Chapter 9: A HOUSE FULL OF WATER

 


Chapter 9: A HOUSE FULL OF WATER

We’re about to start puppet training in the next few days. One of the shows requires several “fish” puppets, so we need to rehearse. We’re handed sticks to practice with and told to pretend they’re the fish until the actual puppets arrive. It’s been a while since we’ve been living in the Bahamas, and by now, we’re somewhat used to the island customs. It has its own vibe and rhythm. But nothing seems to work out the way it should here. The locals laugh when they see our frustration and say, “Welcome to the Bahamas.” There seem to be only two speeds to island life: slow and off.

Days later, a slightly unwashed, crunchy-granola-puppet lady arrives to help us with the puppets for the show. Unfortunately, the puppets have not. It turns out they’re being held in customs for months because the Bahamian government doesn’t understand why we need giant fish puppets for our show.

One day during a meeting, we hear through the grapevine that the situation with the puppets hasn’t gone well. No one knows the details yet, but we all know it’s bad. It wouldn’t be until several days later that the screaming and yelling would start, and we’d know the full extent of the disaster.

Before I arrived in the Bahamas, I had choreographed two pieces for a showcase in New York. One of these pieces was photographed and featured in Dance Spirit Magazine. The other was bought by the city of New York for a performance for First Night.

I hired a friend of mine to take care of all the details and ensure that the First Night performance was a success. Unfortunately, most of my free time here was spent calling and, if I could get through, emailing back to New York to make sure everything was going to be alright. We weren’t supposed to be returning to New York until the next year.

My friend had mailed me a copy of Dance Spirit Magazine with a picture of my piece in it. Excited, I brought the magazine to rehearsal, showing it to the director. He looked at it briefly, then said, “Oh, that’s nice. I didn’t know you had a brain in your head.” I chuckled to myself for two reasons. One was because I didn’t understand what having a brain in my head had to do with being in a picture in a magazine. The second reason was because his eyesight was so bad that he had to turn the magazine upside down and around to look at it.

“Damn it!” The choreographer screamed at us during today’s rehearsal. “How many times do we have to tell you that you’re dancing in the pit?” We were a little confused today because the entire stage had been covered with carpet, meant to represent stairs, beds, bookshelves, and a large wooden box. I understand that they need to be creative because they don’t have proper tools at their disposal, but using carpet cutouts to represent the set? I don’t need to tell you that carpet on top of linoleum on top of cement made for an interesting experience. We’d land on the carpet and go sliding across the stage.

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