Ass on Fire （It’s Not What You Think） #2
Sarantino stood and motioned to the cameraman to follow him.
He began to pace as he told his story and it came to life in a way that only a true auteur (or amateur) can muster.
“The people in the town watched me. And I watched them—as I’m wont to do.
Trying to become part of a place and thereby the place becoming part of me—one I’d been dumb to wheretofore, numb to heretofore, and now so utterly engrossed in that I no longer knew therefrom it begins and I end. ”
Sarantino side-eyed Tess to see if she was impressed with his wordplay.
She was not. So he went on weaving his yarn, “A woman in a hat woven for winter with a pompom on top—a toque they call it— balanced a grocery bag against her hip while pushing a stroller with a squeaky wheel in the snow. Two men walked past carrying a canoe, their boots crunching the snow loudly with each step. A pickup truck zipped by, a rope tied to its back. A teenage boy clung to the other end, surfing across packed snow on a wheelless skateboard, shouting something that might have been joy or may have been regret. Their accent is quite harsh, so between us, I did a lot of smiling and nodding.”
“I had not had a proper bottle of water in days,” he narrated, and ran a hand down his throat as if recalling its parch. “Just a cold splash of Evian or Perrier. They do not bottle it there, you understand. The locals of Saskatchewan… they drink from the tap.”
He stopped and looked directly into the camera’s lens. “I am not drinking from a tap.”
The cameraman shuffled awkwardly, unused to being stared down the barrel.
Sarantino shivered and then continued his remembrance, “Then, out of the snowfall, an old man stepped forward.
His coat was worn thin at the elbows. His beard held traces of frost. His eyes were bright with something between faith and urgency.
He grabbed my shoulders and gave them a shake.
‘Have you found the way, my son?’ he asked, his voice rough and insistent. ‘There is but one way. Walk with Him, and you will never be hungry or thirsty again!’
I stared at him and then nodded and smiled, ‘That sounds great. Walk with who?’
‘Jesus!’
I admit, I shrugged him off. My teeth were chattering and I’d had my fill of soaking up the local environs and its people.
Back in my hotel room, the heat clicked unevenly through old pipes.
Wood paneling covered the walls and a mounted moose head stared from above the television.
Its glass eyes reflected the light from the hanging lanterns in a way that felt judgmental.
I sat on the edge of the bed, holding a bottle of Perrier I’d packed in my carry-on.
The glass was cold against my palm. Condensation slid slowly down the side.
Despite what the crazy old loon said, I was still hungry and thirsty.
So I decided to order Thai food. I started rummaging in the nightstand looking for a menu or a phone book.
I thought the town I was in was too small for a name, but it must have been Gideon because that was the name on the book.
I opened this strange looking phone book and flipped through looking for the Thai food section but I just kept finding the same thing: Jesus.
Another page: JESUS. Another page: JESUS!
This is when I realized I wasn’t looking at a phone book at all. ”
Sarantino took his seat again beside Tess and took her hand. She took it back. He explained, “It was the Bibble. A great Canadian legend about this man who could walk on water and befriend prostitutes and make water out of wine and stuff. I just knew I had to share this story with the world.”
Tess stared at him, perfectly still.
“As soon as I’d wrapped my creature feature Bigfoot ‘n’ Me, I flew back to LA and pitched Jesus, Who’s Your Daddy?. The studio LOVED it. And we started pre-production the very next day.”
He sat back, nodding and smiling.
The office air shifted the moment Sarantino finished speaking. Not because what he said made sense—it absolutely did not. But because he believed it. Deeply. Completely. With the kind of conviction that turned nonsense into momentum.
Tess held her smile. It had tightened slightly at the corners, like fabric stretched just a little too far. “Fascinating,” she said, each syllable placed with care. “A Canadian… biblical icon.”
“Exactly,” Sarantino said, pleased. “Finally, someone gets it.”
Tess nodded once, then turned her head toward her cameraman. “Let’s get a tighter shot,” she said quietly. She turned back, eyes sharpening. “And where do you see this film landing? Awards? Box office? Or more of a… spiritual offering?”
Sarantino leaned forward again, fingers tapping lightly against the desk. “All of it,” he said. “Awards love courage. Audiences love spectacle. And spirit…” He paused, letting the word sit. “I’m full of it.”
There it was. Tess’s smile returned in full. “You certainly are.”
She shifted in her seat, crossing her legs the other way. The movement was small but deliberate. Control reasserted. “Now,” she said, “there’s been a lot of good buzz about the film, but I hear you’ve had a few glitches getting started.”
Sarantino stared at her. He nodded and smiled.
“Perhaps everything hasn’t been going according to your plan? We saw an ass blow up today. Was that intentional?”
Sarantino still didn’t speak.
“Listen, I’ve heard the studio has been breathing down your neck threatening to pull the plug from day one.”
“A few artistic differences, that’s all,” Sarantino’s smile slipped. “Alright fine, I was almost fired because of those pesky kids… it’s all their fault! Look at their conniving grins! The little Hellions!”
Tess followed his pointer to a flyer with three goofy grins under a banner that read Trinity tacked to his bulletin board. The three faces were X’d out with a red Sharpie. “Who are they?”
“Trouble. Buzzing around like a bunch of hornets,” he said, swatting at the air.