Liberation (61 page)

No. 63 does seem ideally planned, don't you think, as regards the central heating, there is something positively exotic about it. But it makes me feel very remiss that poor Mum never enjoyed such luxury at Wyberslegh. . . . Of
course
No. 63 hasn't the charm of Wyberslegh and it would be ridiculous to compare them—so near and yet so far apart. However it has got a lot of individuality for a brand new residence, don't you think. M. would have liked it I think somewhere else but as a modern dwelling so close to Wyberslegh,
never
.

 

February 23.
Last night we went to a farewell party given by the Laughlins. They have already sold their Bel Air house and are going to live in France. Leslie looked so charming, in a very feminine flouncy soft grey dress. She told Don, “I thought of you when I put it on,” meaning that she knew he'd like it, which he did.

Jack and Jim were there; Jim has now begun rehearsals of
Streetcar
. He is very pleased with Voight and Faye Dunaway
⁵⁸
but worried about the play and about whether Tennessee will like his direction. David Hockney was there too—without Celia, with whom he's now living in a house at Malibu; she had decided to spend the evening at home. I had a talk alone with him out on the terrace, from which I gathered that David (apparently) isn't having sex with Celia and that (certainly) he is still carrying a torch for Peter. I had to be careful not to say too much about our meeting with Eric Boman; David is very jealous of him.

The day before yesterday (21st) there was an earthquake centered near Oxnard; 5.75 on the Richter Scale. When it happened, at 6:46 in the morning, Don and I were both in the front bathroom weighing ourselves. (I seem to have lost some of the extra weight I am sure I was carrying while I was in England; am now down to around 150.) At first there was the usual mild unalarming jarring. Then, suddenly, the house seemed to be rocking about on a bed of tapioca pudding; it was the same horrid feeling we'd had during the 1971 quake, though less intense. Don said, “Oh dear—”

Later that day, I went up to Vedanta Place and talked to Vidyatmananda, who had been staying at the monastery during his short visit to Los Angeles. (He left yesterday, to go back to Gretz, after a stopover in Boston.) It was seven years since we'd last met. He didn't look any older, only heavier and much healthier; he is nearly sixty. The healthy look was no doubt due to farmwork. They have what he describes as a commune there, including a guest-house for people wanting to make a retreat and a fully functioning farm. The guests all have to pitch in and help milk cows, etc. And there are several young brahmacharis of various nationalities; some of them cute, no doubt. I could just see Vidya bustling around, supervising everything. (Larry Holt's friend Tom had described him as “regal.” Don, who saw him later in the evening, and who is quite favorably disposed toward him, nevertheless thought that he made a bad first impression; prissy, sour and unctuous. I noticed that his mouth twisted into an ugly grimace whenever he spoke disapprovingly (but with an evident obsessive interest) about sexy films, books, etc.)

Still and all, I felt a great deal of affection throughout our talk, on both sides. He made a point of speaking of himself to me as Prema, not Vidya—seemingly because he wanted to get back to the atmosphere of our earlier relationship. On the whole, he appears to be happy at Gretz, although he is still having hard work with the French language. He still writes out his lectures in French, then gets someone to correct the French, then memorizes it. He said he had no plans to return to the States. He would rather die in India than here. He described, with obvious satisfaction, a recent visit to India during which he had had a red-carpet welcome everywhere—as if contrasting this with his rejection by the Los Angeles and Chicago centers.

He asked me if I regretted growing older, admitting that he did. And he told me that he thought I was the luckiest person he had ever known—there was a slight hint of reproof in this remark, I thought.

Swami was visibly upset by Vidya's presence in the house. And he was eager to be told exactly what we had talked about; I suppose he expected that Vidya would have said something against him or the Hollywood Center as a whole. Swami even brought up the old accusation that Vidya had been indirectly responsible for giving him the heart attack which he had had soon after hearing the news that Vidya had been conspiring with Gambhirananda in Belur Math, to undermine his influence and take away his authority to give sannyas to American nuns!

His final interview with Vidya had apparently been quite friendly. Vidya had asked Swami if he was still angry and Swami had replied that, “The guru in me was never angry with you, only the man—if the guru had been angry, then nothing in the three worlds could have saved you.” This reply startled and shocked me for a moment, until Swami explained that “the guru in me” wasn't himself at all, it was
Satchitananda
.
⁵⁹
He added, “I never feel that it is
I
who am initiating a disciple, it is The Lord.”

During the interview, he had discovered that Vidya wasn't repeating the mantras which he had been given on taking sannyas; he ought to have been using them every day. Vidya had to confess that he couldn't remember them. He had written them down and put the paper away in a box. Swami told him that this was like buying airplane tickets and then locking them up instead of using them to go flying. So he coached Vidya in the mantras, and this had made him dizzy.

Later, not referring to Vidya, he said that his body had become “very subtle” and that it therefore always made him dizzy to be with people who were insincere and untruthful.

After supper, when we were about to leave Swami's room for the reading in the temple, Swami remained sitting in his chair instead of getting up and letting Krishna help him on with his coat. Then he roused himself, saying, “I was daydreaming.” I asked him what he had been thinking about. “About Maharaj—that's my daydreaming.”

He also remarked about Vidya that his face showed he had suffered a great deal.

Mother Hubble
⁶⁰
died at last, a few days ago, aged 102.

Robin French has heard from Ken Tynan, sending us his love and saying how much he likes our play and deeply regretting that he can't get his colleagues on the National Theatre board interested in it.

Since getting back from Europe, I've had a bad cold; now it has turned into a cough.

 

March 4.
Beautiful weather but am feeling depressed. Chiefly because Don has had ulcerlike pains for the past three weeks, if not more. He went to Allen, who seemed unimpressed. Now he says he wants to find another doctor, one he can feel more at ease with. We have heard of someone, through Evelyn Hooker, but Don still hesitates to go, because he doesn't want to be x-rayed. Besides this, he is still much worried about his forthcoming show. How will he ever get people to come to the opening party? Shall he show paintings as well as drawings? He thinks not. I think yes. And then, last night, having supper at Nellie Carroll's, Michael Laughlin held forth, as he frequently does, on the probability of galloping inflation. He himself is about to take off for France to join Leslie forever, and he advises us all to take our money and put it into Swiss francs and a Swiss bank. This kind of talk makes us both nervous, Don particularly.

Another reason for depression is that the Screen Writers are almost certainly going to declare a strike against the studios, when they meet tomorrow evening, and this will mean that we shall have to picket, I don't know how often. Jim Bridges, being a “hyphenate,” a writer-director, has been threatened with exclusion from his own cutting room if the strike comes; the studio says that someone else will finish the work on
The Paper Chase
. Meanwhile, he is in a state of exhaustion because of long gabby rehearsals with the
Streetcar
company. He claims that Jon Voight talked for four hours yesterday without stopping. We both think Jim overplays his role of exhausted artist, however. Yesterday, just before supper started, he left the table to lie down—and then let Nellie feed him.

On the other side of the picture, such a happy glimpse of Jim Gates and Abedha (Tony Eckstein) cooking something for the Shiva Ratri celebration, the day before yesterday. They were beaming with joy. How that kind of happiness gladdens my heart. I had a nice long visit with Swami too, much of it in silence; me in Swami's presence, Swami in Maharaj's. No depression can exist in that atmosphere, no anxiety, no sorrow.

 

March 8.
On March 5, the sun set behind the headland for the first time. On March 6, the writers' strike was declared.
⁶¹
We went to the vespers of the Ramakrishna puja. Never have I felt less spiritual. Swami was dizzy and weak; he had initiated someone that morning. But I felt his affection for Don, when we went to see him afterwards.

Yesterday, Don had to picket Universal Studios. But, luckily, the woman in charge of his picketing group owned one of his drawings and knew all about him, and she said that she didn't feel he need do any more picketing, since screenwriting wasn't his real profession. So we're hoping that she will be able to persuade the strike committee to agree with her. As for me, I'll have to wait until I'm called and then figure out what the best policy is for strike dodging. Picketing is a really grim stint—three hours on end!

Yesterday evening, we had supper with David and Celia Clark at the Malibu beach house. Joel Grey
⁶²
and his wife Joey
⁶³
were there—don't like them much—and Nick Wilder and his friend Gregory Evans—am getting to like them both increasingly. Ossie Clark is supposed to be coming out here almost at once. Don has drawn and talked to Celia. It seems clear that she and David haven't had sex together; she told Don that David is like a little boy. She doesn't altogether want Ossie around and yet she misses him.

Rain most of today. Hunt rang up very drunk to tell me that the cast had just read through the script and that David McCallum is sensational as Henry Clerval and that James Mason had said that Leonard Whiting is so great that he'll steal the show and that every time Michael Sarrazin (as the Creature) had said “Victor” he (Hunt) had felt tears come into his eyes, etc. etc. They have got an incredibly beautiful girl named Jane Seymour to play Prima and the part of the foreign lady at the opera is to be offered to Simone Signoret
⁶⁴
—wow! Hunt had the gall to suggest that we should write an extra scene for Mason, in which Polidori denounces Henry. I told him we aren't about to strikebreak—there are too many spies around.

 

March 15.
Hunt called today to tell me that they have just finished their first day's shooting—Nicola [Pagett] and Leonard Whiting and David McCallum in the scene of Elizabeth's visit to the lodgings and her hostility toward Henry Clerval. Everybody had been terrific, and McCallum terrific-terrific. (Hunt was drunk again; it's very tiresome that he calls at eight in the evening, their time.) However, he let slip some ominous hints. They have altered the period of the costumes quite a bit, because Hunt thinks the Regency clothes look unattractive on women. They have also altered “a few words” in the script. Also, on this first day, they were ahead of schedule by midday—which sounds like quickie filming.

Am getting worried because of the utter silence of the Writers Guild strike committee. No one has called to tell me when I'm to picket. I can't help wondering if maybe I am supposed to contact them, and if I shall be fined for not having done so. According to some bossy woman who called Jack Larson about Jim Bridges (who can't picket because he is rehearsing
Streetcar
) the fine is one hundred dollars a day for picket dodging!

Ananda and the other girls are back from India. We saw them last night for the first time. Ananda can't stop talking about their experiences. Perhaps their greatest scoop was seeing a very old lady who had met Ramakrishna. She was in her high nineties, and she has since died! But Ananda said, “Just the same, it makes you realize, we have everything right here.” I repeated this remark to Swami. He said, agreeing, “How many places are there where you can live all the time with your guru?” This was one of his utterly impersonal uncoy remarks which never fail to startle me.

Ananda brought us back a leaf from the mango tree which Ramakrishna planted at Kamarpukur.

 

March 19.
This morning I'm going for the first time to picket, at MGM: noon to three o'clock. Tomorrow we are going down to Palm Springs to see Truman Capote. I got excused from picketing that day but forgot to get let off the next day too, which means that I am supposed to picket from six to nine in the morning! The only hope is that the strike may possibly be ending, or at any rate reaching a settlement with some of the independent companies, thus reducing the number of pickets needed. It is all a dreary nuisance, but I'm playing it very cooperative until I see a way of wriggling out of the whole thing.

On the 16th, we went to see one of the previews of Jim's production of
Streetcar
. Faye Dunaway was excellent, about as good a Blanche as you could expect. But Jon Voight is all fucked up by his own methods. He got tapes of dialect from New Orleans and very carefully tries to imitate them, thereby inhibiting himself from playing Stanley! It is infuriating, the way these actors tie themselves in knots—when all they have to do is
speak up
; many of Tennessee's best lines were lost because Voight was trying to speak with his mouth full of spittle, or some such idiocy. Jack Larson said later, “All that generation of actors, they're done for, there's nothing, no way of saving them.” Jim has fits of despair. But no doubt they will all perk up on the press night—tonight, in fact. Tennessee himself is coming, which is regrettable; one never knows how he will act up, nowadays. We haven't seen him yet.