μια συνέντευξη του 1957

// Ο Τρούμαν Καπότε παίρνει συνέντευξη απ' τον Μάρλον Μπράντο
(New Yorker, Νοέμβριος 1957) //

The little maid on the fourth floor of the Miyako Hotel, in Kyoto, led me through a labyrinth of corridors, promising, "I knock you Marron." The "l" sound does not exist in Japanese, and by "Marron" she meant Marlon - Marlon Brando, the American actor, who was at that time in Kyoto doing location work for the motion picture version of James Michener's novel Sayonara.

"Oh, hi," he said. "It's seven, huh?" We'd made a seven o'clock date for dinner; I was nearly 20 minutes late. "Well, take off your shoes and come on in. I'm just finishing up here." Looking after the girl as she scurried off, he cocked his hands on his hips and, grinning, declared, "They really kill me. The kids, too. Don't you think they're wonderful, don't you love them - Japanese kids?"

His quarters consisted of two rooms, a bath and a glassed-in sun porch. All that he owned seemed to be out in the open. Shirts, ready for the laundry; socks, too; hats and ties, flung around like the costume of a dismantled scarecrow. And cameras, a typewriter, a tape recorder, an electric heater that performed with stifling competence. Pieces of partly nibbled fruit. And books, a deep-thought cascade, among which one saw Colin Wilson's The Outsider and works on Buddhist prayer, Zen meditation, Yogi breathing and Hindu mysticism, but no fiction. He has never, he professes, opened a novel since April 3 1924, the day he was born, in Omaha, Nebraska.