Six: Continued.

As we reached the stage, somebody announced lunch-break, so the actors scattered in various directions, gathered various articles from various corners, and filed backstage where sandwiches were laid out upon a long wooden table.

We were spread out and sat in between various persons: Peter next to ‘James Dean’, Pipton next to ‘John Wayne’, I next to ‘Marilyn Monroe’ and Willoughby next to ‘Charlie Chaplin’ at which fact he was absolutely delighted (his favorite movie of all time is City Lights, with Lady and the Tramp being a close runner-up).

“So” I began to Marliyn, “How are rehearsals coming along?”

“Well” she laughed nervously, “when there is so much talent all together in the same place, there’s a lot of...umm...ego? You know. Actors...”

“I’ll say!” chimed in ‘Shirley Temple’ with an irksomely sweet smile.

It was just then that, from the other side of the table, the sound of a plate shattering caught my attention. ‘James Dean’ was standing up, looking angstily down at the table, holding out his arm as though he had just thrown something.

“Oh my! Why do you suppose he did that?” I asked, alarmed.

‘Marilyn’ and ‘Shirley’ looked uninterested.

“You know” Marilyn sighed, “he’s a rebel without a cause. Sometimes it does get a bit tiresome, I must admit.”

Shirley nodded, curls bobbing, still smiling.

From the opposite end of the table, I caught Peter’s big eyes looking in my direction in amazement, and then I understood: these people were never out of character. This was the resurrection of all the greats of Hollywood history. And our company was eccentric, even by Hermit standards.

Within the context of a theatre, perhaps not as obviously. But several days later Calvin, Peter, Willoughby and I ran into ‘Catherine Hepburn’ and ‘John Wayne’ on our way to go swimming. That was quite a different matter.

“How do you do”, ‘Catherine’ asked.

“We’re fine thank you” I said, speaking for myself and my shy friends.

“It’s fine weather we’re having today,” ‘John’ began, “But watch out for those injuns. I’ve been told there’re injuns in these parts.” He looked around, leering into the forest with one hand on his holster, craning his best features towards a non-existent camera.

“The little lady felt like coming out for a walk, so I was obliged to escort her. Don’t get me wrong” he corrected, “it’s a pleasure, ma’am! A real pleasure.”

“Oh John, don’t be ridiculous. I’m a capable woman, and there are no indians in this forest,” she rolled her eyes, laying a hand on her hip and looking self-sufficient. She stormed off into the forest, he tipped his hat to us and ran off after her.

I remarked to the boys that the Dramatists were certainly an interesting bunch. Peter agreed, Calvin bashfully nodded, and Willoughby smiled a toothy grin.

We bumped into many more of them in the following week, as more H.H. organized events got underway. There was the ice-cream social at which ‘Sir Laurence Olivier’ would only condescend to speak Elizabethan English; the Summit For Oceanic Conservation at which ‘Charlie Chaplin’ snuck silly drawings onto some of the presentation boards--like top-hats and moustaches onto a chart of deep dwelling sea-creatures--and he at one point he got the whole room laughing by sneaking behind the presentator, who was Jack, actually, and dancing a most ridiculous jig.

Dr. Buttersfirth, who took the topic very seriously, tranquilized him after that and, at least our contingent, thought that was even funnier.

But the most important incident that happened concerning the Dramatists, was when ‘Clark Gable’ snuck me off for a twilight walk through the forest and tried to seduce me, insisting that gardeners and guitarists were not fit company for a lady. I laughed him right back to his theatre.

The dramatists were certainly an odd bunch, but they certainly did add a charming element of absurdity to an already very peculiar Convention.

But one thing I will add, is that on more than one occasion while walking through the forest, my direction would abrubtly change if ‘huminahuminahumina’ was heard from behind any approaching tufts of trees.

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