duarte: I’m…I’m afraid I can’t comment on that. I don’t know anything about that.

  EOB: Now, come on, Estela—which one is it?

  Duarte: (shrugging, giggling) Well, I guess a little of both!

  EOB: We’ve also heard there’s some huge production expenses connected to this project. Care to comment?

  Duarte: Well…

  EOB: Our spies tell us that there’s a scene where an ancient city, buried beneath the deepest part of the ocean, suddenly rises up in a breath-taking display of lightning and volcanoes, and lots of steam and boiling sea foam.

  Duarte: (giggling yet again) Well if that’s what your spies have told you, I guess you better decide whether or not to believe them.

  EOB: Okay, well thanks, Estela! You’ve got us all curious, to say the least. This is Margot Vanderkelen for WVXN-FM and I’ll see you next week with another Eye On Broadway!

  * * *

  (…after the beep, do your thing…beeep!)

  Garrett, this is Shirley, calling you back. It’s phone-tag again, and you’re it! Anyway, sugar, tomorrow’s the big night, huh? Just calling to wish you luck, and tell you I’ll be there, but I’m going to be a little late. But I’ll be there before Intermission, I promise. Despite what you think, the buzz is you’ve got a hit on your hands. With all that hush-hush stuff and all, you’ve got the whole theater gang pretty excited. I think you’re just being too hard on yourself. Oh, and wasn’t that awful about Margot Vanderkelen? Anyway, see you tomorrow night! Break a leg!