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  The Death of Marlon Brando

  PIERRE GOBEIL

  Translated and with a Foreword by

  Steven Urquhart

  Publishers of Fiction, Poetry, Non-fiction, Drama, Translations and Graphic Books

  Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

  Gobeil, Pierre

  [Mort de Marlon Brando. English]

  The death of Marlon Brando : a novel / Pierre Gobeil ; Steven Urquhart.

  Translation of: La mort de Marlon Brando.

  ISBN 978-1-55096-313-7

  I. Urquhart, Steven, 1974- II. Title. III Title: Mort de Marlon Brando.

  English.

  PS8563.O24M6713 2013 C843'.6 C2013-900140-9

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  978-1-55096-370-0 (epub)

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  Translation Copyright © Exile Editions and Steven Urquhart, 2013

  Foreword © Copyright Steven Urquhart, 2013

  Permission to translate La mort de Marlon Brando has been granted by Les Éditions Triptyque, which holds the French text copyright © 1989.

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  We gratefully acknowledge, for their support toward our publishing activities, the Canada Council for the Arts, the Government of Canada through the Canada Book Fund, the Ontario Arts Council, and the Ontario Media Development Corporation.

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  CONTENTS

  Foreword

  The Death of Marlon Brando

  Endnotes

  FOREWORD

  by Steven Urquhart

  Originally published in French in 1989, La mort de Marlon Brando has received relatively little critical attention despite being listed as one of a hundred must-read Quebecois novels by Nota bene Editions. Whether it be the novel’s troubling content or its enigmatic title, the reasons for this lack of attention are unclear and simply regrettable. Indeed, one cannot help but see the injustice of this situation when, according to well-known Quebecois journalist and literary critic Gilles Marcotte, the story has “no weaknesses and doesn’t back down before the unfolding drama of an abandoned child. It reminds you of Steinbeck, Yves Thériault.”

  Such praise demonstrates the merits of Pierre Gobeil’s novel, in which a young narrator called Charles relives the events leading up to his assault by a mentally handicapped farmhand, named Him. The Death of Marlon Brando deals tactfully with this delicate topic by focusing on the difficulty of expressing the unspeakable and insisting on the power of suggestion. As such, the question of “translation” in the sense of interpretation is at the centre of the novel, in which Charles struggles to communicate his angst and inner turmoil in relation to the farmhand as they coexist and carry out their respective duties on his parents’ land. Unable to speak to his parents, who ignore him and who trust their employee, Charles is disempowered and thus remains silent for the most part in the story. As the narrator of the novel, however, he does seem to find a voice which he uses to finally understand and explain what happened to him overt he course of a summer. Although this may not be clear at the beginning of the work, the attentive reader realizes little by little that Charles is not simply describing his traumatice xperience, but that he is also reliving it. We see this when he combines his thoughts at the time of the actual events with retrospective considerations dealing with what he did not say, or write in a school composition assigned for the summer break. In this way, the novel speaks more by what is not said than by what actually is.

  A composite work, Charles’ summer homework assignment acts like a cinema voice-off in the novel. Structured like Francis Ford Coppola’s celebrated film, Apocalypse Now, based on Joseph Conrad’s novel Heart of Darkness, the composition not only explains the title of Gobeil’s book, but conveys the sinister nature of events in the novel. In otherwords, the film, in which Marlon Brando’s character Colonel Kurtz is assassinated by a U.S. sergeant in the closing scene, reflects the fact that Charles is being stalked by a maleficent worker. This situation, which is misunderstood by his teachers who fail to recognize the film’s metaphoric quality within the text, invites readers to infer meaning in the text and pay attention to the nature of any given utterance or lack thereof. While serving as a guide to the reader who must contend with the novel’s disjointed sequence of events, the film and thus the composition also highlight Charles’ feelings of abandonment, betrayal and helplessness.

  Indeed, despite being more oblique than the narrative discourse, the vacation assignment allows Charles to name names, so to speak, and explain that which he cannot or does not want to admit, such as the farmhand’s monstrous character. Calling him an ornithorynchus, Latin for “platypus,” in the composition, Charles’ indirectly describes the anonymous French-Canadian antagonist’s strange behaviour and speech mannerisms. Unnameable in ways, Him effectively embodies this unusual and hybrid “beast.” Acting at once like an animal and then a child, despite being an adult, he also speaks in a roundabout fashion, using incorrect, foreign or invented words, which trouble the narrator. Disconcerted by Him’s language, which he understands in spite of its grammar mistakes and lexical peculiarities, Charles discovers that his illustrated dictionary is of no use to him when attempting to explain the nature of his disquieting situation and the inconspicuous threat that his parents’ employee represents. This situation effectively illustrates the need to read between the lines in the novel where the performative quality of words does not necessarily mean that silence is the equivalent to inaction.

  We also see this when he asks on three different occasions over the course of the novel: “How can you know or tell?” While soliciting the reader’s help here, this question betrays Charles’ feelings of bewilderment with respect to his pursuer’s behaviour and shows that he is simply stuck, that is to say, caught between the end of childhood and the beginning of adolescence. Although he understands the sinister nature of the farmhand’s innuendos and the inappropriateness of his behaviour toward him, Charles seems to overlook the fact that there is a physical difference between him and Him. During the confrontation in the barn where the boy fails to fully heed Him’s advice to watch his back, he realizes too late that, no matter which way he turns, he is alone and vulnerable, just like the bay mare.

  In the novel, the repeated mention of summer and the changing of the seasons foreshadows the arrival of the “Fall” or Charles’ loss of innocence. Associated with school vacations, this time of the year alludes to the boy’s forlorn feelings as he is stalked and then finally attacked. Abandoned by his family and the teachers, Charles lacks the know-how to deal with the antagonist who inundates him with words and a logic that he cannot quite grasp. Like the U.S. sergeant moving up the river, the farmhand progress
ively inhabits Charles to the point where he literally embodies him. Ironically, Charles describes this experience in terms of a void and someone having searched within his body. Robbed of his innocence, he is tormented by the lack of proof on his body, which bears no visible trace of the attack, and then, the change in his voice, which now resembles that of an adolescent. Brutally and prematurely initiated into this awkward time of life, Charles is disturbed by this unforeseen change which, despite its fatal character, seemingly provides him with a new voice; one that finally allows him to convey his experience in spite of his persistent silence in the denouement. By admitting at the end of the story that he is “Marlon Brando,” Charles recalls the actor’s ashen face in the final scene of Apocalypse Now and effectively succeeds in bearing witness to the “horror” of his experience.

  The theme of witnessing is an important notion when attempting to decipher the work’s greater meaning and understand its form. Referring etymologically to a “third person standing by,” the word “testimony” would seem to describe Charles’ situation and his narrative, which effectively attests to an occurrence that history has not yet recorded. Indeed, the text’s unnamed chapters, its oral characteristics and its resemblance to both a diary and a confession, recall this distinct and widely recognized literary genre that is often associated with Holocaust and war crime survivors. While one cannot compare Charles to such individuals, the novel’s background provides context for the boy’s remarks concerning the witness, who is the most important agent in any dramatic event in his opinion. Using this term when speaking about his father, Charles’ remarks take on true significance when he subsequently assumes the position of the bay mare that he watched being abused by Him. Indeed, there are a chain of witnesses in the novel, including the reader who passively observes the tragedy as it unfolds. Unable to speak to Charles and inform him of the imminent danger he faces, the reader experiences the boy’s powerlessness while at the same time acting as an accomplice to Him. Although we do not want to see any harm come to the boy, we, nonetheless, await the conclusion. This situation testifies to the unsettling but provocative nature of the story that describes an experience, which is not only Charles’, but a recurring social phenomenon that we have only recently begun to overtly acknowledge and include in our collective memory.

  Constructed in layers, the novel may depict an isolated personal incident on a farm somewhere in Quebec, but would seem to speak on behalf of all those silenced or without a voice. As such, the text lends itself to in-depth and allegorical readings. Having already been examined in terms of the literary institution and then a political allegory of Quebec’s identity by certain critics, the novel would also appear to contain a subtext, which questions the Church’s haunting presence in French-speaking Canada. Much like Jesus, Charles is a scape goat of sorts insofar as he, too, is forsaken by his Father, although his resurrection at the end of the novel is nothing more than speculative. Albeit implicit, this biblical allusion would seem to be one of many in the novel, which inevitably makes the reader think about the numerous sex scandals involving religious institutions and the fact that Marlon Brando’s character in The Godfather is also the head of the Mafia.

  Seemingly rich in intertextuality, the novel is clearly thought-provoking and engaging, if nothing else. Dealing with topics such as betrayal, abandonment, the father figure, regret and coming-of-age, the novel also alludes to the increasingly important issue of bullying in our society. When considering the farmhand’s behaviour, we see the insidious role that blackmail plays in this widespread phenomenon, which still plagues school-aged children today. Bigger, less intelligent, but more conniving, Him may very well be troubled by sentiments of guilt, but does not stop pursuing Charles in a bull-like fashion, before finally seeingred, as it were, in the barn where the diluvial rain imprisons the boy. Penetrating the shelter by means of a hole in the roof, the rain would appear to represent a flooding of sorts and the beginning of the end for the boy’s childhood.

  While The Death of Marlon Brando may tell a disturbing story, it is one well worth reading as it teaches us about the truly apocalyptic nature of child abuse and the need to listen to what people, and more importantly children, are not saying. By teasing out the sense of anticipation created by the title, the novel shows that there is, indeed, a sound to silence and that in order to fully understand, one must also interpret, infer and, even at times, translate. Tactfully crafted, Gobeil’s novel plunges readers into a troubling and ambiguous world, which forces them to remain open to what is difficult to explain and appreciate. In this way, it proves that literature is much more than another form of entertainment; it is often the means by which people truly comprehend those “things” that simply cannot be expressed, or that facts are just unable to convey effectively.

  As the translator of Pierre Gobeil’s gripping and multifaceted text, I hope to have done it and its author justice. Maythis regrettably overlooked novel with the strange but intriguing title finally receive the recognition it deserves.

  He calls this contraption an ornithopter. I thought he made up the word but I looked it up in a dictionary and it was there. It said an ornithopter was any aircraft designed to derive its chief support and propulsion from flapping wings. Who’d believe it? There’s a word for everything.

  —WILLIAM WHARTON, Birdy

  The Death of Marlon Brando

  He said: “The mare is gonna have its colt”…and me, I asked: “When?” He said that he didn’t really know.

  He said: “In a week, maybe…or a li’l bit before. It’s hard to say like this, but the mare is pretty pregnant. It might be soon.”

  He said: “Do ya know where li’l colts come from? No, ya dunno…” and then he added: “Before we get to see them, I mean.”

  I turned my head and then let myself fall into the hay. That’s just him! Ask a question and then answer it, right after. Colts, they come from mothers and fathers. A mare can have a little one each year, generally in the springtime, in March or April. Sometimes later, but most often in the spring. They come from fathers and mothers. It takes time, you have to wait…and even then, what does it matter, anyway? In my Petit Larousse Illustré dictionary, they show four words for “mare,” whereas for “colt,” they only give one… and this, without any other kind of explanation.

  I didn’t want to start up a conversation and so I didn’t answer. I was up, and let myself fall again into the hay. And if there’s something that I like doing, that’s it, letting myself fall into the void: like that, diving or falling backwards. From the main beam, you can jump into the pile that’s twenty feet below. For me, it’s high up. There’s a risk of getting hurt and it’s a game.

  He said: “Ya can’t know, can ya…” and I didn’t say anything back as sometimes I happen to not answer right away. I could have said: “We learned that at school” or “I’ve read a thousand books” or even “I’ve been living on a farm for so long that…” but I didn’t say anything. I just let him work away because if he’s at our place, it’s to work. And I’ve noticed that the more things go on in this way, the more he wastes time.

  Sometimes, just like that, I could say things and I keep quiet.

  I could have also said: “We saw a film.” I could’ve said: “There are ten thousand movies about it…” but I didn’t.

  Where was I? Sometimes, for reasons beyond me, I leave things up in the air and say nothing. And, I realize this more and more often now that I’m working on a composition structured like a war movie. It’s as if, and truly as if, in order to really fight, I was at a loss for words.

  Him, he was rubbing down the canisters and the wash buckets that had been used in the morning to do the milking. He was muttering, rehashing what has always seemed to me to be the same thing, and so I didn’t listen to him. Sometimes, too, for no reason at all, I’d take off running in order to take refuge in the house or elsewhere. To flee for glee and because it’s a game; because it’s crazy what you can find in terms of hiding spaces
and dark corners on a farm. You can even lie flat out in the bed of a Ford pickup and you’re sure not to be seen. Him, too, he hides there sometimes and I’ve noticed that he’s the only big person that I know who takes pleasure in acting like a child. Like borrowing your clothes, like chewing on candies, like laughing while trying to hide it, all of which are children’s habits. And yet, I don’t say this out loud. I’m writing a composition, as fine as the film that I like. I put forward facts, but they always seem to get covered up by beasts that I invent and that are as fabulous as an Ornithorhynchus anatinus. I’m unable to speak, you could say. Not any more, in any case. In my composition, I try to explain just like in Apocalypse Now what I’ve been able to observe up until now, but it’s not working. I just go round in circles. As for Him, he’s watching me. And I don’t know how long it’s going to last.

  Just now, he was washing out the milker and making sure to not leave any dirt in the nipples because moss and the like can grow there. We’d asked him to watch out for this and he’d listened carefully, as he’s docile in front of people. He was touching the machine with care as if it were a precious object. As for me, I was perched on the main beam and kept watching him work away at it in front of the door in the sun. He was rubbing hard, that’s for sure, because my father had requested that he do so. And, in front of others, in front of my father, my mother and everyone in the house, he’s obedient and tries to blend in.

  Furthermore, I’ve noticed that with the others, he doesn’t talk. He behaves; he makes grammar mistakes. You could say that he’s ashamed, and because of this, he doesn’t want to speak much with them, unless it’s to say oui or carrect in order to say okay or yes sir. Just like the model employee that he wants to be, but he’s not fooling anyone. And this causes him to make mistakes and stutter.