It takes the manager some time to work out why this delivery has been returned, for by now our faces are almost obscured with destination labels, stamps, and “This Way Up” stickers. Moreover the outer layer of clingfilm is somewhat discolored by dust, oil, saltwater, and the effusions found at the bottom of whaling ships. We have been garlanded with flowers by hippies in San Francisco, swaying maidens in Hawaii and holy men in India as we floated down the River Ganges at one point. Eventually, however, he peels aside enough of the accumulated debris to recognize us.
“Also,” he says. “This is somewhat irregular.”
He summons flunkeys to release us. I cannot repress a wistful sigh of regret. Happily it takes them some time to unwrap us, as they cannot find the end of the clingfilm. Eventually we are released, perfectly preserved and as fresh as daisies. However, it is a while before we can use our limbs properly and for some time we have to be wheeled about on trolleys.
Soon our voyage is just a happy memory. It is never to fade or be forgotten, but time changes all things and no man can predict the vagaries of the future. Only loss and things wrapped in clingfilm are eternal.
And so we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.
Chapter 50
It ends at the concert Roy Orbison is playing at the clingfilm factory. Happy workers shuffle their feet in time to the music and gaily wave streamers of clingfilm in the air as Roy regales them with his hits.
During the interval the mayor of Düsseldorf comes onstage and presents Roy and Jetta and I with medals for our diligence while the crowd applaud and nod their heads with approval. Then the manager gives us passes to the clingfilm factory so we can go there any time we want, even at night or during holidays, and rescinds the order that I am banished and cannot send him letters or smile at him through the windows of his house or clean his car or post chocolates and flowers and thank-you notes through his letterbox or put on women’s clothing and wigs and attempt to talk to him in cocktail bars or sleep on his roof or lobby religious leaders for his canonization. I may now do all of these things if I want, or some of them anyway, but I do not wish to as it has already been explained to me that he did not invent clingfilm.
He further presents us with a lifetime’s supply of clingfilm. I estimate that I already have one of those, but you cannot be too careful and besides I do not wish to seem ungrateful, so I merely smile and bow my thanks.
Finally the mayor gives Jetta a bucket of prime Pomeranian worms tied up with a little ribbon and the crowd says “Ah.”
However, then a problem arises.
“Ach,” says Roy backstage, “that pestilent jackal of the press and his intrusive ways! Behold this.”
He passes me the latest edition of Rolling Stone magazine which a flunkey has just delivered.
On the front cover is a picture of Roy—wrapped up in clingfilm! It is an enlarged still from the footage taken by the film crew when Roy hopped past in the park.
“It is not your best side, Roy,” I say, “but it captures your essential vigor and zeal.”
“Wait until you read the article,” admonishes Roy, moaning and wringing his hands.
Obediently I turn to the story within.
“NEW DIRECTION FOR ORBISON?” it is titled.
It continues:
“Also.
“I have to report that there is exciting news for music fans from the pleasant and orderly city of Düsseldorf. For Mr. Roy Orbison, that well-known rock troubadour and man in black, has been behaving in a singular fashion of late. At the climax of his recent concert in the city (at which, as a separate review will attest, not a wrong note was played) Orbison surprised and delighted his fans by playing an encore wrapped entirely in a clinging plastic-like material of wondrous translucence—later established by this reporter’s diligence to be a miracle substance known as ‘clingfilm,’ said to be used in catering.
“Moreover Orbison, who is thought to hail from North America originally, has been delighting his show business friends by donning this strange attire at private soirees, and some of them intend to follow his lead.
“ ‘It was groovy, man,’ said Mr. James Morrison of the Doors. ‘It was like some cosmic birth caul, and then he popped out. I want to take that trip.’
“While Mr. Morrison sadly admits that his brain cannot be relied upon for purposes of verification, both Yul Brynner, the noted bald actor, and Miss Mitzi Klavierstuhl, the acceptable face of weather-prediction, independently confirmed that it was so.
“At a park the next day Mr. Orbison was spotted energetically hopping along wrapped in the wonder substance in the company of his friend Mr. Ulrich Haarbürste and the latter’s well-groomed terrapin, Jetta.
“What can this portend? Is it some witty statement of the barrier between artist and audience? An acknowledgment of the impermeable membrane that separates one individual mind from another through which all our attempts at communication are somewhat muffled? Could it be some defiant declaration that his music will never go stale? Is he symbolically donning the mantle of a prophet or savant of a coming new age of scientific marvel? Is it perhaps some high-tech shroud heralding a new techno-gothic direction to his music? Does Orbison adopt this garb simply for the interesting acoustic effect? Or to increase the air of mystery and enigma already fostered by his trademark dark glasses?
“Who can tell?
“But in this reporter’s humble opinion it is the most exciting development in rock music since the wah-wah pedal.
“Orbison has proved himself a trailblazer and in consequence I await his new album with a keenness that falls just the right side of unseemly impatience. Meanwhile all rock fans, musicologists or interested observers of fashion are counseled to attend one of Orbison’s shows as soon as they can fit it into their schedule to observe this fascinating new development for themselves. Intellectual stimulation and a more visceral enjoyment seem certain.
“PS!
“Another thought has just entered my brain. It occurs that no man can predict the future and I cannot in conscience guarantee that Orbison will repeat his experiment in future concerts. If he does not do so, I for one would be disappointed and in that case it could only be concluded that he is not a trailblazer after all but rather a whim-tossed gadfly who wore clingfilm in some deplorable bid for momentary attention.”
“You perceive?” says Roy. “I am finished in this business.”
“How so, Roy?”
“When I am not wrapped in clingfilm at this or any other concert I will be deemed a vapid dilettante and flibbertigibbet who has trifled with people’s artistic expectations!”
I cough discreetly. “Of course, there is one thing we might try . . .”
Roy wrings his hands again. “I perceive what is in your mind but I could not ask. I could not possibly ask you to follow me wherever I go and attend every concert, show business soiree, and gala premiere and wrap me in clingfilm at the climax of each. Could I?” He looks pleading. “It would mean free tickets and backstage passes for you and Jetta for life.”
“What are friends for, Roy?”
And so, ten minutes later . . .
Who could have predicted that I and my terrapin Jetta would again step onstage during Roy Orbison’s concert, or that I would be given a contract to become one of his entourage and have to wrap him in clingfilm at every concert and social occasion for the rest of my life? Yet such is the thing that has occurred.
“Thank you, Düsseldorf,” says Roy into the microphone after playing the second half of his set with pinpoint accuracy. “You have been a well-behaved audience. Yet I can tell there is something you have been waiting for and keenly anticipating . . . ”
There are excited murmurs and the crowd nudge each other.
“You will not be disappointed! I hereby present my close friend Ulrich Haarbürste, a local man of exemplary diligence, and his terrapin Jetta!” There are cheers for both of us. “He will now completely wrap me in clingfil
m!”
As the crowd cheers ecstatically, I take out my clingfilm and bow.
“Commence,” says Roy.
I start from the feet and work my way up. I must work diligently and yet with a rock and roll attitude. It is strange yet wonderful to be wrapping him knowing that even if he is released I will soon be able to wrap him again, not once but many times. Soon, Roy Orbison is completely wrapped in clingfilm. My happy switch is set to the maximum.
I take the microphone. “You are completely wrapped in clingfilm!” I announce.
The crowd goes wild and so does my heart. Even Jetta seems strangely moved and later on does some stage diving.
Appendix
German-Language Tales
You may sometimes forget that, like Conrad and Nabokov, English is not my first language. Nevertheless such is the case.
Nowadays I write most of my tales of Roy in Clingfilm in English for a number of reasons. However, there exist several tales written in German which I have not translated, as certain nuances would be lost. As a curiosity I append three of them here so that you may compare.
Future scholars should note that these stories occur at various points in the timeline of the canon.
With that I bid you farewell. If you have enjoyed this book you should certainly recommend it to your friends, and perhaps indulge in discreet lobbying of the Nobel Prize committee.
—Ulrich
Auf Dem Strand
Ich liege neben dem Wasser mit meine Beinahe-Schildkröten-ähnlichen-Geschöpf heisst Jetta. Plötzlich kommt er entlang der Sand—Herr Roy Orbison, die berühmt Meistersinger.
Weil es ein sonniger Tag ist und wir sind am Strand, er ist gekleidet in ein schwarzes bade-anzug und zwei Paare von schwarze Augenglas, ein Paar über den anderen.
“Guten Nachmittag, Roy,” Ich sage. “Was Machen Sie am Beach?”
“Ich wünsche Sonnenschein,” sagt Roy.
“Eure Deutsch ist sehr gut.”
“Dein auch.”
Ich verbeuge.
“Achtung!” sagt einen Publik-Ansage Tannoy Laut-sprecher plötzlich. “Vorsichtig von Solar Radiazion! Nicht zu vergessen zu machen mit der Sonnenschein-Creme, oder ein schreckliche Schicksal wartet Sie!”
“Ach,” sagt Roy, “Ich bin spurlos versenkt. Ich habe meine Sonnenschein-Creme vergessen!”
“Natürlich, ich würde meinen geben,” Ich sage, “aber Ich habe es aller auf meiner Beinahe-Schildkröten-ähnlichen-Geschöpf geputten. Aber Halt! Ich habe einen Kopf Sturm! Glücklicherweise habe ich ein Zylinder oder zwei, oder es ist möglich drei, von besitzensuchenzugenmachenübergruppenschnurpenplastische mit mir, für mannigfach ganz unschuldigen Gründe. Wenn ich Sie in dem besitzensuchenzugenmachenübergruppenschnurpenplastische mantel, es würde Sie von dem Solar-Radiazion schützen, aber Eingang erlauben zu der gesund Sonnenschein!”
“Wunderbar,” sagt Roy. “Es ist klar. Sie müssen mich im besitzensuchenzugenmachenübergruppenschnurpenplastische bedecken, schnell.”
Ich beginne an seinen Pflip-Pfloppen und arbeit meine Weg aufwärts. Ich wickele ihn schnell aber mit diligenz. Bald, Roy Orbison ist völlig gewickelt mit besitzensuchenzugenmachenüber-gruppenschnurpenplastische. Es ist Sonnenschein innen meine Herz.
“Sie sind ganz gewickelt im besitzensuchenzugenmachenüber-gruppenschnurpenplastische,” Ich sage.
“Bitte,” sagt Roy, “Employen Sie das intimat Du.”
“Vielen Dank! Du bist ganz gewickelt im besitzensuchenzugen-machenübergruppenschnurpenplastische. Und du kannst ‘Du’ zu mir auch sagen.”
“Vielleicht ein anderes Zeit.”
Wir kommenzen zu sonnen-baden.
“Du kennst, es schlägt mir,” Ich sage, gedankevoll, “dass Wenn man das Wort ‘besitzensuchenzugenmachenübergruppenschnurp-enplastische’ abkürzen könnte, die Schachteln würden nicht haben wie lang zu sein.”
“Der Kugelschreiber von meinen Onkel ist auf der Tisch von meine Tante,” antwortet Roy, enigmatische.
Auf der Sprache Klasse
Diese zeit bin ich helfen Roy zu bürsten hinauf seine Deutsch, und wer besser als ich?
“Die Beinahe-Schildkröten-ähnlichen-Geschöpf (wer heisst Jetta) ist auf der Tisch von meinen Deutsch-Lehrer,” Roy sagt, mit einem Punkt in Richtung zu Jetta, wer sicherlich ist auf meinen Tisch in ihrer Rolle von Klasse Monitor.
“Aber gut!” sagt ich. “Und wo ist das besitzensuchenzugenmachen-übergruppenschnurpenplastische?”
“Das besitzensuchenzugenmachenübergruppenschnurpenplastische von meinen Deutsch-Lehrer ist nächst zu die Beinahe-Schildkröten-ähnlichen-Geschöpf.”
“Viel Besser! Aber deinen Akzent braucht arbeit.”
“Akzent, pfui!” sagt Roy. “Wenn das Worten sind richtig, oder in dem richtige Ball-Park, die Akzent macht nichts.”
Ich entscheide zu lehre Roy ein Lektion—nach alle, dass ist warum wir sind hier. . .
Roy erhebt seinen Hand in die Luft. “Erlaubnis zu gehen zu dem Bade-zimmer,” er sagt.
Schnell, ich gegrabben das besitzensuchenzugenmachenüber-gruppenschnurpenplastische and wickeln er mit es. Ich arbeit mit Eile und Eifer damit er hat kein zeit zu protestieren. Bald, Roy Orbison ist ganz gewickelt mit besitzensuchenzugenmachenüber-gruppenschnurpenplastische. Jetzt ich bin der Schüler und Freude ist der Lehrer.
“Was gibt?” sagt Roy, ein bischen vermufflet.
“Du bist ganz gewickelt im besitzensuchenzugen-machenüber-gruppenschnurpenplastische,” ich sage, “an deine wünsche.”
“Meine wünsche?”
Ich falte die Stirn. “Hast Du nicht fragen mir? Du hast gesagt dass viele Motten wünsche zu essen deine warenzeichen schwarze Kleidung, und dass Ich sollte bedeckst du im besitzensuchenzugen-machenübergruppenschnurpenplastische schnell!”
“Ach,” sagt Roy. “Ich gemeinte dass nicht. Ich suchte erlaubnis zu gehe zu dem kleine Jungen zimmer. Ich muss ein umlaut irgendwo verloren haben. Es scheint, dass Akzent ist wichtig, nach alle.”
Jetta fällt von der Tisch, entweder wegen sie lacht sehr viel, oder wegen sie braucht augen-glases.
Die Unmoralischen Mädchen von Bavaria
Ich und meine kleine Beinahe-Schildkröten-ähnlichen-Geschöpf heisst Jetta sind auf Tour mit Roy Orbison. Wir haben Eingang-alle-Zonen Reisepässe und wir haben Erlaubnis zu essen drei komplimentarische zurück-Bühne Würsten pro Person.
Roy kommt zurück-Bühne nach dem Ende von seine Bavarische Konzert, dass sehr gut und effizient war.
“Jetzt für Ruhe und effizient Zimmerservice auf meinen Hotel,” er Seufzer.
Aber wanner die Bühne Tür öffnet, viele Schreien kommen zu uns!
“Ach,” er sagt, schliessen es schnell, “es gibt viele weiblich Pop-fanatiker und Musikkapellesexuellvorliebemädchen heraus dort! Sie enthalten Bavarische Milch-Mädchen und ähnliche Damen von elastischen moralische. Ich muss von diesen hysterisch Frauen umarmt und geküsst sein, aber ich fürchte mich, dass Ich von ihnen eine Küssend-Krankheit konnte fangen. Sie konnten auch meine warenzeichen schwarze Kleidung zerreissen für nicht-Lizenziert Andenken, und gegrabben meine Mannschlange ohne Erlaubnis.”
Ich sage, “Es gibt ein Ding wir mögen versuchen. Ich könnte Du vielleicht aufwickeln in einen schützend Deckel von besitzensuchen-zugenmachenübergruppenschnurpenplastische.”
“Ach gut,” sagt Roy. “Dieses ist der Weg zu gehen. Kommenzen Sie schnell.”
Ich starte von dem Fuss und arbeite meine weg zum Kopf. Ich arbeite vorsichtig damit keine Harpie können erreichen seinen Mannschlange. Bald, Roy Orbison ist ganz gewickelt mit besitzensuchenzugenmachenübergruppenschnurpenplastische. Der Hund von meine Freude springt über der Tisch von Ekstase.
“Du bist ganz gewickelt mit besitzensuchenzugenmachenüber-gruppenschnurpenplastische,” Ich sage.
“Das Kapital.”
Ich öffne die Tür und Roy springt durch die Allee. Die ventilator-frauen werfen sich an er und küssen und fassen er, aber das besitzensuchenzugenmachenübergruppenschnurpenplas-tische abschirmt ihn. Wir kommen in die Sicherhei
t der Limousine und fahren ab. Das besitzensuchenzugenmachenübergruppen-schnurpenplastische ist mit dem küssen von Lippenstift bedeckt, aber Roy ist unbeschädigt.
“Die Strategie hatte Erfolg an allen Punkten,” sagt Roy fröhlich. “Ich bin so dankbar, dass ich Sie küssen könnte.”
“Aber Roy,” Ich sage, “Ich konnte etwas fangen!”
“Deine Mutti ist ein Tisch-Tänzer,” lacht Roy.
About the Author
Ulrich Haarbürste lives quietly and tidily in Düsseldorf, Germany, with his terrapin. He has twice won a civic award for Most Orderly Flower Bed.
He has now retired from writing fiction as he had nothing left to achieve. However, he acts as mentor to a select group of aspiring writers, teaching an intensive course in punctuation, not writing in the margins, and correct posture. He also is involved in consumer activism, spending a lot of time comparing and contrasting different brands of a certain kitchen product. A monograph on this topic may be forthcoming.
Recently he made the news after being banned from a number of music venues, following an unusual incident with a hologram Roy Orbison. About this Haarbürste remains baffled and saddened and only wishes to say that if Roy has grown so grandiose as to refuse to perform in person he will soon lose touch with his fan base.
“The sunlight glints on the translucent triumph of science. The faint rasp as I unspool it sends delirious brightly colored butterflies flocking through my stomach. I am like a tailor of the elves bedecking him in a shimmering suit of some magical material. Soon, Roy Orbison stands before all of Düsseldorf wrapped up in clingfilm. Silent white light floods my whole being and I become one with the universe.”
Just as the avant-garde artists Christo and Jeanne-Claude employed cloth to drape prominent buildings, Ulrich Haarbürste has adopted plastic wrap—or clingfilm—as his medium. His focus, however, is no inanimate landmark; it’s the popular music icon Roy Orbison. In this singular novel, Haarbürste relates a series of encounters with the legendary musician that culminate with the former wrapping the latter from head to toe in clingfilm, to the author’s immense satisfaction.
Ulrich Haarbürste's Novel of Roy Orbison in Clingfilm Page 20