The Property of Edward James

I was about to watch my videos one last time when an elderly gentleman with a pleasant face knocked softly on my open door. Standing in the doorway, he asked if I would like to have a visitor. I had seen the gentleman often during my convalescence, knocking on other doors, visiting sick patients. I invited the good fellow in to watch the two films I acted in with a woman who turned out to be the love of my life, Elizabeth Rose. The gentleman smiled and said he enjoyed the cinema. He came in and sat down on the chair at my bedside to watch the videos with me. It felt good to finally have a visitor after all these months of isolation in the hospital, with nothing to keep me company except the strange buzzing sound in my hospital room. He was nattily dressed in an old-fashioned suit, vest and tie. I liked him immediately.

The gentleman introduced himself as Mr. Bergman, like the Swedish filmmaker, he said. I told him my name was Edward James, a former theater actor in San Diego. He told me he went to the theater quite often and asked if he would’ve recognized me in anything. I told him no, probably not, I never was much of a success.

“Well, I’m pleased to meet you, Mr. James,” Mr. Bergman said, holding out his hand.

I lifted the dead weight of my wrist off the bed and lightly took his hand in mine.

“Please, Mr. Bergman. Call me Edward,” I said.

We exchanged a smile. After a pause, I confessed that I was somewhat nervous to show the films to him and that perhaps it may not be such a good idea after all. He asked why. I explained that the films I was in couldn’t exactly be classified as cinema. They were videos of an “Adult” nature and I didn’t wish to offend him. Mr. Bergman nodded and didn’t seem to be put off in the least. He admitted to having viewed erotic films several times before as a younger man. His non-judgmental attitude encouraged me to continue. In defense of my movies, I commented that most Adult Videos are usually done in bad taste, they’re poorly acted and filmed, not all that sexy or just plain ridiculous. But the two erotic films I appeared in with Elizabeth Rose were unique, I said. I might be biased, but I thought they were good as films and rose above the genre they were in, especially the first one. I was quite proud of them, I confessed, even though hardly anyone ever saw them. My memories of Elizabeth Rose are rather erotic too, I told him, and they play through my mind in an unending reel. The two films, along with the framed photograph on my bedside table were the last pieces of property I had left in the world. They were precious to me, I told him.

The nice gentleman told me to relax and promised me he would not hold me in judgment or be offended by the erotic nature of the videos or my story. Mr. Bergman seemed to be a very understanding and considerate man. I felt comfortable with him right away. We both stopped talking as a nurse came in to check on my IV and make a notation on my chart.

“You’re my first, and probably my last visitor,” I told him after the nurse left.

I explained my current dismal circumstances. I’d been admitted to the hospital a few months ago after experiencing shortness of breath. I thought I just had a bad case of the flu or something. After several tests, I received the bad news. I was diagnosed with something called multiple myeloma. I was given a few rounds of chemotherapy and several blood transfusions. My Doctor said that if the radiation treatment could eradicate the cancer cells and one of my family members would be willing to give me a bone marrow transplant, I would have an excellent chance at survival. But none of my family members returned the mouth swabs my Cancer Coordinator mailed to each of them in order to test for their bone marrow compatibility. I wasn’t really expecting them to send back the DNA tests to the hospital, after what happened. And I didn’t blame them for not wanting to help save me.

Mr. Bergman asked me why no one in my family returned the swabs. I felt embarrassed and looked down at my bed sheets without answering him. I felt him pat my shoulder in a gentle manner. When I looked up, the warm look in his eyes made me trust this man. I began to see why this gentleman was such a popular visitor in the Cancer Ward. He was kind. I decided to completely open up to this man with my secrets.

I explained that I was from a rather conservative family and that everyone stopped talking to me after my brother found out about one of the pornographic movies I acted in. My brother told me that the disgrace of seeing the adult video is what gave my Father his stroke. I carried the guilt of causing the death of my Father on my shoulders for the past two years. I wish I’d been able to see him before he died so I could’ve apologized for being such a tremendous disappointment as his son. I hope my Father will forgive me one day, wherever he is, I said. Then Bergman leaned close to me and comforted me with his soft voice.

“I’m sure your father has already forgiven you, Edward.”

I nodded, holding back my tears.

“We never got the chance to talk very much, but I loved him,” I said.

“I’m sure you did,” Mr. Bergman said.

“Luckily, I won’t have to carry the guilt much longer,” I told him.

“Why is that, Edward?” he asked.

“Because I’m about to die…” I said.

Mr. Bergman pursed his lips in a concerned manner and shook his head.

“Anyway, that’s why my family members refused to be a donor for me,” I said.

My visitor asked me what I was going do, without a donor from my family willing to help. I said the doctors here tell me that they are still searching the National Marrow Donor Registry for a match, but so far they haven’t found one. My window of benefitting from a donation is closing now, so I guess it’s inevitable. The play of my life is nearly over. Darkness waits. End of scene. Fade to black.

My Good Samaritan frowned at the bad news, looking up at the IV solution as it dripped slowly and pointlessly into my veins. To change the dismal subject, Mr. Bergman encouraged me to tell him about the movies we were about to watch. My mood brightened as I sat up in bed to tell my story.

I told Mr. Bergman that my favorite of the two movies Elizabeth and I acted in together was definitely the first one, “The Monastery”. I’ve watched it many times over the years. No matter how many times I’ve seen it, I still find the film completely engrossing. Even though it’s an erotic movie, I admitted to being quite proud of my performance in it. Because of the sensual candlelit way in which it was filmed, no one really knew what to make of it. Was it a porno movie, an art house film, or a strange combination of both? The writer/director/producer of the films, an odd UFO enthusiast named Peter Farnsworth, who managed the downtown location of a popular chain of Adult Video and Sex Toy Shops in San Diego, sold copies of the two films in his store as well as in other sex shops of its kind in Southern California. They were filmed on a shoe-string budget in his modest home in Chula Vista. The second film we made together, “In the Dungeon of Master V”, was widely seen and developed a bit of a cult following, but “The Monastery” was a commercial failure. After the first customer who rented and returned it with the comment, “I want my money back, I couldn’t see shit,” Farnsworth realized some serious technical mistakes had been made. Farnsworth told me only a few copies were ever rented in all of Southern California. Elizabeth saved us both a copy before Farnsworth was about to toss out his entire stock of them. I may have the only remaining copy of “The Monastery” in existence. I don’t know whether Elizabeth ever kept her copy.

Due to the bad lighting in “The Monastery”, you couldn’t really see our most private areas clearly. Our director made sure the lights were on nice and bright during the filming of the second film, “In the Dungeon of Master V”. Even though my opinion may not matter to anyone, I don’t think you can judge an artistic endeavor based solely on its commercial success. Though the second film sold much better, I still consider “The Monastery” a more erotic movie. Elizabeth’s magnificent breasts were on full display during practically every scene of “In the Dungeon of Master V”, but I thought “The Monastery” was far more sensual precisely because our intimate body parts were hidden in the shadows and only revealed in brief moments in the flickering candlelight. I think it could even have slipped by with an R rating, if it were ever to be released.

Mr. Bergman noticed the picture on my bedside table and asked if that was Elizabeth in the photograph. I nodded yes and smiled. It’s a still photograph of Elizabeth and I in costume, during a break in the filming of “The Monastery”. I was in my monk’s robe and Elizabeth was in her simple thrift shop peasant’s dress. We were sitting on the bench, holding hands, relaxed and smiling into the camera. Despite my sickness, looking at that picture never fails to make me feel happy inside. It is my most prized possession, I told my new friend.

Studying the photograph, Mr. Bergman asked me how Elizabeth and I met. I looked into the old man’s kind eyes and began my story…