The last crusader
Marcus Nobreus leaves town to return to his native Sweden. Another eulogy from Lunch.
On Tuesday night, many locals afflicted with a love of the arts gathered at Stellar Brew to do a live reading of a new play by Marcus Nobreus entitled “The Last Crusade.”
Marcus recruited the crowd for the reading, an eclectic mix ranging in age from 20 to 70, hailing from Bishop and Mammoth. Some had lived in the area for 40 years; one girl for four weeks.
The evening was made bittersweet by the knowledge that Nobreus leaves town to move back to his native Sweden on Friday.
His move home across a continent and an ocean is a sad occasion for many. Because Marcus is just one of those people who helped stitch the community together. Every time you saw him, he was always ready with a smile, a laugh (often at his own expense), a wry, philosophical comment.
And every time you saw him, he invariably introduced you to someone else he knew.
He knew everybody.
Marcus is a man of wisdom and of empathy, qualities forged by miseries and missteps. He’s the sort of flawed individual you seek out when you’re feeling down because he’s always got an even more embarrassing story about himself which he’s happy to share with you.
But no matter what he’s gone through, it has never sapped his enthusiasm for life, which is why people are drawn to him. He has the life force to power a small city.
I asked him why he was returning home.
It’s for a woman. And not for a woman. But mostly for a woman.
This summer, he was standing at Base Camp Café ordering a cup of coffee and the woman behind the counter asked him how he liked it. “Like my women. Black and bitter,” he said.
A woman standing next to him laughed, and then proceeded to order a black coffee herself. Marcus detected an accent in her voice and asked where she was from.
Malmoe, Sweden, which is where Marcus is from.
She [Mia] was in the States on vacation, and spent the rest of that vacation with Marcus. I asked him about their connection.
“She and I both like to talk,” he began. “She’s a psychologist.”
“Perfect for you,” I replied.
“That’s right. I get free treatment and she gets a free case study.”
After she left, Marcus began to contemplate his life. “I struggle every year. I go broke quite often. And we were talking on Skype one day and she said, ‘It doesn’t have to be this way.’
“I’m not moving for her. I’m moving because she opened my eyes to possibility, that there’s an alternative to the struggle.
… You know, I have theories about everything. There’s a certain type of social structure in Northern Europe. People pull in the same direction. They’re happy with their government. There’s a little less fear. People aren’t so afraid of not being taken care of … I know this might generate a s%$tstorm, but with the U.S. form of capitalism, people are too much into making money for themselves.
I thought back to last year when I broke my hand. In Sweden, you have health care. I would have gone to the hospital. I didn’t go to the hospital here because I couldn’t afford it.”
“How’d you break your hand?” I asked.
“I knew you’d ask that. I punched a wall.”
“Why?”
“Why do most people punch walls?”
I knew of Marcus before I met him, as he directed a Sierra Classic Theatre production of “All My Sons” in 2006. I thought it was terrific.
Little did I know that there was drama behind the scenes.
“The SCT Board and I had disagreements about what support, or lack of support, I could expect from Sierra Classic Theatre. So I yelled at them – not my finest moment – and they banned me from the next production. I decided to show up anyway at the auditions for the next play and got cast as the lead.”
“What was the play?” I asked
Nobreus (laughing): “‘Beyond Therapy.’ It was the perfect play for me and Jen Collins.” (He stops, ponders, and laughs some more). “Stacy Powells and Chuck Scatolini were in it, too. I guess it was perfect for everybody.”
“You seem to have some anger management issues,” I observed.
“You think?!” laughed Marcus. “But I’m working on it. I haven’t been in trouble for awhile. But you know, it was a helpful characteristic to have as a bouncer.”
This led to Marcus ticking off the various jobs he’s had during his time in Mammoth: carpenter, tile setter, bouncer, personal trainer, actor, director, sponsored MMA fighter with a career 0-1 record. And the latest: a horse wrangler at Convict Lake Resort this past summer.
“What was your most memorable experience?” I asked.
“The whole five years,” said Marcus. “Mammoth is the place where I came of age. It was my most painful five years. It was my best five years. I met fantastic people. I met insane people – like the roommate who was high on coke who tried to kill me.
I’m glad I made the decision the way I did. If I had too much time to think about all the people here that I love, I’d never be able to leave.”
Just then, as if on cue, Marcus introduces me to yet another person he knows, Joe Hannigan, the Manager at Tioga Pass Resort. I ask him what I should title the piece.
“Local drifter finally leaves,” laughs Hannigan.
“I came with dreadlocks and a beard. I leave with dreadlocks and a beard,” chimes in Marcus.
Back to Tuesday night. I always have admiration for those who are willing to put their creative work out there for others to judge. Now Marcus himself would not consider the work a masterpiece, but you know what? The material was fun. So what if the word ‘slut’ wasn’t part of the common lexicon in the year 1297. Marcus gave everyone there the ultimate parting gift – an occasion to be together.
As I was leaving, I told him how much I enjoyed the reading.
“Have you written the story, yet? he asked.
“No.”
“Make sure to get how wonderful Mammoth is in there. And if there’s one thing I can tell people, it’s this: Step out of your own drama and you’ll find a world of possibility.”
