You Know It’s Hard Out Here For a Skald

by

John Behlmann

INT. FANCY APARTMENT LIVING ROOM

GUNNAR and HAL enter the living room.

Gunnar points to a sweet guitar.

GUNNAR

There she is.

HAL

It’s nice.

GUNNAR

Double-cutaway beveled mahogany body, set mahogany neck with

a rounded profile, bound rosewood fingerboard with trapezoid

inlays, and a Tune-O-Matic bridge with a stopbar tailpiece.

The hardware’s all chrome, with 490R humbucker in the neck

spot, and a 498T at the bridge. Great action and plenty of

saddle.

HAL

Oh. Rad.

GUNNAR

She’s my girl, brah. She’s my pretty lay-daaaay.

HAL

Good color.

Gunnar looks at Hal.

GUNNAR

You wanna ear-scope a lil ditty? Taste the tintinnabulation?

HAL

Uh. Sure. Yeah.

Gunnar offers his pretty lay-day.

HAL

Oh no, you go for it.

Gunnar readies himself to play. Hal

looks around.

HAL

Nice place. What do you do?

GUNNAR

I’m a Skald.

(’a’ as in ‘father’ or ‘brah’)

Pause.

HAL

Oh.

Pause.

GUNNAR

A Skald, brah.

Pause.

HAL

A Ska–

GUNNAR

A Skald. An Icelandic poet.

(holds up his fist)

Pow.

HAL

Wow. My great-grandmother was Dutch.

Nothing.

HAL

Yeah, poetry’s great man. I went through a big Walt Whitman

phase in high school.

GUNNAR

Check this. It’s about a old guy who’s son drowned on

sailing voyage.

Gunnar sets a notebook in front of

himself, starts to play a soft sad

melody on the guitar, as he reads the

poetry aloud:

GUNNAR

Our family shield-wall

Is torn asunder;

Cruel waves cracked

My father’s firm line.

How vast is the breach,

How empty the place

Where the sea entered

And snatched away my son?

Now all goes hard for me.

I see Hel, the dark goddess,

Foe to duplicity,

Waiting on the headland.

Nevertheless, joyfully,

With a jocund will

And a heart that fears nothing,

I await my death.

2.

HAL

Ooph. That’s…beautiful. Heavy. You wrote that?

GUNNAR

Nah that’s from a famous 10th century Icelandic warrior-poet.

Egill Skallagrímsson. But my shit’s a lot like that.

HAL

Well, you must be pretty good. You gotta lotta nice stuff.

GUNNAR

Oh, yeah. This is my Dad’s girlfriend’s place. I’m just

crashing. All this stuff’s hers.

(re: guitar)

This hot mama right here is the only nice thing I got. The

vessel of my muse.

HAL

Right.

GUNNAR

Just tap into the flow within, and it all comes pouring out.

HAL

Yeah.

GUNNAR

That’s how I work. I hit my spirit spot. I unleash my inner

sea, and let it crash in the ether. You can’t think about

it. Just let fly whatever’s in you. All the pain and

worries. Whoosh.

HAL

Well…

GUNNAR

Like this.

Gunnar starts to yell, but stops

abrubtly.

GUNNAR

Get in on this, brah. It’s not just for skalds.

Gunnar yell again. Pouring out out his

inner problems and worries: money,

job, art, etc. Gradually, Hal starts

to join in. Until he, too, gets swept

up in yelling. They are eventually

having a great time yelling together.

After a 10-15 seconds, they come to a

natural close.

3.

GUNNAR

Nice.

HAL

Yeah, that feels good.

Silence.

HAL

Your craigslist ad said $450, yeah?

GUNNAR

Yeah, brah.

Hal pulls out five c-notes.

HAL

You don’t have 50 bucks do you?

GUNNAR

Nah, brah. Sorry.

Pause.

HAL

You know what? It’s…cool. It’s fine. Just keep it.

GUNNAR

Thanks brah.

Hands over the guitar.

GUNNAR

Treat her right, and she’ll be good to you.

HAL

Huh? Oh, yeah, no. It’s a gift actually. For my son. He’s

too little to really play yet, but I thought if I got him a

really nice guitar, he’d be more eager to learn. Wishful

thinking, I guess.

GUNNAR

Cool. Well, pleasure doin’ business with you. Time’s are

tough out there for a skald.

HAL

(a joke)

Like fatherland like son.

GUNNAR

Huh?

4.

HAL

Nothing. A skald…your fatherland. You know, Iceland.

Iceland’s economy just went bankrupt. Fatherland. Son.

GUNNAR

Right. Good one.

HAL

Well, take care.

GUNNAR

Yeah brah.

Hal exits.

Gunnar sits, looks around at the

apartment, and silently reads from the

notebook.

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