Then the stage, which is set up in the old 'cave' of the cafe (the basements of Parisian building tend to be gorgeous wine cellars) opens, and she is the first downstairs, she sets her glass of sparkling water on the table right in front of the stage, and waits. It's open mic stage for storytellers at 'le cafe des trois arts".
Three of four storytellers come up before she finally steps on stage, she turns around to face us, and at first I can't recognize the grayish old lady anymore. I can't quite pin it, same gray bobbed hair, same hunched shoulders and marine sweater, it must be the mischievous grin, she smiles like a child who knows something really funny and can't belieeeeeve we have not heard it yet!
She starts, in the most humble way, to tell us a short story collected in a village in the 19th century by a priest. It's a simple joke about a man who falls in the stairs and breaks his leg, the doctor prescribes a plaster to be applied "where your husband's hurt his leg" but the leg won't heal...so, the doctor is called back, and he asks why the wife did not apply the plaster, "oh but I did just like you said, I applied it in the stairs...seeing how that's where my husband done broke his leg".
That's it, simple short, like my mom would say, it wouldn't be worth breaking three legs off a duck (idiom for: it's not mind blowingly great).
But the thing is this: we were all riveted, and when she delivers the last line, everyone is cracking up. Now I know you're going to say: "it's open mic night, people are generous with their laughter both because they hope people will also laugh when they themselves are on stage, and because they've had one too many glasses of Hydromel the honeyed liquor of Gods."
But it's something else.
She doesn't gesticulate on stage, occupy the stage, hypnotize us with magnetic eye contact, or even add poetic or brilliant images to the story. Nope. I'm pretty sure her version is 99% what it was in the book she read it in, and I bet she neither rehearsed it with rehearsing buddy, nor questioned the symbolic of tale, nor even wondered why she liked this story, and picked it, and wanted to tell it. It seems she uses none of the tricks of the trained storyteller, but a wonderful storyteller she is, there is no doubt about it.
After the open mic, while the featured storyteller is warming up for the second part of the evening, we're back in the cafe, this time all at the same table, and I'm the one having the boring sparkling water because telling my story left me thirsty and let's face it, you can only drink so many glasses, of apple cognac, no matter how local it is.
French storytellers are drilling me on Turkish stories, but I want to find out more about my mischievous lady, I've seen her real face on stage, I know it, she can put the mask back on all she wants, I know the sparkle in her eye, and the light that burns bright inside, the woman is a riot, pretending to be invisible.
Big cities will do this, some people let themselves fade away.
I ask, she spills.
The story comes right out:
She never thought she would ever step on a stage and tell stories in front of an audience, but she was magically attracted by a storytelling workshop some 4 years ago. She thought she'd just watch once, decide it wasn't her, and walk back to her one bedroom flat and her cat. You see she was not what you'd call performer material, No mam, not the type!
But she liked it, decided to stay, she's been doing it for years now, her first open stage? She never even got on stage, she was waaay too scared! But the next she did, and she has been at it ever since. My mom told me that she has seen her all over, she's always there, anytime there's an open mic, she comes with hunched shoulders, quietly sips her mineral water, steps on stage and cracks everybody up. "I'm not really sure why, but ever since the beginning I've always told these village jokes, they're almost a specialty of mine, it's strange....(she seems thoughtful, but really she is checking me out from the corner of her eye)...it's strange considering I'm not really what you'd call a funny person!" She can tell I'm not buying it and she cracks the weirdest smile, it looks like she's biting her lower lip, while lifting her upper lip to reveal a row of straight teeth, but the mischievous childish glint in her eye is back, I know her, and she knows I do, she's a funny woman, who only gets to show it once in a while, with the power of storytelling.
The thing is this...how come a shy woman can climb on stage, and tell a memorable story that will remain in people's minds for years, even though she has none of the stage tricks of professional performers?
Because storytelling is not theater, it's not a stage art, (even though it often happens on stage), it is not about strutting your ego on stage, it's about baring your soul. Showing your authentic self.
And what's more you shouldn't do it for all to see, but in the service of a story that touched the aforementioned soul. The story chooses you. It says: "tell me, with all you've got, use your inner self as the plate to serve me on, but remember, when the food is good, no one notices the plate".
And this funny woman, she reads stories that crack her up, at home with her cat on her lap, and the glint in her eye comes, and I imagine she thinks: "now this, I absolutely HAVE to tell someone!" And what she shares when she shares the story with a group of strangers in a Parisian cellar, is a part of herself that most people never get to see.
Why do we have to show our authentic selves when we tell?
To me this is what storytelling is about, it's about, through stories, connecting soul to soul, as humans, and recognizing we are all connected and one, through the large soul which we call: humanity.
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