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White cranes his neck forward, stretches his head through the hole. He can see into an adjoining room to his right - two dark figures stand over a man on the floor lying in a pool of dark crimson. The man looks up - itís Fredrick - just as both dark figures stab him repeatedly with bloody daggers. He doesnít scream this time, just gags on blood running from his mouth. Suddenly a sliding door SLAMS onto the back of Whiteís neck, traps his head in the hole. He struggles, tries to free himself. Drops the bowl of soup. It shatters on the hard floor, makes a mess. INSIDE THE BATHROOM - The killers look up at the smashing noise. BACK IN THE CORRIDOR - White pulls with all his strength. The door gives and he stumbles backwards. He is about to run away but glances at the floor. The fish is flapping about - still alive. BUMSTEAD is practising his marksmanship. A HAND - on his shoulder. He whips around, startled. ON MISS CRENSHAW - a young, stiff-looking woman. She puts out her hand. BUMSTEAD (uncertain) Oh. He takes her hand tentatively. They shake. Bumstead moves off. He walks up to an elderly female LIBRARIAN sitting behind a desk, smoking, reading. White looks somewhat distraught still. The librarian looks up from her book. She takes her glasses off. Her eyes are TINY, like pin-heads. She studies White. He looks around - restrained panic. WHITE (looks at the woman) Sure. Iím fine. LIBRARIAN (nods) Mmm-hmm. Stairs at the end of the hall. Third floor. Turn left. Section THE BLADE cuts into the tire - it pops loudly, goes flat, metal SPARKS off the road. White is thrown forward, hits his head on the dash. Bumstead fights to keep control, SWERVES into the side of the other vehicle, making it scrape a concrete wall, hits garbage cans flying. The PUPPET'S car falls behind - then swerves off into a side- street and disappears. BUMSTEAD (looks behind him) Where did it go? WHITE (looks back also) Don't know. Both look FORWARD AGAIN - to see the PUPPET'S CAR pull out in front of them, BLOCKING THE WAY. Bumstead's car is going too fast. Slams the brakes. TIGHT ON PUPPET - Screaming with insane joy as Bumstead's car approaches like a bullet. Bumstead rips the phone number from the pad. The two men LEAP. The car continues onwards. CAMERA MOVES IN on mangled metal - a MECHANICAL CLAW starts to pull itself from the wreckage. The man squints at the card White holds up, nods groggily. He thumbs the blue curtain. Curls up, shuts his eyes again. Several corridors meander between large glass panels that look into illuminated tanks of sea creatures. White moves past a shadowy doorway. He can barely make out <b> STAIRS. </b> PHOTOS on the wall - family portraits. White examines these, concentrates on one in particular - a young boy on a red push- bike, in the background a sign with a faded image of a girl in a bathing suit: WELCOME TO BLUMBVILLE! it says. A strange WHIRRING NOISE O.S. White hides behind a sofa. Whatever is making the whirring noise moves past slowly. opens it. He plucks out the note and reads FREDRICKís SCRAWLED MESSAGE: TIGHT ON - a manís shadow as it descends a wooden staircase. REVEAL WHITE - He rummages in a paper bag as he walks. Pulls out two capsules, swallows them. Now he pulls out a pack of "LUMP-O", rips it open, eats ravenously. HIS P.O.V. - A CHURCH. A bell-tower, black against the sky. White stares up into the night. A PRIEST - appears at the altar, cloaked in a blood-red robe, followed by two altar boys also in red. They move past a statue of an insect-like creature, walk in circles chanting softly, stop and stare at the congregation through eye-slits in their hoods. The priest begins his sermon. White looks forward. TIGHT ON the priestís hand - It rises, points, moves over the heads of the congregation, accusingly. Suddenly the red finger jabs towards an OLD WOMAN in the front row. All the congregation turn and stare at the woman. Sheís terrified. The hand moves slowly now, across to a BEAUTIFUL JAPANESE WOMAN several rows back. The priest pauses dramatically then: Suddenly the finger is pointing at White. All the faces turn, stare suspiciously at White. ANGLE ON WHITE - frozen with fright. Fortunately his face is obscured by shadow and the priest lowers his hand, continues the sermon. The people look away. White goes to leave. As he stands he notices the DOORS of the church open - two figures step in and move into the candle- light. MYSTERY MEN - Whiteís bizarre pursuers. They look around. White ducks down, crawls between pews, startling several of the they poke out of his sleeves like tiny children's limbs. The cuffs effortlessly slip off. White looks at the woman, then back at his hands - NOTHING STRANGE, they are normal size, but somehow the cuffs have been removed. He looks at the woman again, grateful. He can't help smiling. Slowly, White lifts his hands to her breasts, touches them. She starts to breath deeply. OUT OF FOCUS - their bodies entangle, begin to move rhythmically. The CAMERA TRACKS SIDEWAYS, REVEALS a microphone behind a chair, leads us to a mirror on a wall. On the other side of the one-way glass a reel-to-reel tape recorder is picking up the SOUNDS OF HEAVY BREATHING. The JAPANESE WOMAN stands naked at the window, clutching a large red megaphone. IN PERFECT ENGLISH she shouts down at the streets drifting past. LONG SHADOWS move towards the entrance... WHITE WAKES UP AGAIN - finds he is still on the couch. NO SIGN of the woman. Then he notices her standing by the window (minus megaphone). The wind pulls at her black hair. A distant SIREN O.S. He gets up, walks over, stands beside her, looks out at the dark city. She ignores him, goes back to the couch, turns on a table-lamp, puts her hands before the lit bulb, casts animal shadows on the wall. White watches her. He walks across and sits next to her. She points to herself. WOMAN (a whisper) Sachiko. He nods slowly, looks at her. She waits for him to respond with his name. He shrugs, remains silent. Then he puts his hands in the light, makes his own animal shadow. She smiles at the shadows. though their faces cannot be seen clearly in the gloom, they too resemble the MAN who confronted White earlier. They walk towards him slowly, holding knifes above their heads. Ready to attack. They lean over him, pause dramatically. This Man turns to the others. They all smile, then turn back to White. MEN (in unison) Fifty-six. ANOTHER VOICE has been speaking softly - now it is louder. Repeating: ANGLE - a chair falls to the floor. White leaps up from the table, terrified, disoriented. Just a DREAM - he had dozed. WIDEN ANGLE - The place is still empty. White glances to the serving window. A DISH waits for him, framed in the glowing fluoro square. He gets it. A bowl of soupy liquid with noodles. He sits down. He is about to start eating - realizes he has a fork instead of a spoon. Picking up the bowl again, he heads to the kitchen. He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and shut automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor. Deserted spaces long forgotten - dusty, crumbling. He feels the fish moving about in his pocket, pulls it out and looks at it. White holds the dying fish in one hand, the bowl of cold soup in the other. Disgusted, he puts the fish into the bowl. Standing beside him is FREDRICK - the little man from Whiteís hotel room. FREDRICK (stutters) Where have you been? The doctorís been worried about you. Fredrick looks nervously down the corridor. The little man grabs Whiteís sleeve, starts to pull him along. ANGLE ON - the top of a | What do the Strangers do at midnight every night? | They stop time, rearrange the city, and change people's identities and memories. |
THE BLADE cuts into the tire - it pops loudly, goes flat, metal SPARKS off the road. White is thrown forward, hits his head on the dash. Bumstead fights to keep control, SWERVES into the side of the other vehicle, making it scrape a concrete wall, hits garbage cans flying. The PUPPET'S car falls behind - then swerves off into a side- street and disappears. BUMSTEAD (looks behind him) Where did it go? WHITE (looks back also) Don't know. Both look FORWARD AGAIN - to see the PUPPET'S CAR pull out in front of them, BLOCKING THE WAY. Bumstead's car is going too fast. Slams the brakes. TIGHT ON PUPPET - Screaming with insane joy as Bumstead's car approaches like a bullet. Bumstead rips the phone number from the pad. The two men LEAP. The car continues onwards. CAMERA MOVES IN on mangled metal - a MECHANICAL CLAW starts to pull itself from the wreckage. The man squints at the card White holds up, nods groggily. He thumbs the blue curtain. Curls up, shuts his eyes again. Several corridors meander between large glass panels that look into illuminated tanks of sea creatures. White moves past a shadowy doorway. He can barely make out <b> STAIRS. </b> PHOTOS on the wall - family portraits. White examines these, concentrates on one in particular - a young boy on a red push- bike, in the background a sign with a faded image of a girl in a bathing suit: WELCOME TO BLUMBVILLE! it says. A strange WHIRRING NOISE O.S. White hides behind a sofa. Whatever is making the whirring noise moves past slowly. going to explode. A whimper deep in his throat. His body is trembling violently. PUSH IN TIGHT on the paper on the ground. A front-page headline: MAN-HUNT CONTINUES FOR SERIAL KILLER! White looks up - terrified. The RUSHING NOISE O.S. again. White, stands quickly, thrusts the newspaper into a pocket. Tries to side-step the ADVANCING DOOR but itís too late, he can only open it and step through, to avoid getting pinned to the wall. THE HOTEL MANAGER looks up, moves forward into light: a squat, hunch-backed man with glasses. He steps through the beads, glares at the intruders. ON THE MEN - an uncanny resemblance to the one who tried to kill White. Black coats, glasses, pale skin. Creepy. A BLACK GLOVED HAND flashes forward, grips the managerís face and doesnít let go. The manager struggles, gulps for air. Heís pushed back heavily against the wall. The leather glove SQUEEZES, blood trickles from the managerís ears, through the fingers. ON THE MAN - FREDRICK - a stunted body, an oversized head, thick limbs. The rest of his features lost in shadow. The door swings open, a shaft of light floods the dark room. ON THE TWO MYSTERY MEN as they step in and look around. They search the room, knock stuff over. One of the men kicks at the womanís corpse in the corner. Behind him, Fredrick, still hiding near the door, slips into the corridor unnoticed. As he puts the wallet back in his pocket, a BUSINESS CARD he hadnít noticed, flutters to the ground. He stops, picks it up. In simple print: DOCTOR D.P. SCHREBER M.D., a phone number. Scribbled handwriting on the pitcher of water, and dumps this on the flames. It kills the fire but leaves a black hole in the table-cloth. The paper is ash. He moves to another table pretending nothing happened, fans the smoke away. He starts to look around. TIGHT ON FILING CABINET - a drawer is pulled open. Thompsonís files are also a mess. Bumstead continues to shake his head. He reaches for a file. A loud SNAP! He leans down to scratch an itchy ankle, lifts his trouser leg to examine the bites - worse, inflamed. He uses a napkin to wipe at the pus. AERIAL PERSPECTIVE OF A FLY - circling the room, looking down on White. ON THE FLY - It lands on a plate of half eaten food on another table. The creature is some kind of SURVEILLANCE DEVICE - half insect/half machine. Itís spying on him. MOVE IN TIGHT as inbuilt camera lenses focus in its head. It shits on the food behind it. White is oblivious to this. Heís finished examining his leg, is sitting quietly. He yawns. His head nods forward briefly. A NOISE. White looks up. A TRAP-DOOR has opened in the ceiling. Two feet in black leather shoes descend from the hole. A sea breeze blows through the room. The SOUND OF SURF, SEAGULLS CRYING. ON Whiteís nose twitching. He can smell the ocean. The WALLPAPER COMES ALIVE - like a seething tangle of worms. One by one, THREE MEN in black coats lower into the room, floating on air. They pull out knifes, step forward. ON WHITE rigid with terror. ON THE MEN - RINGS O.S. The nurse makes for the door. He's tapping the side of the syringe, squirting out air bubbles. THE DOOR-BELL RINGS again - very insistent. Schreber looks at the nurse, annoyed. She heads to the door - turns back. Schreber puts the syringe down, fumbles in his pocket, pulls out a huge collection of KEYS on a ring, walks to the nurse, hands them to her. White manages to wriggle a hand free from the leather strap holding him. The nurse leaves, the doctor shuts the door, locks it. He steps over to White. White lashes out, PUNCHES the doctor in the face. His glasses go flying, and he falls to the floor, blinded, scrambling for the spectacles. A convenient scalpel cuts White from his remaining bonds. He undoes the last strap around his ankles as the doctor replaces his glasses and leaps at him trying to drive the syringe INTO <b> WHITE'S FOREHEAD. </b> The struggle continues - each man tries to turn the syringe on the other. White pushes the doctor, who falls backwards. Schreber leaps onto him, both fall against a tray of medical instruments. A loud THUMPING on the examination room door. White is grabbed from behind, pinned down with the syringe INCHES from his face. A CRASH O.S. Splintering wood. The door bursts open. A ROTUND SILHOUETTE - is revealed, clutching a police special, flashing a badge. A squeaky, over-excited, voice: Schreber and White FREEZE in mid-struggle, look at the inspector. Behind him, the nurse appears in the hallway. Bumstead steps into the light, shoves his gun in White's face, handcuffs him. Bumstead searches White, finds the revolver, takes this. Also takes his wallet. He glances at the doctor, who hides the syringe behind his back. BUMSTEAD (to Doctor) You Schreber? Schreber nods blankly. Bumstead runs his hand over White's side pocket - feels something. White says nothing. The inspector opens the pocket and looks in. BUMSTEAD (disgusted) A fish, huh? He shakes his watch, puts it to his ear. WHITE (confused) What? I... BUMSTEAD (counts on fingers) Let's see, there's the little guy with no arms or legs. And the young boy? WHITE (disturbed) Young boy? CLOSE ON WHITE - frightened now. Bumstead pulls something from under the dashboard. A SANDWICH, carefully wrapped and prepared. After glancing at his watch again, he bites into it. BUMSTEAD (chewing) Y'know, the kid you left in the meat packing plant, cut into pieces. Packed into brown paper parcels, wrapped in twine, that kind of thing. WHITE (cuts in) Stop it. You're making me sick... RADIO CRACKLE O.S. - A tinny voice cuts in. Bumstead picks up a microphone, speaks into it. Bumstead replaces the microphone under the dashboard, takes a SHARP CORNER as he finishes off the sandwich. Burastead pulls out a small brush, cleans the fallen crumbs from his trousers, keeping a hand on the wheel. White is silent - his wounds continue to bother him. He leans down to scratch through his trousers. WHITE (quietly) Shit! WHITE (looks up) I didn't sneeze. Bumstead grabs a bunch of flowers off the back seat. The inspector shuts the door behind him. White looks about the blank room, takes a seat. He can see Bumstead, through the glass panel in the door, walk up to the male nurse opposite. BUMSTEAD (whisper) Brought you these. | What do Murdoch and Schreber find when they go looking for Shell Beach? | Shell Beach is just a poster on the edge of the city. |
He places flowers on the bedside table. His mother just stares expressionless into space, in a coma. He sits on a metal chair, looks at the woman. Her life-sustaining machines hiss and breathe. MECHANICAL VOICE (through speaker) Move - forward. White follows a painted line on the floor, stands against a wall, in front of an old-fashioned camera. A slot opens in the wall behind him, mechanical arms spring forward, restrain him, one arm holds a sign with a number in front of him. A flash goes off, the click of a shutter. A claw lowers from the ceiling, grips White's head, turns it abruptly - the camera fires. The claw turns his head the other way. The camera fires again. Across the room A BUZZER SOUNDS, a red light flashes above a door. White is released by the mechanical hands, walks over, opens the door and steps into darkness. LIGHTS COME ON - extremely bright. A room for line-ups - markings on the white wall behind White indicate varying heights, a darkened window faces him. He is obviously to be identified by an unseen person. A buzzer sounds again, a light indicates another door. White moves into another room. A chair faces a large wheel painted in a black and white spiral. He sits down - the wheel turns, faster and faster. The wheel stops after several seconds. The next room is full of scientific equipment. White sees a metal-frame X-ray machine - he steps across to it. The screen lights up, filling the room with a green glow. We can see the shape of his skeleton. Where his pocket would be, is the they poke out of his sleeves like tiny children's limbs. The cuffs effortlessly slip off. White looks at the woman, then back at his hands - NOTHING STRANGE, they are normal size, but somehow the cuffs have been removed. He looks at the woman again, grateful. He can't help smiling. Slowly, White lifts his hands to her breasts, touches them. She starts to breath deeply. OUT OF FOCUS - their bodies entangle, begin to move rhythmically. The CAMERA TRACKS SIDEWAYS, REVEALS a microphone behind a chair, leads us to a mirror on a wall. On the other side of the one-way glass a reel-to-reel tape recorder is picking up the SOUNDS OF HEAVY BREATHING. The JAPANESE WOMAN stands naked at the window, clutching a large red megaphone. IN PERFECT ENGLISH she shouts down at the streets drifting past. LONG SHADOWS move towards the entrance... WHITE WAKES UP AGAIN - finds he is still on the couch. NO SIGN of the woman. Then he notices her standing by the window (minus megaphone). The wind pulls at her black hair. A distant SIREN O.S. He gets up, walks over, stands beside her, looks out at the dark city. She ignores him, goes back to the couch, turns on a table-lamp, puts her hands before the lit bulb, casts animal shadows on the wall. White watches her. He walks across and sits next to her. She points to herself. WOMAN (a whisper) Sachiko. He nods slowly, looks at her. She waits for him to respond with his name. He shrugs, remains silent. Then he puts his hands in the light, makes his own animal shadow. She smiles at the shadows. though their faces cannot be seen clearly in the gloom, they too resemble the MAN who confronted White earlier. They walk towards him slowly, holding knifes above their heads. Ready to attack. They lean over him, pause dramatically. This Man turns to the others. They all smile, then turn back to White. MEN (in unison) Fifty-six. ANOTHER VOICE has been speaking softly - now it is louder. Repeating: ANGLE - a chair falls to the floor. White leaps up from the table, terrified, disoriented. Just a DREAM - he had dozed. WIDEN ANGLE - The place is still empty. White glances to the serving window. A DISH waits for him, framed in the glowing fluoro square. He gets it. A bowl of soupy liquid with noodles. He sits down. He is about to start eating - realizes he has a fork instead of a spoon. Picking up the bowl again, he heads to the kitchen. He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and shut automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor. Deserted spaces long forgotten - dusty, crumbling. He feels the fish moving about in his pocket, pulls it out and looks at it. White holds the dying fish in one hand, the bowl of cold soup in the other. Disgusted, he puts the fish into the bowl. Standing beside him is FREDRICK - the little man from Whiteís hotel room. FREDRICK (stutters) Where have you been? The doctorís been worried about you. Fredrick looks nervously down the corridor. The little man grabs Whiteís sleeve, starts to pull him along. ANGLE ON - the top of a Beyond the last victim it becomes a dotted line, following the same trajectory but with a big question mark beside it. Bumstead glances over to a blackboard with a list of names and addresses on it. He holds up the doctor's card and stares at it. He turns it over, notices an address on the back. WHITE (cuts in) Look. It was a simple question. Can someone kill and not remember it? SCHREBER (smiles) I'm sorry. I get carried away sometimes. Possible? I'm... ah, afraid so. White shakes his head, looking blankly at the doctor. Schreber turns, points to DOUBLE-DOORS. He walks towards these. White follows. The two men look down on a monkey with the top of its head missing, squirming in a mechanical device that restricts its movements. White turns and starts to pace away. Schreber reluctantly follows. Schreber points dramatically at a wooden structure containing two rats. The rats perform various activities involving mazes and geometric symbols. Schreber turns to look at White, eyebrow raised. TIGHT ON HIS SLENDER FINGER - pointing to a machine also run by rats. The object is to make it through a guillotine device. One rat is successful, the other is chopped neatly in two. Schreber puts a hand on White's shoulder. White nods again, extremely troubled. They've stopped outside a flaking door. ANGLE ON FRYING PAN ON STOVE - The fish lands in it and starts to sizzle furiously. A set of swinging doors on the other side of the room open slightly and THE NURSE looks in. NURSE (to Schreber) I have to talk to you. She shakes her head, with a serious expression, then darts out again. SCHREBER (to White) Excuse while he describes the evidence to support their case. MAN 1 places a large black and white photo blow-up on the easel. It shows White at the door of the JAPANESE WOMAN'S apartment, clutching a kitchen knife, covered in blood. White watches in stunned silence. A general murmur of agreement through the room as the point is made. Mister Black turns to the victims, nods his head slowly. MAN 1 removes a small tape recorder, hands it to MAN 2. He turns a switch, the reels spin slowly. A hush fills the room. VOICE 2 (sounds like White) Shut up! Another scream. A ripping sound. VOICE 3 (sounds like his WIFE) John! Don't... White is standing up, involuntarily, he can't listen to this any longer. WHITE (a squeak, almost inaudible) Stop it! This is a lie... Mister Black turns to White. The Men testifying stop the tape and look at him also. The Men in the audience turn and all stare at White, as do the victims and the spectators in the adjoining room. WHITE (back to a whisper) I didn't kill anyone. WHITE (finds his voice) It's lies. Everything. He grips the barrier before him. A SHRIEK from the pram containing the BABY - it rocks violently from side to side. The DISEMBOWELED WOMAN rises from her chair. She has difficulty standing, her limbs stiff. She looks at White, opens her mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. Instead a tiny RED CRAB scuttles out, across her face, and falls to the ground. She sits down. White is stunned. AN OLDER COUPLE are led out of the kitchen by a Mystery Man. Shown to seats behind a podium. The woman looks sadly at | Who is Anna? | She is Emma, with new memories. |
opens it. He plucks out the note and reads FREDRICKís SCRAWLED MESSAGE: TIGHT ON - a manís shadow as it descends a wooden staircase. REVEAL WHITE - He rummages in a paper bag as he walks. Pulls out two capsules, swallows them. Now he pulls out a pack of "LUMP-O", rips it open, eats ravenously. HIS P.O.V. - A CHURCH. A bell-tower, black against the sky. White stares up into the night. A PRIEST - appears at the altar, cloaked in a blood-red robe, followed by two altar boys also in red. They move past a statue of an insect-like creature, walk in circles chanting softly, stop and stare at the congregation through eye-slits in their hoods. The priest begins his sermon. White looks forward. TIGHT ON the priestís hand - It rises, points, moves over the heads of the congregation, accusingly. Suddenly the red finger jabs towards an OLD WOMAN in the front row. All the congregation turn and stare at the woman. Sheís terrified. The hand moves slowly now, across to a BEAUTIFUL JAPANESE WOMAN several rows back. The priest pauses dramatically then: Suddenly the finger is pointing at White. All the faces turn, stare suspiciously at White. ANGLE ON WHITE - frozen with fright. Fortunately his face is obscured by shadow and the priest lowers his hand, continues the sermon. The people look away. White goes to leave. As he stands he notices the DOORS of the church open - two figures step in and move into the candle- light. MYSTERY MEN - Whiteís bizarre pursuers. They look around. White ducks down, crawls between pews, startling several of the they poke out of his sleeves like tiny children's limbs. The cuffs effortlessly slip off. White looks at the woman, then back at his hands - NOTHING STRANGE, they are normal size, but somehow the cuffs have been removed. He looks at the woman again, grateful. He can't help smiling. Slowly, White lifts his hands to her breasts, touches them. She starts to breath deeply. OUT OF FOCUS - their bodies entangle, begin to move rhythmically. The CAMERA TRACKS SIDEWAYS, REVEALS a microphone behind a chair, leads us to a mirror on a wall. On the other side of the one-way glass a reel-to-reel tape recorder is picking up the SOUNDS OF HEAVY BREATHING. The JAPANESE WOMAN stands naked at the window, clutching a large red megaphone. IN PERFECT ENGLISH she shouts down at the streets drifting past. LONG SHADOWS move towards the entrance... WHITE WAKES UP AGAIN - finds he is still on the couch. NO SIGN of the woman. Then he notices her standing by the window (minus megaphone). The wind pulls at her black hair. A distant SIREN O.S. He gets up, walks over, stands beside her, looks out at the dark city. She ignores him, goes back to the couch, turns on a table-lamp, puts her hands before the lit bulb, casts animal shadows on the wall. White watches her. He walks across and sits next to her. She points to herself. WOMAN (a whisper) Sachiko. He nods slowly, looks at her. She waits for him to respond with his name. He shrugs, remains silent. Then he puts his hands in the light, makes his own animal shadow. She smiles at the shadows. THE BLADE cuts into the tire - it pops loudly, goes flat, metal SPARKS off the road. White is thrown forward, hits his head on the dash. Bumstead fights to keep control, SWERVES into the side of the other vehicle, making it scrape a concrete wall, hits garbage cans flying. The PUPPET'S car falls behind - then swerves off into a side- street and disappears. BUMSTEAD (looks behind him) Where did it go? WHITE (looks back also) Don't know. Both look FORWARD AGAIN - to see the PUPPET'S CAR pull out in front of them, BLOCKING THE WAY. Bumstead's car is going too fast. Slams the brakes. TIGHT ON PUPPET - Screaming with insane joy as Bumstead's car approaches like a bullet. Bumstead rips the phone number from the pad. The two men LEAP. The car continues onwards. CAMERA MOVES IN on mangled metal - a MECHANICAL CLAW starts to pull itself from the wreckage. The man squints at the card White holds up, nods groggily. He thumbs the blue curtain. Curls up, shuts his eyes again. Several corridors meander between large glass panels that look into illuminated tanks of sea creatures. White moves past a shadowy doorway. He can barely make out <b> STAIRS. </b> PHOTOS on the wall - family portraits. White examines these, concentrates on one in particular - a young boy on a red push- bike, in the background a sign with a faded image of a girl in a bathing suit: WELCOME TO BLUMBVILLE! it says. A strange WHIRRING NOISE O.S. White hides behind a sofa. Whatever is making the whirring noise moves past slowly. takes a step forward, then another - and RUNS INTO THE SKY - A PAINTED WALL. He glances up at a small SPEAKER built into the wall - the SOURCE of the sea- side SOUND EFFECTS. He hears the click of the gun being cocked behind him. Hopes dashed, he turns. ANGLE ON A MYSTERY MAN - a gun pointed at White's stomach. White is led into a pitch black room. The Man motions with the gun for White to walk forward. As soon as White turns to do this, the Man slips from the room and shuts the door, cutting off any existing light. A NOISE O.S. - some kind of machine being turned on - lights start to come up all over the room. It's a normal, average-sized, living room. All the furniture has been removed and replaced with chairs, tables, podiums - an arrangement resembling an IMPROVISED COURT of law. In fact, White realizes he is standing behind some kind of witness box. The apartment is devoid of people, though almost immediately a door opens to the side (looks like it would lead to the kitchen) and a series of figures step through. MYSTERY MEN. All the MEN take up specific positions around the room, without uttering a word, but don't sit. One MYSTERY MAN opens a curtain beneath an arched entrance - beyond it, within a very small room, stand DOZENS OF PEOPLE, crammed shoulder to shoulder. The people stare at White silently - a bizarre gallery of spectators. An eerie silence falls on the room. The kitchen door opens again. White is shocked to see the VICTIMS WALK INTO the pitcher of water, and dumps this on the flames. It kills the fire but leaves a black hole in the table-cloth. The paper is ash. He moves to another table pretending nothing happened, fans the smoke away. He starts to look around. TIGHT ON FILING CABINET - a drawer is pulled open. Thompsonís files are also a mess. Bumstead continues to shake his head. He reaches for a file. A loud SNAP! He leans down to scratch an itchy ankle, lifts his trouser leg to examine the bites - worse, inflamed. He uses a napkin to wipe at the pus. AERIAL PERSPECTIVE OF A FLY - circling the room, looking down on White. ON THE FLY - It lands on a plate of half eaten food on another table. The creature is some kind of SURVEILLANCE DEVICE - half insect/half machine. Itís spying on him. MOVE IN TIGHT as inbuilt camera lenses focus in its head. It shits on the food behind it. White is oblivious to this. Heís finished examining his leg, is sitting quietly. He yawns. His head nods forward briefly. A NOISE. White looks up. A TRAP-DOOR has opened in the ceiling. Two feet in black leather shoes descend from the hole. A sea breeze blows through the room. The SOUND OF SURF, SEAGULLS CRYING. ON Whiteís nose twitching. He can smell the ocean. The WALLPAPER COMES ALIVE - like a seething tangle of worms. One by one, THREE MEN in black coats lower into the room, floating on air. They pull out knifes, step forward. ON WHITE rigid with terror. ON THE MEN - | Where do the Strangers live? | under the city |
He places flowers on the bedside table. His mother just stares expressionless into space, in a coma. He sits on a metal chair, looks at the woman. Her life-sustaining machines hiss and breathe. MECHANICAL VOICE (through speaker) Move - forward. White follows a painted line on the floor, stands against a wall, in front of an old-fashioned camera. A slot opens in the wall behind him, mechanical arms spring forward, restrain him, one arm holds a sign with a number in front of him. A flash goes off, the click of a shutter. A claw lowers from the ceiling, grips White's head, turns it abruptly - the camera fires. The claw turns his head the other way. The camera fires again. Across the room A BUZZER SOUNDS, a red light flashes above a door. White is released by the mechanical hands, walks over, opens the door and steps into darkness. LIGHTS COME ON - extremely bright. A room for line-ups - markings on the white wall behind White indicate varying heights, a darkened window faces him. He is obviously to be identified by an unseen person. A buzzer sounds again, a light indicates another door. White moves into another room. A chair faces a large wheel painted in a black and white spiral. He sits down - the wheel turns, faster and faster. The wheel stops after several seconds. The next room is full of scientific equipment. White sees a metal-frame X-ray machine - he steps across to it. The screen lights up, filling the room with a green glow. We can see the shape of his skeleton. Where his pocket would be, is the oblivious. He moves away slowly, feeling strange. His feet stop making contact with the floor. He grabs a table to steady himself. The table-cloth comes away, things spill to the floor and smash. He's FLOATING. White desperately reaches out to grab something, holds the light-fixture in the ceiling. It breaks off in a cloud of plaster. Sparks briefly illuminate. He falls heavily ONTO THE CEILING - now the floor. The apartment is upside down. He stares up at furniture and objects. White takes off his clothes and climbs the wall, towards the floor. It's difficult, but he reaches the tap, turns it off. Pulls himself towards the tub. Gravity becomes NORMAL AGAIN as he sinks in the warm water. He's incredibly weak - floats limply in the bath. Submerges his face. A distant throbbing O.S., like a huge machine heart somewhere in the building. He opens his eyes, still underwater, stares up at the ceiling. White rigid with fright, cannot focus on the figure through the thin veil of water. The FIGURE reaches out. A GLOVED HAND grabs White about the throat, holds him forcefully. White gulps for air, swallows water. His eyes widen. He tries to stop the hand strangling him but can't. Suddenly the hand pulls away. The BLURRY FIGURE stumbles back and ERUPTS into bloody explosion. The body splits apart, throwing internal organs through the room. White awakens in the bathtub. He looks about the room. Empty. Silent. He gets out of the water, starts to dress. A third YOUNG COP steps up to the cop in charge, glancing at the bile on Bumstead's suit. The cop leads Bumstead behind a WOODEN PARTITION. pitcher of water, and dumps this on the flames. It kills the fire but leaves a black hole in the table-cloth. The paper is ash. He moves to another table pretending nothing happened, fans the smoke away. He starts to look around. TIGHT ON FILING CABINET - a drawer is pulled open. Thompsonís files are also a mess. Bumstead continues to shake his head. He reaches for a file. A loud SNAP! He leans down to scratch an itchy ankle, lifts his trouser leg to examine the bites - worse, inflamed. He uses a napkin to wipe at the pus. AERIAL PERSPECTIVE OF A FLY - circling the room, looking down on White. ON THE FLY - It lands on a plate of half eaten food on another table. The creature is some kind of SURVEILLANCE DEVICE - half insect/half machine. Itís spying on him. MOVE IN TIGHT as inbuilt camera lenses focus in its head. It shits on the food behind it. White is oblivious to this. Heís finished examining his leg, is sitting quietly. He yawns. His head nods forward briefly. A NOISE. White looks up. A TRAP-DOOR has opened in the ceiling. Two feet in black leather shoes descend from the hole. A sea breeze blows through the room. The SOUND OF SURF, SEAGULLS CRYING. ON Whiteís nose twitching. He can smell the ocean. The WALLPAPER COMES ALIVE - like a seething tangle of worms. One by one, THREE MEN in black coats lower into the room, floating on air. They pull out knifes, step forward. ON WHITE rigid with terror. ON THE MEN - Schreber's turn shortly. White is worried, looks at the others. WHITE (whisper) What do we do? SCHREBER (hisses back) Fake it! SCHREBER is next - he stands abruptly. Then it's Bumstead's turn. MAN 1 at the front seems confused for a moment - SEVERAL of the others turn towards Bumstead. MAN 1 (uncertain) Good. The inspector sits back down - whispers to White without looking at him. White stands. Hesitates. Then: White sits down, shaking his head, embarrassed. THE MAN NEXT TO WHITE rises up - keeps rising, FLOATS IN THE AIR above the Men's heads. He turns sideways, still floating. The inspector stops walking suddenly, grabs White, holds him back. At the end of the alley the PUPPET advances menacingly. Schreber takes his chance and runs down an alley and disappears. Fortunately BUMSTEAD'S CAR stands nearby. The two men leap in, start it up. Bumstead guns towards the puppet standing in the glare of the headlights. The puppet's head opens, a TINY PROPELLER pops out, spins, lifting the puppet into the air. The car passes beneath it at speed. Screeches off into a street, races along between tall buildings. White thinks for a moment, pulls the paper his wife gave him from his pocket. Bumstead scribbles on the pad mounted to the dash, battles with the wheel, driving at breakneck speed. White turns and looks behind them. ON THE PUPPET - sitting AT THE WHEEL of a stolen car, driving like crazy. WHITE (remembers) It's empty. Bumstead pulls a gun out of his coat. They swap. The puppet PULLS ALONGSIDE, a mechanical arm extends towards Bumstead's front tire. A SPINNING BLADE extends from the end of the mechanical arm. room and adopt positions in what is obviously the area for the jury. The DISEMBOWELED CORPSE OF A WOMAN steps out of the shadows, pushing a pram. Her throat is cut, she is shrouded in a white sheet. Within the pram is the BABY clutching its own head, with spine attached, under its arm. Then the mutilated FREDRICK hops out, followed by the three brown blood-stained paper parcels containing what is left of the YOUNG BOY. Finally, his WIFE and the JAPANESE WOMAN, still in passionate embrace, take their positions. Another door opens - a closet. Within stands the figure we have only seen as a shadow - the elderly MYSTERY MAN with the cane. MISTER BLACK slowly reaches above him and pulls at a chain hanging from the ceiling - the light snaps on inside the closet. Somewhere, a long way off in the same building, a toilet is heard flushing. He is much older than the rest, carries himself with authority as he hobbles across the room to a raised podium, supporting his withered body on his cane. Looks like he will play JUDGE. Everyone in the room now sits. Mister Black looks at White. ANGLE ON WHITE - He starts to tremble, not so much from fear, but cold. White just looks at him, still clutching the small notebook called: ANSWERS. White is silent. He leans over and scratches his legs through the fabric of his trousers. They itch like crazy. Mister Black turns to the assembled people. TWO MYSTERY MEN stand and step across to a wooden easel. MAN 1 stands beside it, reveals a series of visuals, charts, etc. drawn on stiff cardboard. MAN 2 uses a pointer | What kind of powers does Murdoch possess? | Mind powers called 'tuning' |
oblivious. He moves away slowly, feeling strange. His feet stop making contact with the floor. He grabs a table to steady himself. The table-cloth comes away, things spill to the floor and smash. He's FLOATING. White desperately reaches out to grab something, holds the light-fixture in the ceiling. It breaks off in a cloud of plaster. Sparks briefly illuminate. He falls heavily ONTO THE CEILING - now the floor. The apartment is upside down. He stares up at furniture and objects. White takes off his clothes and climbs the wall, towards the floor. It's difficult, but he reaches the tap, turns it off. Pulls himself towards the tub. Gravity becomes NORMAL AGAIN as he sinks in the warm water. He's incredibly weak - floats limply in the bath. Submerges his face. A distant throbbing O.S., like a huge machine heart somewhere in the building. He opens his eyes, still underwater, stares up at the ceiling. White rigid with fright, cannot focus on the figure through the thin veil of water. The FIGURE reaches out. A GLOVED HAND grabs White about the throat, holds him forcefully. White gulps for air, swallows water. His eyes widen. He tries to stop the hand strangling him but can't. Suddenly the hand pulls away. The BLURRY FIGURE stumbles back and ERUPTS into bloody explosion. The body splits apart, throwing internal organs through the room. White awakens in the bathtub. He looks about the room. Empty. Silent. He gets out of the water, starts to dress. A third YOUNG COP steps up to the cop in charge, glancing at the bile on Bumstead's suit. The cop leads Bumstead behind a WOODEN PARTITION. opens it. He plucks out the note and reads FREDRICKís SCRAWLED MESSAGE: TIGHT ON - a manís shadow as it descends a wooden staircase. REVEAL WHITE - He rummages in a paper bag as he walks. Pulls out two capsules, swallows them. Now he pulls out a pack of "LUMP-O", rips it open, eats ravenously. HIS P.O.V. - A CHURCH. A bell-tower, black against the sky. White stares up into the night. A PRIEST - appears at the altar, cloaked in a blood-red robe, followed by two altar boys also in red. They move past a statue of an insect-like creature, walk in circles chanting softly, stop and stare at the congregation through eye-slits in their hoods. The priest begins his sermon. White looks forward. TIGHT ON the priestís hand - It rises, points, moves over the heads of the congregation, accusingly. Suddenly the red finger jabs towards an OLD WOMAN in the front row. All the congregation turn and stare at the woman. Sheís terrified. The hand moves slowly now, across to a BEAUTIFUL JAPANESE WOMAN several rows back. The priest pauses dramatically then: Suddenly the finger is pointing at White. All the faces turn, stare suspiciously at White. ANGLE ON WHITE - frozen with fright. Fortunately his face is obscured by shadow and the priest lowers his hand, continues the sermon. The people look away. White goes to leave. As he stands he notices the DOORS of the church open - two figures step in and move into the candle- light. MYSTERY MEN - Whiteís bizarre pursuers. They look around. White ducks down, crawls between pews, startling several of the though their faces cannot be seen clearly in the gloom, they too resemble the MAN who confronted White earlier. They walk towards him slowly, holding knifes above their heads. Ready to attack. They lean over him, pause dramatically. This Man turns to the others. They all smile, then turn back to White. MEN (in unison) Fifty-six. ANOTHER VOICE has been speaking softly - now it is louder. Repeating: ANGLE - a chair falls to the floor. White leaps up from the table, terrified, disoriented. Just a DREAM - he had dozed. WIDEN ANGLE - The place is still empty. White glances to the serving window. A DISH waits for him, framed in the glowing fluoro square. He gets it. A bowl of soupy liquid with noodles. He sits down. He is about to start eating - realizes he has a fork instead of a spoon. Picking up the bowl again, he heads to the kitchen. He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and shut automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor. Deserted spaces long forgotten - dusty, crumbling. He feels the fish moving about in his pocket, pulls it out and looks at it. White holds the dying fish in one hand, the bowl of cold soup in the other. Disgusted, he puts the fish into the bowl. Standing beside him is FREDRICK - the little man from Whiteís hotel room. FREDRICK (stutters) Where have you been? The doctorís been worried about you. Fredrick looks nervously down the corridor. The little man grabs Whiteís sleeve, starts to pull him along. ANGLE ON - the top of a going to explode. A whimper deep in his throat. His body is trembling violently. PUSH IN TIGHT on the paper on the ground. A front-page headline: MAN-HUNT CONTINUES FOR SERIAL KILLER! White looks up - terrified. The RUSHING NOISE O.S. again. White, stands quickly, thrusts the newspaper into a pocket. Tries to side-step the ADVANCING DOOR but itís too late, he can only open it and step through, to avoid getting pinned to the wall. THE HOTEL MANAGER looks up, moves forward into light: a squat, hunch-backed man with glasses. He steps through the beads, glares at the intruders. ON THE MEN - an uncanny resemblance to the one who tried to kill White. Black coats, glasses, pale skin. Creepy. A BLACK GLOVED HAND flashes forward, grips the managerís face and doesnít let go. The manager struggles, gulps for air. Heís pushed back heavily against the wall. The leather glove SQUEEZES, blood trickles from the managerís ears, through the fingers. ON THE MAN - FREDRICK - a stunted body, an oversized head, thick limbs. The rest of his features lost in shadow. The door swings open, a shaft of light floods the dark room. ON THE TWO MYSTERY MEN as they step in and look around. They search the room, knock stuff over. One of the men kicks at the womanís corpse in the corner. Behind him, Fredrick, still hiding near the door, slips into the corridor unnoticed. As he puts the wallet back in his pocket, a BUSINESS CARD he hadnít noticed, flutters to the ground. He stops, picks it up. In simple print: DOCTOR D.P. SCHREBER M.D., a phone number. Scribbled handwriting on the Beyond the last victim it becomes a dotted line, following the same trajectory but with a big question mark beside it. Bumstead glances over to a blackboard with a list of names and addresses on it. He holds up the doctor's card and stares at it. He turns it over, notices an address on the back. WHITE (cuts in) Look. It was a simple question. Can someone kill and not remember it? SCHREBER (smiles) I'm sorry. I get carried away sometimes. Possible? I'm... ah, afraid so. White shakes his head, looking blankly at the doctor. Schreber turns, points to DOUBLE-DOORS. He walks towards these. White follows. The two men look down on a monkey with the top of its head missing, squirming in a mechanical device that restricts its movements. White turns and starts to pace away. Schreber reluctantly follows. Schreber points dramatically at a wooden structure containing two rats. The rats perform various activities involving mazes and geometric symbols. Schreber turns to look at White, eyebrow raised. TIGHT ON HIS SLENDER FINGER - pointing to a machine also run by rats. The object is to make it through a guillotine device. One rat is successful, the other is chopped neatly in two. Schreber puts a hand on White's shoulder. White nods again, extremely troubled. They've stopped outside a flaking door. ANGLE ON FRYING PAN ON STOVE - The fish lands in it and starts to sizzle furiously. A set of swinging doors on the other side of the room open slightly and THE NURSE looks in. NURSE (to Schreber) I have to talk to you. She shakes her head, with a serious expression, then darts out again. SCHREBER (to White) Excuse | Who is the leader of the Strangers? | Mr. Book |
He places flowers on the bedside table. His mother just stares expressionless into space, in a coma. He sits on a metal chair, looks at the woman. Her life-sustaining machines hiss and breathe. MECHANICAL VOICE (through speaker) Move - forward. White follows a painted line on the floor, stands against a wall, in front of an old-fashioned camera. A slot opens in the wall behind him, mechanical arms spring forward, restrain him, one arm holds a sign with a number in front of him. A flash goes off, the click of a shutter. A claw lowers from the ceiling, grips White's head, turns it abruptly - the camera fires. The claw turns his head the other way. The camera fires again. Across the room A BUZZER SOUNDS, a red light flashes above a door. White is released by the mechanical hands, walks over, opens the door and steps into darkness. LIGHTS COME ON - extremely bright. A room for line-ups - markings on the white wall behind White indicate varying heights, a darkened window faces him. He is obviously to be identified by an unseen person. A buzzer sounds again, a light indicates another door. White moves into another room. A chair faces a large wheel painted in a black and white spiral. He sits down - the wheel turns, faster and faster. The wheel stops after several seconds. The next room is full of scientific equipment. White sees a metal-frame X-ray machine - he steps across to it. The screen lights up, filling the room with a green glow. We can see the shape of his skeleton. Where his pocket would be, is the though their faces cannot be seen clearly in the gloom, they too resemble the MAN who confronted White earlier. They walk towards him slowly, holding knifes above their heads. Ready to attack. They lean over him, pause dramatically. This Man turns to the others. They all smile, then turn back to White. MEN (in unison) Fifty-six. ANOTHER VOICE has been speaking softly - now it is louder. Repeating: ANGLE - a chair falls to the floor. White leaps up from the table, terrified, disoriented. Just a DREAM - he had dozed. WIDEN ANGLE - The place is still empty. White glances to the serving window. A DISH waits for him, framed in the glowing fluoro square. He gets it. A bowl of soupy liquid with noodles. He sits down. He is about to start eating - realizes he has a fork instead of a spoon. Picking up the bowl again, he heads to the kitchen. He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and shut automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor. Deserted spaces long forgotten - dusty, crumbling. He feels the fish moving about in his pocket, pulls it out and looks at it. White holds the dying fish in one hand, the bowl of cold soup in the other. Disgusted, he puts the fish into the bowl. Standing beside him is FREDRICK - the little man from Whiteís hotel room. FREDRICK (stutters) Where have you been? The doctorís been worried about you. Fredrick looks nervously down the corridor. The little man grabs Whiteís sleeve, starts to pull him along. ANGLE ON - the top of a be dying, then revives momentarily, puts A MAP in white's hand, looks up at him: His eyes roll up and he GOES LIMP. White stares at the body, then: A NOISE O.S. disturbs him and he gets up, walks out of his office, looks into the darkness. HIS P.O.V. PANS around the empty morgue. Nothing. Decides to go back to his office. He turns and is startled by three MYSTERY MEN obstructing his path. The mortician catches a glimpse of the shiny dagger Man 1 is clutching by his side. He becomes very scared. THREE MEN look over to where the mortician has pointed in unison. Man 1 looks back. A FLASH OF STEEL. The mortician's throat SPOUTS blood. He grabs reflexively at the gash and falls back onto the floor, DEAD before he hits the tiles. The Mystery Men step to an adjoining chamber. Man 2 puts down a Box he is carrying, opens the lid. A green glow oozes out. The other Men manipulate levers on a control panel on a nearby wall. Stainless steel doors open. Body-length trays slide into the dim light. SHAPES covered in white sheets. Man 2 with the box removes a GLASS SYRINGE, filled with a glowing green liquid. He steps TO THE BODIES and injects each with the syringe, through the sheets. When he has finished he steps back, places the syringe back in the box. The MEN leave silently. All is silent and still. Then the shape beneath a sheet starts to SIT UP. Then another, and another. He opens the door and looks out. A blast of SUNLIGHT - blue ocean and sky. White does not turn about, he oblivious. He moves away slowly, feeling strange. His feet stop making contact with the floor. He grabs a table to steady himself. The table-cloth comes away, things spill to the floor and smash. He's FLOATING. White desperately reaches out to grab something, holds the light-fixture in the ceiling. It breaks off in a cloud of plaster. Sparks briefly illuminate. He falls heavily ONTO THE CEILING - now the floor. The apartment is upside down. He stares up at furniture and objects. White takes off his clothes and climbs the wall, towards the floor. It's difficult, but he reaches the tap, turns it off. Pulls himself towards the tub. Gravity becomes NORMAL AGAIN as he sinks in the warm water. He's incredibly weak - floats limply in the bath. Submerges his face. A distant throbbing O.S., like a huge machine heart somewhere in the building. He opens his eyes, still underwater, stares up at the ceiling. White rigid with fright, cannot focus on the figure through the thin veil of water. The FIGURE reaches out. A GLOVED HAND grabs White about the throat, holds him forcefully. White gulps for air, swallows water. His eyes widen. He tries to stop the hand strangling him but can't. Suddenly the hand pulls away. The BLURRY FIGURE stumbles back and ERUPTS into bloody explosion. The body splits apart, throwing internal organs through the room. White awakens in the bathtub. He looks about the room. Empty. Silent. He gets out of the water, starts to dress. A third YOUNG COP steps up to the cop in charge, glancing at the bile on Bumstead's suit. The cop leads Bumstead behind a WOODEN PARTITION. pitcher of water, and dumps this on the flames. It kills the fire but leaves a black hole in the table-cloth. The paper is ash. He moves to another table pretending nothing happened, fans the smoke away. He starts to look around. TIGHT ON FILING CABINET - a drawer is pulled open. Thompsonís files are also a mess. Bumstead continues to shake his head. He reaches for a file. A loud SNAP! He leans down to scratch an itchy ankle, lifts his trouser leg to examine the bites - worse, inflamed. He uses a napkin to wipe at the pus. AERIAL PERSPECTIVE OF A FLY - circling the room, looking down on White. ON THE FLY - It lands on a plate of half eaten food on another table. The creature is some kind of SURVEILLANCE DEVICE - half insect/half machine. Itís spying on him. MOVE IN TIGHT as inbuilt camera lenses focus in its head. It shits on the food behind it. White is oblivious to this. Heís finished examining his leg, is sitting quietly. He yawns. His head nods forward briefly. A NOISE. White looks up. A TRAP-DOOR has opened in the ceiling. Two feet in black leather shoes descend from the hole. A sea breeze blows through the room. The SOUND OF SURF, SEAGULLS CRYING. ON Whiteís nose twitching. He can smell the ocean. The WALLPAPER COMES ALIVE - like a seething tangle of worms. One by one, THREE MEN in black coats lower into the room, floating on air. They pull out knifes, step forward. ON WHITE rigid with terror. ON THE MEN - | Where does John Murdoch awaken at the beginning of the story? | John Murdoch awakens in a hotel bathtub. |
going to explode. A whimper deep in his throat. His body is trembling violently. PUSH IN TIGHT on the paper on the ground. A front-page headline: MAN-HUNT CONTINUES FOR SERIAL KILLER! White looks up - terrified. The RUSHING NOISE O.S. again. White, stands quickly, thrusts the newspaper into a pocket. Tries to side-step the ADVANCING DOOR but itís too late, he can only open it and step through, to avoid getting pinned to the wall. THE HOTEL MANAGER looks up, moves forward into light: a squat, hunch-backed man with glasses. He steps through the beads, glares at the intruders. ON THE MEN - an uncanny resemblance to the one who tried to kill White. Black coats, glasses, pale skin. Creepy. A BLACK GLOVED HAND flashes forward, grips the managerís face and doesnít let go. The manager struggles, gulps for air. Heís pushed back heavily against the wall. The leather glove SQUEEZES, blood trickles from the managerís ears, through the fingers. ON THE MAN - FREDRICK - a stunted body, an oversized head, thick limbs. The rest of his features lost in shadow. The door swings open, a shaft of light floods the dark room. ON THE TWO MYSTERY MEN as they step in and look around. They search the room, knock stuff over. One of the men kicks at the womanís corpse in the corner. Behind him, Fredrick, still hiding near the door, slips into the corridor unnoticed. As he puts the wallet back in his pocket, a BUSINESS CARD he hadnít noticed, flutters to the ground. He stops, picks it up. In simple print: DOCTOR D.P. SCHREBER M.D., a phone number. Scribbled handwriting on the though their faces cannot be seen clearly in the gloom, they too resemble the MAN who confronted White earlier. They walk towards him slowly, holding knifes above their heads. Ready to attack. They lean over him, pause dramatically. This Man turns to the others. They all smile, then turn back to White. MEN (in unison) Fifty-six. ANOTHER VOICE has been speaking softly - now it is louder. Repeating: ANGLE - a chair falls to the floor. White leaps up from the table, terrified, disoriented. Just a DREAM - he had dozed. WIDEN ANGLE - The place is still empty. White glances to the serving window. A DISH waits for him, framed in the glowing fluoro square. He gets it. A bowl of soupy liquid with noodles. He sits down. He is about to start eating - realizes he has a fork instead of a spoon. Picking up the bowl again, he heads to the kitchen. He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and shut automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor. Deserted spaces long forgotten - dusty, crumbling. He feels the fish moving about in his pocket, pulls it out and looks at it. White holds the dying fish in one hand, the bowl of cold soup in the other. Disgusted, he puts the fish into the bowl. Standing beside him is FREDRICK - the little man from Whiteís hotel room. FREDRICK (stutters) Where have you been? The doctorís been worried about you. Fredrick looks nervously down the corridor. The little man grabs Whiteís sleeve, starts to pull him along. ANGLE ON - the top of a inspector looks up from the speaker. HIS P.O.V. - THROUGH THE MIRROR, White seems to have calmed down. White stands abruptly, pushes himself against the glass. The doctor removes a SMALL SYRINGE from his black bag, places it on the table in front of the glass, blocks it from the guard's view. WHITE (cuts in) I'm not injecting anything into my brain. Schreber waves frantically at the air surrounding him. White stares blankly at him for a moment, then: White reluctantly does this. Suddenly the syringe spins towards the doctor, IMPALES itself in his shoulder. He yelps, grabs it. Schreber looks to where the voice came from - a speaker above their heads. SCHREBER (looks at White) I gave you your chance, now it's too late. They'll learn you are here soon. It's all over. The doctor is nervous, glancing about. He tries to push past. Bumstead grabs his arm. SCHREBER looks like a trapped animal, when: Bumasead turns to look down the corridor. He sees STROMBOLI peaking out of his office door. The door shuts again. Bumstead turns back. The doctor is GONE - the corridor empty. White looks up. Bumstead suspiciously eyes the two men, beside STROMBOLI'S desk. BUMSTEAD (to men) Who are you? STROMBOLI (even more nervous) Please, Bumstead. Co-operate - it's easier. He notices that this man's moustache is LOP-SIDED. The other man wears spectacles WITH NO LENSES in the frames, clutches an un-lit pipe in his teeth. SLOW MOVE IN on Bumstead's face. He fumbles furiously for the key in his pocket - BURSTS into the room. White is gone. But where? Bumstead throws a look back TO THE FRONT DESK. The cop is me. Ah, make yourself at home. Alone, White looks around the bleak room. He takes off his coat and sits down again. He removes the FISH. The eye opens. The creature looks up at him. It breaths painfully. He puts it back in his pocket. The OTHER fish is spattering oil everywhere. Smoke starts to fill the room. White, steps over and looks at the frying pan. The fish is turning black. He turns the heat down. He notices a SMALL HOLE in the wall. At eye height. He steps across, looks through. TIGHT ON WHITE'S eye through the hole. White's eyes start to blur, he rubs them. White spins, like he's caught doing something wrong. The Doctor walks across to the stove, prods the frying fish with a fork. White is having a hard time focusing. WHITE'S P.O.V. - ANGLE ON Schreber with his back turned, at the stove. THE IMAGE is blurring. Smoke rises thickly around the doctor. Flames are shooting up around Schreber from the frying pan. His arms catch fire, and he suddenly spins around clutching flaming daggers in both hands, his whole body engulfed in fire, his face charred, black flesh hanging off his skull. White startles awake. Schreber stands at the stove looking at White. Everything is normal. White stands awkwardly, pulls his coat on. Suddenly White feels feint - leans against the wall to steady himself. ON WHITE - swaying. SCHREBER (echoic) Yes. A little something to help you relax. Harmless... A tile floor RISES rapidly TOWARDS CAMERA. TWO FOETUSES in separate jars are talking to each other through the glass. SCHREBER (holds syringe up) Now you must relax, Anton. A DOOR-BELL Beyond the last victim it becomes a dotted line, following the same trajectory but with a big question mark beside it. Bumstead glances over to a blackboard with a list of names and addresses on it. He holds up the doctor's card and stares at it. He turns it over, notices an address on the back. WHITE (cuts in) Look. It was a simple question. Can someone kill and not remember it? SCHREBER (smiles) I'm sorry. I get carried away sometimes. Possible? I'm... ah, afraid so. White shakes his head, looking blankly at the doctor. Schreber turns, points to DOUBLE-DOORS. He walks towards these. White follows. The two men look down on a monkey with the top of its head missing, squirming in a mechanical device that restricts its movements. White turns and starts to pace away. Schreber reluctantly follows. Schreber points dramatically at a wooden structure containing two rats. The rats perform various activities involving mazes and geometric symbols. Schreber turns to look at White, eyebrow raised. TIGHT ON HIS SLENDER FINGER - pointing to a machine also run by rats. The object is to make it through a guillotine device. One rat is successful, the other is chopped neatly in two. Schreber puts a hand on White's shoulder. White nods again, extremely troubled. They've stopped outside a flaking door. ANGLE ON FRYING PAN ON STOVE - The fish lands in it and starts to sizzle furiously. A set of swinging doors on the other side of the room open slightly and THE NURSE looks in. NURSE (to Schreber) I have to talk to you. She shakes her head, with a serious expression, then darts out again. SCHREBER (to White) Excuse | When Dr. Daniel Schreber telephones John Murdoch in the hotel room at the biginning of the story, what does he say to Murdoch? | Dr. Schreber tells Murdoch to flee the hotel. |
going to explode. A whimper deep in his throat. His body is trembling violently. PUSH IN TIGHT on the paper on the ground. A front-page headline: MAN-HUNT CONTINUES FOR SERIAL KILLER! White looks up - terrified. The RUSHING NOISE O.S. again. White, stands quickly, thrusts the newspaper into a pocket. Tries to side-step the ADVANCING DOOR but itís too late, he can only open it and step through, to avoid getting pinned to the wall. THE HOTEL MANAGER looks up, moves forward into light: a squat, hunch-backed man with glasses. He steps through the beads, glares at the intruders. ON THE MEN - an uncanny resemblance to the one who tried to kill White. Black coats, glasses, pale skin. Creepy. A BLACK GLOVED HAND flashes forward, grips the managerís face and doesnít let go. The manager struggles, gulps for air. Heís pushed back heavily against the wall. The leather glove SQUEEZES, blood trickles from the managerís ears, through the fingers. ON THE MAN - FREDRICK - a stunted body, an oversized head, thick limbs. The rest of his features lost in shadow. The door swings open, a shaft of light floods the dark room. ON THE TWO MYSTERY MEN as they step in and look around. They search the room, knock stuff over. One of the men kicks at the womanís corpse in the corner. Behind him, Fredrick, still hiding near the door, slips into the corridor unnoticed. As he puts the wallet back in his pocket, a BUSINESS CARD he hadnít noticed, flutters to the ground. He stops, picks it up. In simple print: DOCTOR D.P. SCHREBER M.D., a phone number. Scribbled handwriting on the oblivious. He moves away slowly, feeling strange. His feet stop making contact with the floor. He grabs a table to steady himself. The table-cloth comes away, things spill to the floor and smash. He's FLOATING. White desperately reaches out to grab something, holds the light-fixture in the ceiling. It breaks off in a cloud of plaster. Sparks briefly illuminate. He falls heavily ONTO THE CEILING - now the floor. The apartment is upside down. He stares up at furniture and objects. White takes off his clothes and climbs the wall, towards the floor. It's difficult, but he reaches the tap, turns it off. Pulls himself towards the tub. Gravity becomes NORMAL AGAIN as he sinks in the warm water. He's incredibly weak - floats limply in the bath. Submerges his face. A distant throbbing O.S., like a huge machine heart somewhere in the building. He opens his eyes, still underwater, stares up at the ceiling. White rigid with fright, cannot focus on the figure through the thin veil of water. The FIGURE reaches out. A GLOVED HAND grabs White about the throat, holds him forcefully. White gulps for air, swallows water. His eyes widen. He tries to stop the hand strangling him but can't. Suddenly the hand pulls away. The BLURRY FIGURE stumbles back and ERUPTS into bloody explosion. The body splits apart, throwing internal organs through the room. White awakens in the bathtub. He looks about the room. Empty. Silent. He gets out of the water, starts to dress. A third YOUNG COP steps up to the cop in charge, glancing at the bile on Bumstead's suit. The cop leads Bumstead behind a WOODEN PARTITION. opens it. He plucks out the note and reads FREDRICKís SCRAWLED MESSAGE: TIGHT ON - a manís shadow as it descends a wooden staircase. REVEAL WHITE - He rummages in a paper bag as he walks. Pulls out two capsules, swallows them. Now he pulls out a pack of "LUMP-O", rips it open, eats ravenously. HIS P.O.V. - A CHURCH. A bell-tower, black against the sky. White stares up into the night. A PRIEST - appears at the altar, cloaked in a blood-red robe, followed by two altar boys also in red. They move past a statue of an insect-like creature, walk in circles chanting softly, stop and stare at the congregation through eye-slits in their hoods. The priest begins his sermon. White looks forward. TIGHT ON the priestís hand - It rises, points, moves over the heads of the congregation, accusingly. Suddenly the red finger jabs towards an OLD WOMAN in the front row. All the congregation turn and stare at the woman. Sheís terrified. The hand moves slowly now, across to a BEAUTIFUL JAPANESE WOMAN several rows back. The priest pauses dramatically then: Suddenly the finger is pointing at White. All the faces turn, stare suspiciously at White. ANGLE ON WHITE - frozen with fright. Fortunately his face is obscured by shadow and the priest lowers his hand, continues the sermon. The people look away. White goes to leave. As he stands he notices the DOORS of the church open - two figures step in and move into the candle- light. MYSTERY MEN - Whiteís bizarre pursuers. They look around. White ducks down, crawls between pews, startling several of the though their faces cannot be seen clearly in the gloom, they too resemble the MAN who confronted White earlier. They walk towards him slowly, holding knifes above their heads. Ready to attack. They lean over him, pause dramatically. This Man turns to the others. They all smile, then turn back to White. MEN (in unison) Fifty-six. ANOTHER VOICE has been speaking softly - now it is louder. Repeating: ANGLE - a chair falls to the floor. White leaps up from the table, terrified, disoriented. Just a DREAM - he had dozed. WIDEN ANGLE - The place is still empty. White glances to the serving window. A DISH waits for him, framed in the glowing fluoro square. He gets it. A bowl of soupy liquid with noodles. He sits down. He is about to start eating - realizes he has a fork instead of a spoon. Picking up the bowl again, he heads to the kitchen. He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and shut automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor. Deserted spaces long forgotten - dusty, crumbling. He feels the fish moving about in his pocket, pulls it out and looks at it. White holds the dying fish in one hand, the bowl of cold soup in the other. Disgusted, he puts the fish into the bowl. Standing beside him is FREDRICK - the little man from Whiteís hotel room. FREDRICK (stutters) Where have you been? The doctorís been worried about you. Fredrick looks nervously down the corridor. The little man grabs Whiteís sleeve, starts to pull him along. ANGLE ON - the top of a pitcher of water, and dumps this on the flames. It kills the fire but leaves a black hole in the table-cloth. The paper is ash. He moves to another table pretending nothing happened, fans the smoke away. He starts to look around. TIGHT ON FILING CABINET - a drawer is pulled open. Thompsonís files are also a mess. Bumstead continues to shake his head. He reaches for a file. A loud SNAP! He leans down to scratch an itchy ankle, lifts his trouser leg to examine the bites - worse, inflamed. He uses a napkin to wipe at the pus. AERIAL PERSPECTIVE OF A FLY - circling the room, looking down on White. ON THE FLY - It lands on a plate of half eaten food on another table. The creature is some kind of SURVEILLANCE DEVICE - half insect/half machine. Itís spying on him. MOVE IN TIGHT as inbuilt camera lenses focus in its head. It shits on the food behind it. White is oblivious to this. Heís finished examining his leg, is sitting quietly. He yawns. His head nods forward briefly. A NOISE. White looks up. A TRAP-DOOR has opened in the ceiling. Two feet in black leather shoes descend from the hole. A sea breeze blows through the room. The SOUND OF SURF, SEAGULLS CRYING. ON Whiteís nose twitching. He can smell the ocean. The WALLPAPER COMES ALIVE - like a seething tangle of worms. One by one, THREE MEN in black coats lower into the room, floating on air. They pull out knifes, step forward. ON WHITE rigid with terror. ON THE MEN - | Who pursues John Murdoch? | The Strangers. |
oblivious. He moves away slowly, feeling strange. His feet stop making contact with the floor. He grabs a table to steady himself. The table-cloth comes away, things spill to the floor and smash. He's FLOATING. White desperately reaches out to grab something, holds the light-fixture in the ceiling. It breaks off in a cloud of plaster. Sparks briefly illuminate. He falls heavily ONTO THE CEILING - now the floor. The apartment is upside down. He stares up at furniture and objects. White takes off his clothes and climbs the wall, towards the floor. It's difficult, but he reaches the tap, turns it off. Pulls himself towards the tub. Gravity becomes NORMAL AGAIN as he sinks in the warm water. He's incredibly weak - floats limply in the bath. Submerges his face. A distant throbbing O.S., like a huge machine heart somewhere in the building. He opens his eyes, still underwater, stares up at the ceiling. White rigid with fright, cannot focus on the figure through the thin veil of water. The FIGURE reaches out. A GLOVED HAND grabs White about the throat, holds him forcefully. White gulps for air, swallows water. His eyes widen. He tries to stop the hand strangling him but can't. Suddenly the hand pulls away. The BLURRY FIGURE stumbles back and ERUPTS into bloody explosion. The body splits apart, throwing internal organs through the room. White awakens in the bathtub. He looks about the room. Empty. Silent. He gets out of the water, starts to dress. A third YOUNG COP steps up to the cop in charge, glancing at the bile on Bumstead's suit. The cop leads Bumstead behind a WOODEN PARTITION. THE BLADE cuts into the tire - it pops loudly, goes flat, metal SPARKS off the road. White is thrown forward, hits his head on the dash. Bumstead fights to keep control, SWERVES into the side of the other vehicle, making it scrape a concrete wall, hits garbage cans flying. The PUPPET'S car falls behind - then swerves off into a side- street and disappears. BUMSTEAD (looks behind him) Where did it go? WHITE (looks back also) Don't know. Both look FORWARD AGAIN - to see the PUPPET'S CAR pull out in front of them, BLOCKING THE WAY. Bumstead's car is going too fast. Slams the brakes. TIGHT ON PUPPET - Screaming with insane joy as Bumstead's car approaches like a bullet. Bumstead rips the phone number from the pad. The two men LEAP. The car continues onwards. CAMERA MOVES IN on mangled metal - a MECHANICAL CLAW starts to pull itself from the wreckage. The man squints at the card White holds up, nods groggily. He thumbs the blue curtain. Curls up, shuts his eyes again. Several corridors meander between large glass panels that look into illuminated tanks of sea creatures. White moves past a shadowy doorway. He can barely make out <b> STAIRS. </b> PHOTOS on the wall - family portraits. White examines these, concentrates on one in particular - a young boy on a red push- bike, in the background a sign with a faded image of a girl in a bathing suit: WELCOME TO BLUMBVILLE! it says. A strange WHIRRING NOISE O.S. White hides behind a sofa. Whatever is making the whirring noise moves past slowly. pitcher of water, and dumps this on the flames. It kills the fire but leaves a black hole in the table-cloth. The paper is ash. He moves to another table pretending nothing happened, fans the smoke away. He starts to look around. TIGHT ON FILING CABINET - a drawer is pulled open. Thompsonís files are also a mess. Bumstead continues to shake his head. He reaches for a file. A loud SNAP! He leans down to scratch an itchy ankle, lifts his trouser leg to examine the bites - worse, inflamed. He uses a napkin to wipe at the pus. AERIAL PERSPECTIVE OF A FLY - circling the room, looking down on White. ON THE FLY - It lands on a plate of half eaten food on another table. The creature is some kind of SURVEILLANCE DEVICE - half insect/half machine. Itís spying on him. MOVE IN TIGHT as inbuilt camera lenses focus in its head. It shits on the food behind it. White is oblivious to this. Heís finished examining his leg, is sitting quietly. He yawns. His head nods forward briefly. A NOISE. White looks up. A TRAP-DOOR has opened in the ceiling. Two feet in black leather shoes descend from the hole. A sea breeze blows through the room. The SOUND OF SURF, SEAGULLS CRYING. ON Whiteís nose twitching. He can smell the ocean. The WALLPAPER COMES ALIVE - like a seething tangle of worms. One by one, THREE MEN in black coats lower into the room, floating on air. They pull out knifes, step forward. ON WHITE rigid with terror. ON THE MEN - while he describes the evidence to support their case. MAN 1 places a large black and white photo blow-up on the easel. It shows White at the door of the JAPANESE WOMAN'S apartment, clutching a kitchen knife, covered in blood. White watches in stunned silence. A general murmur of agreement through the room as the point is made. Mister Black turns to the victims, nods his head slowly. MAN 1 removes a small tape recorder, hands it to MAN 2. He turns a switch, the reels spin slowly. A hush fills the room. VOICE 2 (sounds like White) Shut up! Another scream. A ripping sound. VOICE 3 (sounds like his WIFE) John! Don't... White is standing up, involuntarily, he can't listen to this any longer. WHITE (a squeak, almost inaudible) Stop it! This is a lie... Mister Black turns to White. The Men testifying stop the tape and look at him also. The Men in the audience turn and all stare at White, as do the victims and the spectators in the adjoining room. WHITE (back to a whisper) I didn't kill anyone. WHITE (finds his voice) It's lies. Everything. He grips the barrier before him. A SHRIEK from the pram containing the BABY - it rocks violently from side to side. The DISEMBOWELED WOMAN rises from her chair. She has difficulty standing, her limbs stiff. She looks at White, opens her mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. Instead a tiny RED CRAB scuttles out, across her face, and falls to the ground. She sits down. White is stunned. AN OLDER COUPLE are led out of the kitchen by a Mystery Man. Shown to seats behind a podium. The woman looks sadly at Also takes his wallet. He glances at the doctor, who hides the syringe behind his back. BUMSTEAD (to Doctor) You Schreber? Schreber nods blankly. Bumstead runs his hand over White's side pocket - feels something. White says nothing. The inspector opens the pocket and looks in. BUMSTEAD (disgusted) A fish, huh? He shakes his watch, puts it to his ear. WHITE (confused) What? I... BUMSTEAD (counts on fingers) Let's see, there's the little guy with no arms or legs. And the young boy? WHITE (disturbed) Young boy? CLOSE ON WHITE - frightened now. Bumstead pulls something from under the dashboard. A SANDWICH, carefully wrapped and prepared. After glancing at his watch again, he bites into it. BUMSTEAD (chewing) Y'know, the kid you left in the meat packing plant, cut into pieces. Packed into brown paper parcels, wrapped in twine, that kind of thing. WHITE (cuts in) Stop it. You're making me sick... RADIO CRACKLE O.S. - A tinny voice cuts in. Bumstead picks up a microphone, speaks into it. Bumstead replaces the microphone under the dashboard, takes a SHARP CORNER as he finishes off the sandwich. Burastead pulls out a small brush, cleans the fallen crumbs from his trousers, keeping a hand on the wheel. White is silent - his wounds continue to bother him. He leans down to scratch through his trousers. WHITE (quietly) Shit! WHITE (looks up) I didn't sneeze. Bumstead grabs a bunch of flowers off the back seat. The inspector shuts the door behind him. White looks about the blank room, takes a seat. He can see Bumstead, through the glass panel in the door, walk up to the male nurse opposite. BUMSTEAD (whisper) Brought you these. | Where did John Murdoch come from? | John Murdoch is from Shell Beach, a coastal town. |
they poke out of his sleeves like tiny children's limbs. The cuffs effortlessly slip off. White looks at the woman, then back at his hands - NOTHING STRANGE, they are normal size, but somehow the cuffs have been removed. He looks at the woman again, grateful. He can't help smiling. Slowly, White lifts his hands to her breasts, touches them. She starts to breath deeply. OUT OF FOCUS - their bodies entangle, begin to move rhythmically. The CAMERA TRACKS SIDEWAYS, REVEALS a microphone behind a chair, leads us to a mirror on a wall. On the other side of the one-way glass a reel-to-reel tape recorder is picking up the SOUNDS OF HEAVY BREATHING. The JAPANESE WOMAN stands naked at the window, clutching a large red megaphone. IN PERFECT ENGLISH she shouts down at the streets drifting past. LONG SHADOWS move towards the entrance... WHITE WAKES UP AGAIN - finds he is still on the couch. NO SIGN of the woman. Then he notices her standing by the window (minus megaphone). The wind pulls at her black hair. A distant SIREN O.S. He gets up, walks over, stands beside her, looks out at the dark city. She ignores him, goes back to the couch, turns on a table-lamp, puts her hands before the lit bulb, casts animal shadows on the wall. White watches her. He walks across and sits next to her. She points to herself. WOMAN (a whisper) Sachiko. He nods slowly, looks at her. She waits for him to respond with his name. He shrugs, remains silent. Then he puts his hands in the light, makes his own animal shadow. She smiles at the shadows. THE BLADE cuts into the tire - it pops loudly, goes flat, metal SPARKS off the road. White is thrown forward, hits his head on the dash. Bumstead fights to keep control, SWERVES into the side of the other vehicle, making it scrape a concrete wall, hits garbage cans flying. The PUPPET'S car falls behind - then swerves off into a side- street and disappears. BUMSTEAD (looks behind him) Where did it go? WHITE (looks back also) Don't know. Both look FORWARD AGAIN - to see the PUPPET'S CAR pull out in front of them, BLOCKING THE WAY. Bumstead's car is going too fast. Slams the brakes. TIGHT ON PUPPET - Screaming with insane joy as Bumstead's car approaches like a bullet. Bumstead rips the phone number from the pad. The two men LEAP. The car continues onwards. CAMERA MOVES IN on mangled metal - a MECHANICAL CLAW starts to pull itself from the wreckage. The man squints at the card White holds up, nods groggily. He thumbs the blue curtain. Curls up, shuts his eyes again. Several corridors meander between large glass panels that look into illuminated tanks of sea creatures. White moves past a shadowy doorway. He can barely make out <b> STAIRS. </b> PHOTOS on the wall - family portraits. White examines these, concentrates on one in particular - a young boy on a red push- bike, in the background a sign with a faded image of a girl in a bathing suit: WELCOME TO BLUMBVILLE! it says. A strange WHIRRING NOISE O.S. White hides behind a sofa. Whatever is making the whirring noise moves past slowly. though their faces cannot be seen clearly in the gloom, they too resemble the MAN who confronted White earlier. They walk towards him slowly, holding knifes above their heads. Ready to attack. They lean over him, pause dramatically. This Man turns to the others. They all smile, then turn back to White. MEN (in unison) Fifty-six. ANOTHER VOICE has been speaking softly - now it is louder. Repeating: ANGLE - a chair falls to the floor. White leaps up from the table, terrified, disoriented. Just a DREAM - he had dozed. WIDEN ANGLE - The place is still empty. White glances to the serving window. A DISH waits for him, framed in the glowing fluoro square. He gets it. A bowl of soupy liquid with noodles. He sits down. He is about to start eating - realizes he has a fork instead of a spoon. Picking up the bowl again, he heads to the kitchen. He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and shut automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor. Deserted spaces long forgotten - dusty, crumbling. He feels the fish moving about in his pocket, pulls it out and looks at it. White holds the dying fish in one hand, the bowl of cold soup in the other. Disgusted, he puts the fish into the bowl. Standing beside him is FREDRICK - the little man from Whiteís hotel room. FREDRICK (stutters) Where have you been? The doctorís been worried about you. Fredrick looks nervously down the corridor. The little man grabs Whiteís sleeve, starts to pull him along. ANGLE ON - the top of a set of stairs in front of them. Two dark figures appear. Fredrick looks up at them in horror. Both men run like crazy, White awkwardly holding the bowl of soup. They come to a junction, each takes a separate corridor. Fredrick finds some stairs, climbs two at a time. White climbs INTO FRAME, looks around, finds another corridor. The little man is nowhere to be seen. White reaches another junction - several corridors branch off. He keeps running. Bumstead leans INTO FRAME, examines the corpse. He notices several stab wounds in the manís abdomen. Various cops search the room. One cop walks up to the Inspector. BUMSTEAD (deadpan) Great. He scrawls rapidly, screws the message into a tight tube, then puts it into a METAL CYLINDER he finds beneath the table also. He glances out a window, notices A FIGURE standing beneath a street-lamp below, looking up at him. Startled, Fredrick darts back into shadow, goes to a wall covered in about a dozen vertical PIPES running up into the ceiling. TIGHT ON ONE OF THE PIPES - he opens a small hatch and puts the metal cylinder in it. The cylinder is snatched from his hand, sucked into the pipe with a rush of air. ANGLE ON WHITE WALKING - seen through a series of illuminated, dirty, windows. He occasionally glances into the bowl he holds before him. ANGLE ON WHITE - He stops, looks up at O.S. SOUND of clattering metal. A pipe runs the length of the corridor - the invisible clanging cylinder races away, into darkness. Then the silence is shattered by a piercing series of SCREAMS somewhere in the building. White hurriedly moves towards the source. Schreber's turn shortly. White is worried, looks at the others. WHITE (whisper) What do we do? SCHREBER (hisses back) Fake it! SCHREBER is next - he stands abruptly. Then it's Bumstead's turn. MAN 1 at the front seems confused for a moment - SEVERAL of the others turn towards Bumstead. MAN 1 (uncertain) Good. The inspector sits back down - whispers to White without looking at him. White stands. Hesitates. Then: White sits down, shaking his head, embarrassed. THE MAN NEXT TO WHITE rises up - keeps rising, FLOATS IN THE AIR above the Men's heads. He turns sideways, still floating. The inspector stops walking suddenly, grabs White, holds him back. At the end of the alley the PUPPET advances menacingly. Schreber takes his chance and runs down an alley and disappears. Fortunately BUMSTEAD'S CAR stands nearby. The two men leap in, start it up. Bumstead guns towards the puppet standing in the glare of the headlights. The puppet's head opens, a TINY PROPELLER pops out, spins, lifting the puppet into the air. The car passes beneath it at speed. Screeches off into a street, races along between tall buildings. White thinks for a moment, pulls the paper his wife gave him from his pocket. Bumstead scribbles on the pad mounted to the dash, battles with the wheel, driving at breakneck speed. White turns and looks behind them. ON THE PUPPET - sitting AT THE WHEEL of a stolen car, driving like crazy. WHITE (remembers) It's empty. Bumstead pulls a gun out of his coat. They swap. The puppet PULLS ALONGSIDE, a mechanical arm extends towards Bumstead's front tire. A SPINNING BLADE extends from the end of the mechanical arm. | What time is it in the city? | It is always nighttime. |
opens it. He plucks out the note and reads FREDRICKís SCRAWLED MESSAGE: TIGHT ON - a manís shadow as it descends a wooden staircase. REVEAL WHITE - He rummages in a paper bag as he walks. Pulls out two capsules, swallows them. Now he pulls out a pack of "LUMP-O", rips it open, eats ravenously. HIS P.O.V. - A CHURCH. A bell-tower, black against the sky. White stares up into the night. A PRIEST - appears at the altar, cloaked in a blood-red robe, followed by two altar boys also in red. They move past a statue of an insect-like creature, walk in circles chanting softly, stop and stare at the congregation through eye-slits in their hoods. The priest begins his sermon. White looks forward. TIGHT ON the priestís hand - It rises, points, moves over the heads of the congregation, accusingly. Suddenly the red finger jabs towards an OLD WOMAN in the front row. All the congregation turn and stare at the woman. Sheís terrified. The hand moves slowly now, across to a BEAUTIFUL JAPANESE WOMAN several rows back. The priest pauses dramatically then: Suddenly the finger is pointing at White. All the faces turn, stare suspiciously at White. ANGLE ON WHITE - frozen with fright. Fortunately his face is obscured by shadow and the priest lowers his hand, continues the sermon. The people look away. White goes to leave. As he stands he notices the DOORS of the church open - two figures step in and move into the candle- light. MYSTERY MEN - Whiteís bizarre pursuers. They look around. White ducks down, crawls between pews, startling several of the they poke out of his sleeves like tiny children's limbs. The cuffs effortlessly slip off. White looks at the woman, then back at his hands - NOTHING STRANGE, they are normal size, but somehow the cuffs have been removed. He looks at the woman again, grateful. He can't help smiling. Slowly, White lifts his hands to her breasts, touches them. She starts to breath deeply. OUT OF FOCUS - their bodies entangle, begin to move rhythmically. The CAMERA TRACKS SIDEWAYS, REVEALS a microphone behind a chair, leads us to a mirror on a wall. On the other side of the one-way glass a reel-to-reel tape recorder is picking up the SOUNDS OF HEAVY BREATHING. The JAPANESE WOMAN stands naked at the window, clutching a large red megaphone. IN PERFECT ENGLISH she shouts down at the streets drifting past. LONG SHADOWS move towards the entrance... WHITE WAKES UP AGAIN - finds he is still on the couch. NO SIGN of the woman. Then he notices her standing by the window (minus megaphone). The wind pulls at her black hair. A distant SIREN O.S. He gets up, walks over, stands beside her, looks out at the dark city. She ignores him, goes back to the couch, turns on a table-lamp, puts her hands before the lit bulb, casts animal shadows on the wall. White watches her. He walks across and sits next to her. She points to herself. WOMAN (a whisper) Sachiko. He nods slowly, looks at her. She waits for him to respond with his name. He shrugs, remains silent. Then he puts his hands in the light, makes his own animal shadow. She smiles at the shadows. THE BLADE cuts into the tire - it pops loudly, goes flat, metal SPARKS off the road. White is thrown forward, hits his head on the dash. Bumstead fights to keep control, SWERVES into the side of the other vehicle, making it scrape a concrete wall, hits garbage cans flying. The PUPPET'S car falls behind - then swerves off into a side- street and disappears. BUMSTEAD (looks behind him) Where did it go? WHITE (looks back also) Don't know. Both look FORWARD AGAIN - to see the PUPPET'S CAR pull out in front of them, BLOCKING THE WAY. Bumstead's car is going too fast. Slams the brakes. TIGHT ON PUPPET - Screaming with insane joy as Bumstead's car approaches like a bullet. Bumstead rips the phone number from the pad. The two men LEAP. The car continues onwards. CAMERA MOVES IN on mangled metal - a MECHANICAL CLAW starts to pull itself from the wreckage. The man squints at the card White holds up, nods groggily. He thumbs the blue curtain. Curls up, shuts his eyes again. Several corridors meander between large glass panels that look into illuminated tanks of sea creatures. White moves past a shadowy doorway. He can barely make out <b> STAIRS. </b> PHOTOS on the wall - family portraits. White examines these, concentrates on one in particular - a young boy on a red push- bike, in the background a sign with a faded image of a girl in a bathing suit: WELCOME TO BLUMBVILLE! it says. A strange WHIRRING NOISE O.S. White hides behind a sofa. Whatever is making the whirring noise moves past slowly. takes a step forward, then another - and RUNS INTO THE SKY - A PAINTED WALL. He glances up at a small SPEAKER built into the wall - the SOURCE of the sea- side SOUND EFFECTS. He hears the click of the gun being cocked behind him. Hopes dashed, he turns. ANGLE ON A MYSTERY MAN - a gun pointed at White's stomach. White is led into a pitch black room. The Man motions with the gun for White to walk forward. As soon as White turns to do this, the Man slips from the room and shuts the door, cutting off any existing light. A NOISE O.S. - some kind of machine being turned on - lights start to come up all over the room. It's a normal, average-sized, living room. All the furniture has been removed and replaced with chairs, tables, podiums - an arrangement resembling an IMPROVISED COURT of law. In fact, White realizes he is standing behind some kind of witness box. The apartment is devoid of people, though almost immediately a door opens to the side (looks like it would lead to the kitchen) and a series of figures step through. MYSTERY MEN. All the MEN take up specific positions around the room, without uttering a word, but don't sit. One MYSTERY MAN opens a curtain beneath an arched entrance - beyond it, within a very small room, stand DOZENS OF PEOPLE, crammed shoulder to shoulder. The people stare at White silently - a bizarre gallery of spectators. An eerie silence falls on the room. The kitchen door opens again. White is shocked to see the VICTIMS WALK INTO the pitcher of water, and dumps this on the flames. It kills the fire but leaves a black hole in the table-cloth. The paper is ash. He moves to another table pretending nothing happened, fans the smoke away. He starts to look around. TIGHT ON FILING CABINET - a drawer is pulled open. Thompsonís files are also a mess. Bumstead continues to shake his head. He reaches for a file. A loud SNAP! He leans down to scratch an itchy ankle, lifts his trouser leg to examine the bites - worse, inflamed. He uses a napkin to wipe at the pus. AERIAL PERSPECTIVE OF A FLY - circling the room, looking down on White. ON THE FLY - It lands on a plate of half eaten food on another table. The creature is some kind of SURVEILLANCE DEVICE - half insect/half machine. Itís spying on him. MOVE IN TIGHT as inbuilt camera lenses focus in its head. It shits on the food behind it. White is oblivious to this. Heís finished examining his leg, is sitting quietly. He yawns. His head nods forward briefly. A NOISE. White looks up. A TRAP-DOOR has opened in the ceiling. Two feet in black leather shoes descend from the hole. A sea breeze blows through the room. The SOUND OF SURF, SEAGULLS CRYING. ON Whiteís nose twitching. He can smell the ocean. The WALLPAPER COMES ALIVE - like a seething tangle of worms. One by one, THREE MEN in black coats lower into the room, floating on air. They pull out knifes, step forward. ON WHITE rigid with terror. ON THE MEN - | Where do The Strangers live? | They have a home beneath the city. |
opens it. He plucks out the note and reads FREDRICKís SCRAWLED MESSAGE: TIGHT ON - a manís shadow as it descends a wooden staircase. REVEAL WHITE - He rummages in a paper bag as he walks. Pulls out two capsules, swallows them. Now he pulls out a pack of "LUMP-O", rips it open, eats ravenously. HIS P.O.V. - A CHURCH. A bell-tower, black against the sky. White stares up into the night. A PRIEST - appears at the altar, cloaked in a blood-red robe, followed by two altar boys also in red. They move past a statue of an insect-like creature, walk in circles chanting softly, stop and stare at the congregation through eye-slits in their hoods. The priest begins his sermon. White looks forward. TIGHT ON the priestís hand - It rises, points, moves over the heads of the congregation, accusingly. Suddenly the red finger jabs towards an OLD WOMAN in the front row. All the congregation turn and stare at the woman. Sheís terrified. The hand moves slowly now, across to a BEAUTIFUL JAPANESE WOMAN several rows back. The priest pauses dramatically then: Suddenly the finger is pointing at White. All the faces turn, stare suspiciously at White. ANGLE ON WHITE - frozen with fright. Fortunately his face is obscured by shadow and the priest lowers his hand, continues the sermon. The people look away. White goes to leave. As he stands he notices the DOORS of the church open - two figures step in and move into the candle- light. MYSTERY MEN - Whiteís bizarre pursuers. They look around. White ducks down, crawls between pews, startling several of the takes a step forward, then another - and RUNS INTO THE SKY - A PAINTED WALL. He glances up at a small SPEAKER built into the wall - the SOURCE of the sea- side SOUND EFFECTS. He hears the click of the gun being cocked behind him. Hopes dashed, he turns. ANGLE ON A MYSTERY MAN - a gun pointed at White's stomach. White is led into a pitch black room. The Man motions with the gun for White to walk forward. As soon as White turns to do this, the Man slips from the room and shuts the door, cutting off any existing light. A NOISE O.S. - some kind of machine being turned on - lights start to come up all over the room. It's a normal, average-sized, living room. All the furniture has been removed and replaced with chairs, tables, podiums - an arrangement resembling an IMPROVISED COURT of law. In fact, White realizes he is standing behind some kind of witness box. The apartment is devoid of people, though almost immediately a door opens to the side (looks like it would lead to the kitchen) and a series of figures step through. MYSTERY MEN. All the MEN take up specific positions around the room, without uttering a word, but don't sit. One MYSTERY MAN opens a curtain beneath an arched entrance - beyond it, within a very small room, stand DOZENS OF PEOPLE, crammed shoulder to shoulder. The people stare at White silently - a bizarre gallery of spectators. An eerie silence falls on the room. The kitchen door opens again. White is shocked to see the VICTIMS WALK INTO the THE BLADE cuts into the tire - it pops loudly, goes flat, metal SPARKS off the road. White is thrown forward, hits his head on the dash. Bumstead fights to keep control, SWERVES into the side of the other vehicle, making it scrape a concrete wall, hits garbage cans flying. The PUPPET'S car falls behind - then swerves off into a side- street and disappears. BUMSTEAD (looks behind him) Where did it go? WHITE (looks back also) Don't know. Both look FORWARD AGAIN - to see the PUPPET'S CAR pull out in front of them, BLOCKING THE WAY. Bumstead's car is going too fast. Slams the brakes. TIGHT ON PUPPET - Screaming with insane joy as Bumstead's car approaches like a bullet. Bumstead rips the phone number from the pad. The two men LEAP. The car continues onwards. CAMERA MOVES IN on mangled metal - a MECHANICAL CLAW starts to pull itself from the wreckage. The man squints at the card White holds up, nods groggily. He thumbs the blue curtain. Curls up, shuts his eyes again. Several corridors meander between large glass panels that look into illuminated tanks of sea creatures. White moves past a shadowy doorway. He can barely make out <b> STAIRS. </b> PHOTOS on the wall - family portraits. White examines these, concentrates on one in particular - a young boy on a red push- bike, in the background a sign with a faded image of a girl in a bathing suit: WELCOME TO BLUMBVILLE! it says. A strange WHIRRING NOISE O.S. White hides behind a sofa. Whatever is making the whirring noise moves past slowly. down hard on a loose floorboard. The board flies up, pivoting against Whiteís heel, catches the Mystery Man with a CRACK under the chin. White runs at the off-balance Man, head-butts him in the stomach. The Man recoils, canít stop, steps off backwards into space, PLUMMETS INTO DARKNESS towards the street below. White relieved, turns, dusts himself, picks up his gun. Looks down at the floor. Broken glass and capsules everywhere - he dropped the bottle of pills during the scuffle. Starts to pick them up. Behind him SOMETHING is rising. The shadowy Mystery Man is LEVITATING HIMSELF back up to the bell-tower. He lands behind White, approaches, lifting his dagger, closer and closer. White glances around. The Man lunges, pushing White towards the shaft beneath the swinging bells. White FALLS, dangles over dark space, the Man stands above him. MYSTERY MAN (shouts) Do not make us hurt you... The bells are swinging very close to the Man. Suddenly, to Whiteís amazement, the shiny black rim of a bell clips the Manís head. SLAMS it against a low wooden beam in the ceiling. A splash of black liquid. The Man slumps to the ground, his head crushed beyond recognition. White pulls himself up - stands over the Manís body, trying to decide what to do. A MOVEMENT catches his eye. TIGHT ON the collapsed Manís ear - something moves inside. A BLACK INSECT, half-dead, crawls out of his crushed head. White revolted, SQUASHES the insect under his shoe. Electricity ARCING between electrodes. A building against the sky. The windows EXPLODE. Glass blows out, raining down on the street. A concrete wall SPLITS OPEN. Slime oozes through the crack. An though their faces cannot be seen clearly in the gloom, they too resemble the MAN who confronted White earlier. They walk towards him slowly, holding knifes above their heads. Ready to attack. They lean over him, pause dramatically. This Man turns to the others. They all smile, then turn back to White. MEN (in unison) Fifty-six. ANOTHER VOICE has been speaking softly - now it is louder. Repeating: ANGLE - a chair falls to the floor. White leaps up from the table, terrified, disoriented. Just a DREAM - he had dozed. WIDEN ANGLE - The place is still empty. White glances to the serving window. A DISH waits for him, framed in the glowing fluoro square. He gets it. A bowl of soupy liquid with noodles. He sits down. He is about to start eating - realizes he has a fork instead of a spoon. Picking up the bowl again, he heads to the kitchen. He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and shut automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor. Deserted spaces long forgotten - dusty, crumbling. He feels the fish moving about in his pocket, pulls it out and looks at it. White holds the dying fish in one hand, the bowl of cold soup in the other. Disgusted, he puts the fish into the bowl. Standing beside him is FREDRICK - the little man from Whiteís hotel room. FREDRICK (stutters) Where have you been? The doctorís been worried about you. Fredrick looks nervously down the corridor. The little man grabs Whiteís sleeve, starts to pull him along. ANGLE ON - the top of a | Who are The Strangers? | a group of men |
He places flowers on the bedside table. His mother just stares expressionless into space, in a coma. He sits on a metal chair, looks at the woman. Her life-sustaining machines hiss and breathe. MECHANICAL VOICE (through speaker) Move - forward. White follows a painted line on the floor, stands against a wall, in front of an old-fashioned camera. A slot opens in the wall behind him, mechanical arms spring forward, restrain him, one arm holds a sign with a number in front of him. A flash goes off, the click of a shutter. A claw lowers from the ceiling, grips White's head, turns it abruptly - the camera fires. The claw turns his head the other way. The camera fires again. Across the room A BUZZER SOUNDS, a red light flashes above a door. White is released by the mechanical hands, walks over, opens the door and steps into darkness. LIGHTS COME ON - extremely bright. A room for line-ups - markings on the white wall behind White indicate varying heights, a darkened window faces him. He is obviously to be identified by an unseen person. A buzzer sounds again, a light indicates another door. White moves into another room. A chair faces a large wheel painted in a black and white spiral. He sits down - the wheel turns, faster and faster. The wheel stops after several seconds. The next room is full of scientific equipment. White sees a metal-frame X-ray machine - he steps across to it. The screen lights up, filling the room with a green glow. We can see the shape of his skeleton. Where his pocket would be, is the they poke out of his sleeves like tiny children's limbs. The cuffs effortlessly slip off. White looks at the woman, then back at his hands - NOTHING STRANGE, they are normal size, but somehow the cuffs have been removed. He looks at the woman again, grateful. He can't help smiling. Slowly, White lifts his hands to her breasts, touches them. She starts to breath deeply. OUT OF FOCUS - their bodies entangle, begin to move rhythmically. The CAMERA TRACKS SIDEWAYS, REVEALS a microphone behind a chair, leads us to a mirror on a wall. On the other side of the one-way glass a reel-to-reel tape recorder is picking up the SOUNDS OF HEAVY BREATHING. The JAPANESE WOMAN stands naked at the window, clutching a large red megaphone. IN PERFECT ENGLISH she shouts down at the streets drifting past. LONG SHADOWS move towards the entrance... WHITE WAKES UP AGAIN - finds he is still on the couch. NO SIGN of the woman. Then he notices her standing by the window (minus megaphone). The wind pulls at her black hair. A distant SIREN O.S. He gets up, walks over, stands beside her, looks out at the dark city. She ignores him, goes back to the couch, turns on a table-lamp, puts her hands before the lit bulb, casts animal shadows on the wall. White watches her. He walks across and sits next to her. She points to herself. WOMAN (a whisper) Sachiko. He nods slowly, looks at her. She waits for him to respond with his name. He shrugs, remains silent. Then he puts his hands in the light, makes his own animal shadow. She smiles at the shadows. be dying, then revives momentarily, puts A MAP in white's hand, looks up at him: His eyes roll up and he GOES LIMP. White stares at the body, then: A NOISE O.S. disturbs him and he gets up, walks out of his office, looks into the darkness. HIS P.O.V. PANS around the empty morgue. Nothing. Decides to go back to his office. He turns and is startled by three MYSTERY MEN obstructing his path. The mortician catches a glimpse of the shiny dagger Man 1 is clutching by his side. He becomes very scared. THREE MEN look over to where the mortician has pointed in unison. Man 1 looks back. A FLASH OF STEEL. The mortician's throat SPOUTS blood. He grabs reflexively at the gash and falls back onto the floor, DEAD before he hits the tiles. The Mystery Men step to an adjoining chamber. Man 2 puts down a Box he is carrying, opens the lid. A green glow oozes out. The other Men manipulate levers on a control panel on a nearby wall. Stainless steel doors open. Body-length trays slide into the dim light. SHAPES covered in white sheets. Man 2 with the box removes a GLASS SYRINGE, filled with a glowing green liquid. He steps TO THE BODIES and injects each with the syringe, through the sheets. When he has finished he steps back, places the syringe back in the box. The MEN leave silently. All is silent and still. Then the shape beneath a sheet starts to SIT UP. Then another, and another. He opens the door and looks out. A blast of SUNLIGHT - blue ocean and sky. White does not turn about, he takes a step forward, then another - and RUNS INTO THE SKY - A PAINTED WALL. He glances up at a small SPEAKER built into the wall - the SOURCE of the sea- side SOUND EFFECTS. He hears the click of the gun being cocked behind him. Hopes dashed, he turns. ANGLE ON A MYSTERY MAN - a gun pointed at White's stomach. White is led into a pitch black room. The Man motions with the gun for White to walk forward. As soon as White turns to do this, the Man slips from the room and shuts the door, cutting off any existing light. A NOISE O.S. - some kind of machine being turned on - lights start to come up all over the room. It's a normal, average-sized, living room. All the furniture has been removed and replaced with chairs, tables, podiums - an arrangement resembling an IMPROVISED COURT of law. In fact, White realizes he is standing behind some kind of witness box. The apartment is devoid of people, though almost immediately a door opens to the side (looks like it would lead to the kitchen) and a series of figures step through. MYSTERY MEN. All the MEN take up specific positions around the room, without uttering a word, but don't sit. One MYSTERY MAN opens a curtain beneath an arched entrance - beyond it, within a very small room, stand DOZENS OF PEOPLE, crammed shoulder to shoulder. The people stare at White silently - a bizarre gallery of spectators. An eerie silence falls on the room. The kitchen door opens again. White is shocked to see the VICTIMS WALK INTO the THE BLADE cuts into the tire - it pops loudly, goes flat, metal SPARKS off the road. White is thrown forward, hits his head on the dash. Bumstead fights to keep control, SWERVES into the side of the other vehicle, making it scrape a concrete wall, hits garbage cans flying. The PUPPET'S car falls behind - then swerves off into a side- street and disappears. BUMSTEAD (looks behind him) Where did it go? WHITE (looks back also) Don't know. Both look FORWARD AGAIN - to see the PUPPET'S CAR pull out in front of them, BLOCKING THE WAY. Bumstead's car is going too fast. Slams the brakes. TIGHT ON PUPPET - Screaming with insane joy as Bumstead's car approaches like a bullet. Bumstead rips the phone number from the pad. The two men LEAP. The car continues onwards. CAMERA MOVES IN on mangled metal - a MECHANICAL CLAW starts to pull itself from the wreckage. The man squints at the card White holds up, nods groggily. He thumbs the blue curtain. Curls up, shuts his eyes again. Several corridors meander between large glass panels that look into illuminated tanks of sea creatures. White moves past a shadowy doorway. He can barely make out <b> STAIRS. </b> PHOTOS on the wall - family portraits. White examines these, concentrates on one in particular - a young boy on a red push- bike, in the background a sign with a faded image of a girl in a bathing suit: WELCOME TO BLUMBVILLE! it says. A strange WHIRRING NOISE O.S. White hides behind a sofa. Whatever is making the whirring noise moves past slowly. | What is the city? | A big space habitat surrounded by a force field. |
be dying, then revives momentarily, puts A MAP in white's hand, looks up at him: His eyes roll up and he GOES LIMP. White stares at the body, then: A NOISE O.S. disturbs him and he gets up, walks out of his office, looks into the darkness. HIS P.O.V. PANS around the empty morgue. Nothing. Decides to go back to his office. He turns and is startled by three MYSTERY MEN obstructing his path. The mortician catches a glimpse of the shiny dagger Man 1 is clutching by his side. He becomes very scared. THREE MEN look over to where the mortician has pointed in unison. Man 1 looks back. A FLASH OF STEEL. The mortician's throat SPOUTS blood. He grabs reflexively at the gash and falls back onto the floor, DEAD before he hits the tiles. The Mystery Men step to an adjoining chamber. Man 2 puts down a Box he is carrying, opens the lid. A green glow oozes out. The other Men manipulate levers on a control panel on a nearby wall. Stainless steel doors open. Body-length trays slide into the dim light. SHAPES covered in white sheets. Man 2 with the box removes a GLASS SYRINGE, filled with a glowing green liquid. He steps TO THE BODIES and injects each with the syringe, through the sheets. When he has finished he steps back, places the syringe back in the box. The MEN leave silently. All is silent and still. Then the shape beneath a sheet starts to SIT UP. Then another, and another. He opens the door and looks out. A blast of SUNLIGHT - blue ocean and sky. White does not turn about, he oblivious. He moves away slowly, feeling strange. His feet stop making contact with the floor. He grabs a table to steady himself. The table-cloth comes away, things spill to the floor and smash. He's FLOATING. White desperately reaches out to grab something, holds the light-fixture in the ceiling. It breaks off in a cloud of plaster. Sparks briefly illuminate. He falls heavily ONTO THE CEILING - now the floor. The apartment is upside down. He stares up at furniture and objects. White takes off his clothes and climbs the wall, towards the floor. It's difficult, but he reaches the tap, turns it off. Pulls himself towards the tub. Gravity becomes NORMAL AGAIN as he sinks in the warm water. He's incredibly weak - floats limply in the bath. Submerges his face. A distant throbbing O.S., like a huge machine heart somewhere in the building. He opens his eyes, still underwater, stares up at the ceiling. White rigid with fright, cannot focus on the figure through the thin veil of water. The FIGURE reaches out. A GLOVED HAND grabs White about the throat, holds him forcefully. White gulps for air, swallows water. His eyes widen. He tries to stop the hand strangling him but can't. Suddenly the hand pulls away. The BLURRY FIGURE stumbles back and ERUPTS into bloody explosion. The body splits apart, throwing internal organs through the room. White awakens in the bathtub. He looks about the room. Empty. Silent. He gets out of the water, starts to dress. A third YOUNG COP steps up to the cop in charge, glancing at the bile on Bumstead's suit. The cop leads Bumstead behind a WOODEN PARTITION. they poke out of his sleeves like tiny children's limbs. The cuffs effortlessly slip off. White looks at the woman, then back at his hands - NOTHING STRANGE, they are normal size, but somehow the cuffs have been removed. He looks at the woman again, grateful. He can't help smiling. Slowly, White lifts his hands to her breasts, touches them. She starts to breath deeply. OUT OF FOCUS - their bodies entangle, begin to move rhythmically. The CAMERA TRACKS SIDEWAYS, REVEALS a microphone behind a chair, leads us to a mirror on a wall. On the other side of the one-way glass a reel-to-reel tape recorder is picking up the SOUNDS OF HEAVY BREATHING. The JAPANESE WOMAN stands naked at the window, clutching a large red megaphone. IN PERFECT ENGLISH she shouts down at the streets drifting past. LONG SHADOWS move towards the entrance... WHITE WAKES UP AGAIN - finds he is still on the couch. NO SIGN of the woman. Then he notices her standing by the window (minus megaphone). The wind pulls at her black hair. A distant SIREN O.S. He gets up, walks over, stands beside her, looks out at the dark city. She ignores him, goes back to the couch, turns on a table-lamp, puts her hands before the lit bulb, casts animal shadows on the wall. White watches her. He walks across and sits next to her. She points to herself. WOMAN (a whisper) Sachiko. He nods slowly, looks at her. She waits for him to respond with his name. He shrugs, remains silent. Then he puts his hands in the light, makes his own animal shadow. She smiles at the shadows. THE BLADE cuts into the tire - it pops loudly, goes flat, metal SPARKS off the road. White is thrown forward, hits his head on the dash. Bumstead fights to keep control, SWERVES into the side of the other vehicle, making it scrape a concrete wall, hits garbage cans flying. The PUPPET'S car falls behind - then swerves off into a side- street and disappears. BUMSTEAD (looks behind him) Where did it go? WHITE (looks back also) Don't know. Both look FORWARD AGAIN - to see the PUPPET'S CAR pull out in front of them, BLOCKING THE WAY. Bumstead's car is going too fast. Slams the brakes. TIGHT ON PUPPET - Screaming with insane joy as Bumstead's car approaches like a bullet. Bumstead rips the phone number from the pad. The two men LEAP. The car continues onwards. CAMERA MOVES IN on mangled metal - a MECHANICAL CLAW starts to pull itself from the wreckage. The man squints at the card White holds up, nods groggily. He thumbs the blue curtain. Curls up, shuts his eyes again. Several corridors meander between large glass panels that look into illuminated tanks of sea creatures. White moves past a shadowy doorway. He can barely make out <b> STAIRS. </b> PHOTOS on the wall - family portraits. White examines these, concentrates on one in particular - a young boy on a red push- bike, in the background a sign with a faded image of a girl in a bathing suit: WELCOME TO BLUMBVILLE! it says. A strange WHIRRING NOISE O.S. White hides behind a sofa. Whatever is making the whirring noise moves past slowly. though their faces cannot be seen clearly in the gloom, they too resemble the MAN who confronted White earlier. They walk towards him slowly, holding knifes above their heads. Ready to attack. They lean over him, pause dramatically. This Man turns to the others. They all smile, then turn back to White. MEN (in unison) Fifty-six. ANOTHER VOICE has been speaking softly - now it is louder. Repeating: ANGLE - a chair falls to the floor. White leaps up from the table, terrified, disoriented. Just a DREAM - he had dozed. WIDEN ANGLE - The place is still empty. White glances to the serving window. A DISH waits for him, framed in the glowing fluoro square. He gets it. A bowl of soupy liquid with noodles. He sits down. He is about to start eating - realizes he has a fork instead of a spoon. Picking up the bowl again, he heads to the kitchen. He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and shut automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor. Deserted spaces long forgotten - dusty, crumbling. He feels the fish moving about in his pocket, pulls it out and looks at it. White holds the dying fish in one hand, the bowl of cold soup in the other. Disgusted, he puts the fish into the bowl. Standing beside him is FREDRICK - the little man from Whiteís hotel room. FREDRICK (stutters) Where have you been? The doctorís been worried about you. Fredrick looks nervously down the corridor. The little man grabs Whiteís sleeve, starts to pull him along. ANGLE ON - the top of a | When does the city experience daylight for the first time? | The city experiences daylight for the first time when John Murdoch turns the city/habitat toward the star it had been facing away from. |
they poke out of his sleeves like tiny children's limbs. The cuffs effortlessly slip off. White looks at the woman, then back at his hands - NOTHING STRANGE, they are normal size, but somehow the cuffs have been removed. He looks at the woman again, grateful. He can't help smiling. Slowly, White lifts his hands to her breasts, touches them. She starts to breath deeply. OUT OF FOCUS - their bodies entangle, begin to move rhythmically. The CAMERA TRACKS SIDEWAYS, REVEALS a microphone behind a chair, leads us to a mirror on a wall. On the other side of the one-way glass a reel-to-reel tape recorder is picking up the SOUNDS OF HEAVY BREATHING. The JAPANESE WOMAN stands naked at the window, clutching a large red megaphone. IN PERFECT ENGLISH she shouts down at the streets drifting past. LONG SHADOWS move towards the entrance... WHITE WAKES UP AGAIN - finds he is still on the couch. NO SIGN of the woman. Then he notices her standing by the window (minus megaphone). The wind pulls at her black hair. A distant SIREN O.S. He gets up, walks over, stands beside her, looks out at the dark city. She ignores him, goes back to the couch, turns on a table-lamp, puts her hands before the lit bulb, casts animal shadows on the wall. White watches her. He walks across and sits next to her. She points to herself. WOMAN (a whisper) Sachiko. He nods slowly, looks at her. She waits for him to respond with his name. He shrugs, remains silent. Then he puts his hands in the light, makes his own animal shadow. She smiles at the shadows. oblivious. He moves away slowly, feeling strange. His feet stop making contact with the floor. He grabs a table to steady himself. The table-cloth comes away, things spill to the floor and smash. He's FLOATING. White desperately reaches out to grab something, holds the light-fixture in the ceiling. It breaks off in a cloud of plaster. Sparks briefly illuminate. He falls heavily ONTO THE CEILING - now the floor. The apartment is upside down. He stares up at furniture and objects. White takes off his clothes and climbs the wall, towards the floor. It's difficult, but he reaches the tap, turns it off. Pulls himself towards the tub. Gravity becomes NORMAL AGAIN as he sinks in the warm water. He's incredibly weak - floats limply in the bath. Submerges his face. A distant throbbing O.S., like a huge machine heart somewhere in the building. He opens his eyes, still underwater, stares up at the ceiling. White rigid with fright, cannot focus on the figure through the thin veil of water. The FIGURE reaches out. A GLOVED HAND grabs White about the throat, holds him forcefully. White gulps for air, swallows water. His eyes widen. He tries to stop the hand strangling him but can't. Suddenly the hand pulls away. The BLURRY FIGURE stumbles back and ERUPTS into bloody explosion. The body splits apart, throwing internal organs through the room. White awakens in the bathtub. He looks about the room. Empty. Silent. He gets out of the water, starts to dress. A third YOUNG COP steps up to the cop in charge, glancing at the bile on Bumstead's suit. The cop leads Bumstead behind a WOODEN PARTITION. motion - the door across the room (leading to a corridor?) is shutting. No sign of life. Cheap decorations. He walks around cautiously. Turns lights on. Then reconsiders. Turns them off again. Disturbed, he studies his features in a wall mirror. ANGLE ON OPEN BATHROOM DOOR - the fish has jumped from the tub again and is flapping on the floor. White steps back into the bathroom. He picks up the fish again, doesn't know what to do with it, so he puts it in his pocket. ANGLE ON A REVOLVER on the bed-side table. He picks it up, his grip tightens on the handle, his finger applies pressure to the trigger and... Startled, he holds the gun away from him like it might go off again. He examines it carefully now. Opens the chamber. TIGHT ON THE GUN - Five bullets left. He turns the chamber carefully, shuts it, puts the gun in the inside pocket of the coat. He moves to the bed. A RIPPED PHOTOGRAPH on the rug. A fragment of a woman's face, her left eye. He lifts the fragment up. There's handwriting on the back, part of a note: He sits on the edge of the bed. As he does this, he notices something else on the floor. HIS P.O.V. - follows a dark stain on the floorboards, to a woman's bare foot behind the bed. He stands abruptly, fumbles across the bed to stare into a dark corner of the room. In the shadows he can make out a woman's naked BODY lying in a pool of blood. Her eyes stare lifeless. White stumbles back in horror, throws his THE BLADE cuts into the tire - it pops loudly, goes flat, metal SPARKS off the road. White is thrown forward, hits his head on the dash. Bumstead fights to keep control, SWERVES into the side of the other vehicle, making it scrape a concrete wall, hits garbage cans flying. The PUPPET'S car falls behind - then swerves off into a side- street and disappears. BUMSTEAD (looks behind him) Where did it go? WHITE (looks back also) Don't know. Both look FORWARD AGAIN - to see the PUPPET'S CAR pull out in front of them, BLOCKING THE WAY. Bumstead's car is going too fast. Slams the brakes. TIGHT ON PUPPET - Screaming with insane joy as Bumstead's car approaches like a bullet. Bumstead rips the phone number from the pad. The two men LEAP. The car continues onwards. CAMERA MOVES IN on mangled metal - a MECHANICAL CLAW starts to pull itself from the wreckage. The man squints at the card White holds up, nods groggily. He thumbs the blue curtain. Curls up, shuts his eyes again. Several corridors meander between large glass panels that look into illuminated tanks of sea creatures. White moves past a shadowy doorway. He can barely make out <b> STAIRS. </b> PHOTOS on the wall - family portraits. White examines these, concentrates on one in particular - a young boy on a red push- bike, in the background a sign with a faded image of a girl in a bathing suit: WELCOME TO BLUMBVILLE! it says. A strange WHIRRING NOISE O.S. White hides behind a sofa. Whatever is making the whirring noise moves past slowly. while he describes the evidence to support their case. MAN 1 places a large black and white photo blow-up on the easel. It shows White at the door of the JAPANESE WOMAN'S apartment, clutching a kitchen knife, covered in blood. White watches in stunned silence. A general murmur of agreement through the room as the point is made. Mister Black turns to the victims, nods his head slowly. MAN 1 removes a small tape recorder, hands it to MAN 2. He turns a switch, the reels spin slowly. A hush fills the room. VOICE 2 (sounds like White) Shut up! Another scream. A ripping sound. VOICE 3 (sounds like his WIFE) John! Don't... White is standing up, involuntarily, he can't listen to this any longer. WHITE (a squeak, almost inaudible) Stop it! This is a lie... Mister Black turns to White. The Men testifying stop the tape and look at him also. The Men in the audience turn and all stare at White, as do the victims and the spectators in the adjoining room. WHITE (back to a whisper) I didn't kill anyone. WHITE (finds his voice) It's lies. Everything. He grips the barrier before him. A SHRIEK from the pram containing the BABY - it rocks violently from side to side. The DISEMBOWELED WOMAN rises from her chair. She has difficulty standing, her limbs stiff. She looks at White, opens her mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. Instead a tiny RED CRAB scuttles out, across her face, and falls to the ground. She sits down. White is stunned. AN OLDER COUPLE are led out of the kitchen by a Mystery Man. Shown to seats behind a podium. The woman looks sadly at | What is the name of John Murdoch's wife? | Emma. |
though their faces cannot be seen clearly in the gloom, they too resemble the MAN who confronted White earlier. They walk towards him slowly, holding knifes above their heads. Ready to attack. They lean over him, pause dramatically. This Man turns to the others. They all smile, then turn back to White. MEN (in unison) Fifty-six. ANOTHER VOICE has been speaking softly - now it is louder. Repeating: ANGLE - a chair falls to the floor. White leaps up from the table, terrified, disoriented. Just a DREAM - he had dozed. WIDEN ANGLE - The place is still empty. White glances to the serving window. A DISH waits for him, framed in the glowing fluoro square. He gets it. A bowl of soupy liquid with noodles. He sits down. He is about to start eating - realizes he has a fork instead of a spoon. Picking up the bowl again, he heads to the kitchen. He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and shut automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor. Deserted spaces long forgotten - dusty, crumbling. He feels the fish moving about in his pocket, pulls it out and looks at it. White holds the dying fish in one hand, the bowl of cold soup in the other. Disgusted, he puts the fish into the bowl. Standing beside him is FREDRICK - the little man from Whiteís hotel room. FREDRICK (stutters) Where have you been? The doctorís been worried about you. Fredrick looks nervously down the corridor. The little man grabs Whiteís sleeve, starts to pull him along. ANGLE ON - the top of a THE BLADE cuts into the tire - it pops loudly, goes flat, metal SPARKS off the road. White is thrown forward, hits his head on the dash. Bumstead fights to keep control, SWERVES into the side of the other vehicle, making it scrape a concrete wall, hits garbage cans flying. The PUPPET'S car falls behind - then swerves off into a side- street and disappears. BUMSTEAD (looks behind him) Where did it go? WHITE (looks back also) Don't know. Both look FORWARD AGAIN - to see the PUPPET'S CAR pull out in front of them, BLOCKING THE WAY. Bumstead's car is going too fast. Slams the brakes. TIGHT ON PUPPET - Screaming with insane joy as Bumstead's car approaches like a bullet. Bumstead rips the phone number from the pad. The two men LEAP. The car continues onwards. CAMERA MOVES IN on mangled metal - a MECHANICAL CLAW starts to pull itself from the wreckage. The man squints at the card White holds up, nods groggily. He thumbs the blue curtain. Curls up, shuts his eyes again. Several corridors meander between large glass panels that look into illuminated tanks of sea creatures. White moves past a shadowy doorway. He can barely make out <b> STAIRS. </b> PHOTOS on the wall - family portraits. White examines these, concentrates on one in particular - a young boy on a red push- bike, in the background a sign with a faded image of a girl in a bathing suit: WELCOME TO BLUMBVILLE! it says. A strange WHIRRING NOISE O.S. White hides behind a sofa. Whatever is making the whirring noise moves past slowly. pitcher of water, and dumps this on the flames. It kills the fire but leaves a black hole in the table-cloth. The paper is ash. He moves to another table pretending nothing happened, fans the smoke away. He starts to look around. TIGHT ON FILING CABINET - a drawer is pulled open. Thompsonís files are also a mess. Bumstead continues to shake his head. He reaches for a file. A loud SNAP! He leans down to scratch an itchy ankle, lifts his trouser leg to examine the bites - worse, inflamed. He uses a napkin to wipe at the pus. AERIAL PERSPECTIVE OF A FLY - circling the room, looking down on White. ON THE FLY - It lands on a plate of half eaten food on another table. The creature is some kind of SURVEILLANCE DEVICE - half insect/half machine. Itís spying on him. MOVE IN TIGHT as inbuilt camera lenses focus in its head. It shits on the food behind it. White is oblivious to this. Heís finished examining his leg, is sitting quietly. He yawns. His head nods forward briefly. A NOISE. White looks up. A TRAP-DOOR has opened in the ceiling. Two feet in black leather shoes descend from the hole. A sea breeze blows through the room. The SOUND OF SURF, SEAGULLS CRYING. ON Whiteís nose twitching. He can smell the ocean. The WALLPAPER COMES ALIVE - like a seething tangle of worms. One by one, THREE MEN in black coats lower into the room, floating on air. They pull out knifes, step forward. ON WHITE rigid with terror. ON THE MEN - set of stairs in front of them. Two dark figures appear. Fredrick looks up at them in horror. Both men run like crazy, White awkwardly holding the bowl of soup. They come to a junction, each takes a separate corridor. Fredrick finds some stairs, climbs two at a time. White climbs INTO FRAME, looks around, finds another corridor. The little man is nowhere to be seen. White reaches another junction - several corridors branch off. He keeps running. Bumstead leans INTO FRAME, examines the corpse. He notices several stab wounds in the manís abdomen. Various cops search the room. One cop walks up to the Inspector. BUMSTEAD (deadpan) Great. He scrawls rapidly, screws the message into a tight tube, then puts it into a METAL CYLINDER he finds beneath the table also. He glances out a window, notices A FIGURE standing beneath a street-lamp below, looking up at him. Startled, Fredrick darts back into shadow, goes to a wall covered in about a dozen vertical PIPES running up into the ceiling. TIGHT ON ONE OF THE PIPES - he opens a small hatch and puts the metal cylinder in it. The cylinder is snatched from his hand, sucked into the pipe with a rush of air. ANGLE ON WHITE WALKING - seen through a series of illuminated, dirty, windows. He occasionally glances into the bowl he holds before him. ANGLE ON WHITE - He stops, looks up at O.S. SOUND of clattering metal. A pipe runs the length of the corridor - the invisible clanging cylinder races away, into darkness. Then the silence is shattered by a piercing series of SCREAMS somewhere in the building. White hurriedly moves towards the source. takes a step forward, then another - and RUNS INTO THE SKY - A PAINTED WALL. He glances up at a small SPEAKER built into the wall - the SOURCE of the sea- side SOUND EFFECTS. He hears the click of the gun being cocked behind him. Hopes dashed, he turns. ANGLE ON A MYSTERY MAN - a gun pointed at White's stomach. White is led into a pitch black room. The Man motions with the gun for White to walk forward. As soon as White turns to do this, the Man slips from the room and shuts the door, cutting off any existing light. A NOISE O.S. - some kind of machine being turned on - lights start to come up all over the room. It's a normal, average-sized, living room. All the furniture has been removed and replaced with chairs, tables, podiums - an arrangement resembling an IMPROVISED COURT of law. In fact, White realizes he is standing behind some kind of witness box. The apartment is devoid of people, though almost immediately a door opens to the side (looks like it would lead to the kitchen) and a series of figures step through. MYSTERY MEN. All the MEN take up specific positions around the room, without uttering a word, but don't sit. One MYSTERY MAN opens a curtain beneath an arched entrance - beyond it, within a very small room, stand DOZENS OF PEOPLE, crammed shoulder to shoulder. The people stare at White silently - a bizarre gallery of spectators. An eerie silence falls on the room. The kitchen door opens again. White is shocked to see the VICTIMS WALK INTO the | Where was The Stangers home? | Beneath the city. |
He places flowers on the bedside table. His mother just stares expressionless into space, in a coma. He sits on a metal chair, looks at the woman. Her life-sustaining machines hiss and breathe. MECHANICAL VOICE (through speaker) Move - forward. White follows a painted line on the floor, stands against a wall, in front of an old-fashioned camera. A slot opens in the wall behind him, mechanical arms spring forward, restrain him, one arm holds a sign with a number in front of him. A flash goes off, the click of a shutter. A claw lowers from the ceiling, grips White's head, turns it abruptly - the camera fires. The claw turns his head the other way. The camera fires again. Across the room A BUZZER SOUNDS, a red light flashes above a door. White is released by the mechanical hands, walks over, opens the door and steps into darkness. LIGHTS COME ON - extremely bright. A room for line-ups - markings on the white wall behind White indicate varying heights, a darkened window faces him. He is obviously to be identified by an unseen person. A buzzer sounds again, a light indicates another door. White moves into another room. A chair faces a large wheel painted in a black and white spiral. He sits down - the wheel turns, faster and faster. The wheel stops after several seconds. The next room is full of scientific equipment. White sees a metal-frame X-ray machine - he steps across to it. The screen lights up, filling the room with a green glow. We can see the shape of his skeleton. Where his pocket would be, is the opens it. He plucks out the note and reads FREDRICKís SCRAWLED MESSAGE: TIGHT ON - a manís shadow as it descends a wooden staircase. REVEAL WHITE - He rummages in a paper bag as he walks. Pulls out two capsules, swallows them. Now he pulls out a pack of "LUMP-O", rips it open, eats ravenously. HIS P.O.V. - A CHURCH. A bell-tower, black against the sky. White stares up into the night. A PRIEST - appears at the altar, cloaked in a blood-red robe, followed by two altar boys also in red. They move past a statue of an insect-like creature, walk in circles chanting softly, stop and stare at the congregation through eye-slits in their hoods. The priest begins his sermon. White looks forward. TIGHT ON the priestís hand - It rises, points, moves over the heads of the congregation, accusingly. Suddenly the red finger jabs towards an OLD WOMAN in the front row. All the congregation turn and stare at the woman. Sheís terrified. The hand moves slowly now, across to a BEAUTIFUL JAPANESE WOMAN several rows back. The priest pauses dramatically then: Suddenly the finger is pointing at White. All the faces turn, stare suspiciously at White. ANGLE ON WHITE - frozen with fright. Fortunately his face is obscured by shadow and the priest lowers his hand, continues the sermon. The people look away. White goes to leave. As he stands he notices the DOORS of the church open - two figures step in and move into the candle- light. MYSTERY MEN - Whiteís bizarre pursuers. They look around. White ducks down, crawls between pews, startling several of the though their faces cannot be seen clearly in the gloom, they too resemble the MAN who confronted White earlier. They walk towards him slowly, holding knifes above their heads. Ready to attack. They lean over him, pause dramatically. This Man turns to the others. They all smile, then turn back to White. MEN (in unison) Fifty-six. ANOTHER VOICE has been speaking softly - now it is louder. Repeating: ANGLE - a chair falls to the floor. White leaps up from the table, terrified, disoriented. Just a DREAM - he had dozed. WIDEN ANGLE - The place is still empty. White glances to the serving window. A DISH waits for him, framed in the glowing fluoro square. He gets it. A bowl of soupy liquid with noodles. He sits down. He is about to start eating - realizes he has a fork instead of a spoon. Picking up the bowl again, he heads to the kitchen. He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and shut automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor. Deserted spaces long forgotten - dusty, crumbling. He feels the fish moving about in his pocket, pulls it out and looks at it. White holds the dying fish in one hand, the bowl of cold soup in the other. Disgusted, he puts the fish into the bowl. Standing beside him is FREDRICK - the little man from Whiteís hotel room. FREDRICK (stutters) Where have you been? The doctorís been worried about you. Fredrick looks nervously down the corridor. The little man grabs Whiteís sleeve, starts to pull him along. ANGLE ON - the top of a while he describes the evidence to support their case. MAN 1 places a large black and white photo blow-up on the easel. It shows White at the door of the JAPANESE WOMAN'S apartment, clutching a kitchen knife, covered in blood. White watches in stunned silence. A general murmur of agreement through the room as the point is made. Mister Black turns to the victims, nods his head slowly. MAN 1 removes a small tape recorder, hands it to MAN 2. He turns a switch, the reels spin slowly. A hush fills the room. VOICE 2 (sounds like White) Shut up! Another scream. A ripping sound. VOICE 3 (sounds like his WIFE) John! Don't... White is standing up, involuntarily, he can't listen to this any longer. WHITE (a squeak, almost inaudible) Stop it! This is a lie... Mister Black turns to White. The Men testifying stop the tape and look at him also. The Men in the audience turn and all stare at White, as do the victims and the spectators in the adjoining room. WHITE (back to a whisper) I didn't kill anyone. WHITE (finds his voice) It's lies. Everything. He grips the barrier before him. A SHRIEK from the pram containing the BABY - it rocks violently from side to side. The DISEMBOWELED WOMAN rises from her chair. She has difficulty standing, her limbs stiff. She looks at White, opens her mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. Instead a tiny RED CRAB scuttles out, across her face, and falls to the ground. She sits down. White is stunned. AN OLDER COUPLE are led out of the kitchen by a Mystery Man. Shown to seats behind a podium. The woman looks sadly at Beyond the last victim it becomes a dotted line, following the same trajectory but with a big question mark beside it. Bumstead glances over to a blackboard with a list of names and addresses on it. He holds up the doctor's card and stares at it. He turns it over, notices an address on the back. WHITE (cuts in) Look. It was a simple question. Can someone kill and not remember it? SCHREBER (smiles) I'm sorry. I get carried away sometimes. Possible? I'm... ah, afraid so. White shakes his head, looking blankly at the doctor. Schreber turns, points to DOUBLE-DOORS. He walks towards these. White follows. The two men look down on a monkey with the top of its head missing, squirming in a mechanical device that restricts its movements. White turns and starts to pace away. Schreber reluctantly follows. Schreber points dramatically at a wooden structure containing two rats. The rats perform various activities involving mazes and geometric symbols. Schreber turns to look at White, eyebrow raised. TIGHT ON HIS SLENDER FINGER - pointing to a machine also run by rats. The object is to make it through a guillotine device. One rat is successful, the other is chopped neatly in two. Schreber puts a hand on White's shoulder. White nods again, extremely troubled. They've stopped outside a flaking door. ANGLE ON FRYING PAN ON STOVE - The fish lands in it and starts to sizzle furiously. A set of swinging doors on the other side of the room open slightly and THE NURSE looks in. NURSE (to Schreber) I have to talk to you. She shakes her head, with a serious expression, then darts out again. SCHREBER (to White) Excuse | How did Dr. Schreber betray the Stangers after they brought him to their home? | He inserted false memories into Murdoch. |
He places flowers on the bedside table. His mother just stares expressionless into space, in a coma. He sits on a metal chair, looks at the woman. Her life-sustaining machines hiss and breathe. MECHANICAL VOICE (through speaker) Move - forward. White follows a painted line on the floor, stands against a wall, in front of an old-fashioned camera. A slot opens in the wall behind him, mechanical arms spring forward, restrain him, one arm holds a sign with a number in front of him. A flash goes off, the click of a shutter. A claw lowers from the ceiling, grips White's head, turns it abruptly - the camera fires. The claw turns his head the other way. The camera fires again. Across the room A BUZZER SOUNDS, a red light flashes above a door. White is released by the mechanical hands, walks over, opens the door and steps into darkness. LIGHTS COME ON - extremely bright. A room for line-ups - markings on the white wall behind White indicate varying heights, a darkened window faces him. He is obviously to be identified by an unseen person. A buzzer sounds again, a light indicates another door. White moves into another room. A chair faces a large wheel painted in a black and white spiral. He sits down - the wheel turns, faster and faster. The wheel stops after several seconds. The next room is full of scientific equipment. White sees a metal-frame X-ray machine - he steps across to it. The screen lights up, filling the room with a green glow. We can see the shape of his skeleton. Where his pocket would be, is the takes a step forward, then another - and RUNS INTO THE SKY - A PAINTED WALL. He glances up at a small SPEAKER built into the wall - the SOURCE of the sea- side SOUND EFFECTS. He hears the click of the gun being cocked behind him. Hopes dashed, he turns. ANGLE ON A MYSTERY MAN - a gun pointed at White's stomach. White is led into a pitch black room. The Man motions with the gun for White to walk forward. As soon as White turns to do this, the Man slips from the room and shuts the door, cutting off any existing light. A NOISE O.S. - some kind of machine being turned on - lights start to come up all over the room. It's a normal, average-sized, living room. All the furniture has been removed and replaced with chairs, tables, podiums - an arrangement resembling an IMPROVISED COURT of law. In fact, White realizes he is standing behind some kind of witness box. The apartment is devoid of people, though almost immediately a door opens to the side (looks like it would lead to the kitchen) and a series of figures step through. MYSTERY MEN. All the MEN take up specific positions around the room, without uttering a word, but don't sit. One MYSTERY MAN opens a curtain beneath an arched entrance - beyond it, within a very small room, stand DOZENS OF PEOPLE, crammed shoulder to shoulder. The people stare at White silently - a bizarre gallery of spectators. An eerie silence falls on the room. The kitchen door opens again. White is shocked to see the VICTIMS WALK INTO the pitcher of water, and dumps this on the flames. It kills the fire but leaves a black hole in the table-cloth. The paper is ash. He moves to another table pretending nothing happened, fans the smoke away. He starts to look around. TIGHT ON FILING CABINET - a drawer is pulled open. Thompsonís files are also a mess. Bumstead continues to shake his head. He reaches for a file. A loud SNAP! He leans down to scratch an itchy ankle, lifts his trouser leg to examine the bites - worse, inflamed. He uses a napkin to wipe at the pus. AERIAL PERSPECTIVE OF A FLY - circling the room, looking down on White. ON THE FLY - It lands on a plate of half eaten food on another table. The creature is some kind of SURVEILLANCE DEVICE - half insect/half machine. Itís spying on him. MOVE IN TIGHT as inbuilt camera lenses focus in its head. It shits on the food behind it. White is oblivious to this. Heís finished examining his leg, is sitting quietly. He yawns. His head nods forward briefly. A NOISE. White looks up. A TRAP-DOOR has opened in the ceiling. Two feet in black leather shoes descend from the hole. A sea breeze blows through the room. The SOUND OF SURF, SEAGULLS CRYING. ON Whiteís nose twitching. He can smell the ocean. The WALLPAPER COMES ALIVE - like a seething tangle of worms. One by one, THREE MEN in black coats lower into the room, floating on air. They pull out knifes, step forward. ON WHITE rigid with terror. ON THE MEN - RINGS O.S. The nurse makes for the door. He's tapping the side of the syringe, squirting out air bubbles. THE DOOR-BELL RINGS again - very insistent. Schreber looks at the nurse, annoyed. She heads to the door - turns back. Schreber puts the syringe down, fumbles in his pocket, pulls out a huge collection of KEYS on a ring, walks to the nurse, hands them to her. White manages to wriggle a hand free from the leather strap holding him. The nurse leaves, the doctor shuts the door, locks it. He steps over to White. White lashes out, PUNCHES the doctor in the face. His glasses go flying, and he falls to the floor, blinded, scrambling for the spectacles. A convenient scalpel cuts White from his remaining bonds. He undoes the last strap around his ankles as the doctor replaces his glasses and leaps at him trying to drive the syringe INTO <b> WHITE'S FOREHEAD. </b> The struggle continues - each man tries to turn the syringe on the other. White pushes the doctor, who falls backwards. Schreber leaps onto him, both fall against a tray of medical instruments. A loud THUMPING on the examination room door. White is grabbed from behind, pinned down with the syringe INCHES from his face. A CRASH O.S. Splintering wood. The door bursts open. A ROTUND SILHOUETTE - is revealed, clutching a police special, flashing a badge. A squeaky, over-excited, voice: Schreber and White FREEZE in mid-struggle, look at the inspector. Behind him, the nurse appears in the hallway. Bumstead steps into the light, shoves his gun in White's face, handcuffs him. Bumstead searches White, finds the revolver, takes this. hands across his mouth. At the end of the corridor, elevator doors open. Light and musak flood out. White stops, looks uncertainly towards a bead curtain. White sees several nooks for messages and keys in front of him. Reaching across the desk, he glances through the bead curtain into the manager's office. TELEVISION SOUNDS O.S. Totally confused, White turns to leave, sees something. Stops. HIS P.O.V. - A painting on a wall (cheap print variety) - waves on a beach. A breeze rustles the pages of a calender, pinned beside the picture. <b> </b> TIGHT ON WHITE - MOVE IN on his ear. O.S. SOUND - surf crashes on shore. A WOMAN'S VOICE WHISPERS: He backs away from the painting, looks about the lobby in panic - sees a sign: TOILETS. A painted hand points the way. WHITE (without turning) I'll be back later. As White runs out, the MYSTERY MAN picks up a pay-phone, dials. Whispers into the receiver in a foreign language. White bursts through the door and into a cubicle. He bends over a toilet bowl and VOMITS. ANGLE ON FRANK BUMSTEAD - police inspector. He looks down at the watch. Time to leave. He STANDS, heads for an illuminated exit sign. Images flicker on a SCREEN. The inspector rushes to the door, runs into an USHER, who gasps. BUMSTEAD (to usher) Gesundheit! Bumstead quickly moves off. BIG IN FOREGROUND - a popcorn machine rattles noisily. BUMSTEAD (cuts in) ...but you told me the meeting was <u>ten-thirty</u>. A burst of chatter. A stream of chatter stops him. The inspector tries to interject as the VOICE cuts in again... | What did Murdoch and Dr. Schreber find when they broke through the wall with the poster? | Outer space. |
He places flowers on the bedside table. His mother just stares expressionless into space, in a coma. He sits on a metal chair, looks at the woman. Her life-sustaining machines hiss and breathe. MECHANICAL VOICE (through speaker) Move - forward. White follows a painted line on the floor, stands against a wall, in front of an old-fashioned camera. A slot opens in the wall behind him, mechanical arms spring forward, restrain him, one arm holds a sign with a number in front of him. A flash goes off, the click of a shutter. A claw lowers from the ceiling, grips White's head, turns it abruptly - the camera fires. The claw turns his head the other way. The camera fires again. Across the room A BUZZER SOUNDS, a red light flashes above a door. White is released by the mechanical hands, walks over, opens the door and steps into darkness. LIGHTS COME ON - extremely bright. A room for line-ups - markings on the white wall behind White indicate varying heights, a darkened window faces him. He is obviously to be identified by an unseen person. A buzzer sounds again, a light indicates another door. White moves into another room. A chair faces a large wheel painted in a black and white spiral. He sits down - the wheel turns, faster and faster. The wheel stops after several seconds. The next room is full of scientific equipment. White sees a metal-frame X-ray machine - he steps across to it. The screen lights up, filling the room with a green glow. We can see the shape of his skeleton. Where his pocket would be, is the oblivious. He moves away slowly, feeling strange. His feet stop making contact with the floor. He grabs a table to steady himself. The table-cloth comes away, things spill to the floor and smash. He's FLOATING. White desperately reaches out to grab something, holds the light-fixture in the ceiling. It breaks off in a cloud of plaster. Sparks briefly illuminate. He falls heavily ONTO THE CEILING - now the floor. The apartment is upside down. He stares up at furniture and objects. White takes off his clothes and climbs the wall, towards the floor. It's difficult, but he reaches the tap, turns it off. Pulls himself towards the tub. Gravity becomes NORMAL AGAIN as he sinks in the warm water. He's incredibly weak - floats limply in the bath. Submerges his face. A distant throbbing O.S., like a huge machine heart somewhere in the building. He opens his eyes, still underwater, stares up at the ceiling. White rigid with fright, cannot focus on the figure through the thin veil of water. The FIGURE reaches out. A GLOVED HAND grabs White about the throat, holds him forcefully. White gulps for air, swallows water. His eyes widen. He tries to stop the hand strangling him but can't. Suddenly the hand pulls away. The BLURRY FIGURE stumbles back and ERUPTS into bloody explosion. The body splits apart, throwing internal organs through the room. White awakens in the bathtub. He looks about the room. Empty. Silent. He gets out of the water, starts to dress. A third YOUNG COP steps up to the cop in charge, glancing at the bile on Bumstead's suit. The cop leads Bumstead behind a WOODEN PARTITION. though their faces cannot be seen clearly in the gloom, they too resemble the MAN who confronted White earlier. They walk towards him slowly, holding knifes above their heads. Ready to attack. They lean over him, pause dramatically. This Man turns to the others. They all smile, then turn back to White. MEN (in unison) Fifty-six. ANOTHER VOICE has been speaking softly - now it is louder. Repeating: ANGLE - a chair falls to the floor. White leaps up from the table, terrified, disoriented. Just a DREAM - he had dozed. WIDEN ANGLE - The place is still empty. White glances to the serving window. A DISH waits for him, framed in the glowing fluoro square. He gets it. A bowl of soupy liquid with noodles. He sits down. He is about to start eating - realizes he has a fork instead of a spoon. Picking up the bowl again, he heads to the kitchen. He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and shut automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor. Deserted spaces long forgotten - dusty, crumbling. He feels the fish moving about in his pocket, pulls it out and looks at it. White holds the dying fish in one hand, the bowl of cold soup in the other. Disgusted, he puts the fish into the bowl. Standing beside him is FREDRICK - the little man from Whiteís hotel room. FREDRICK (stutters) Where have you been? The doctorís been worried about you. Fredrick looks nervously down the corridor. The little man grabs Whiteís sleeve, starts to pull him along. ANGLE ON - the top of a pitcher of water, and dumps this on the flames. It kills the fire but leaves a black hole in the table-cloth. The paper is ash. He moves to another table pretending nothing happened, fans the smoke away. He starts to look around. TIGHT ON FILING CABINET - a drawer is pulled open. Thompsonís files are also a mess. Bumstead continues to shake his head. He reaches for a file. A loud SNAP! He leans down to scratch an itchy ankle, lifts his trouser leg to examine the bites - worse, inflamed. He uses a napkin to wipe at the pus. AERIAL PERSPECTIVE OF A FLY - circling the room, looking down on White. ON THE FLY - It lands on a plate of half eaten food on another table. The creature is some kind of SURVEILLANCE DEVICE - half insect/half machine. Itís spying on him. MOVE IN TIGHT as inbuilt camera lenses focus in its head. It shits on the food behind it. White is oblivious to this. Heís finished examining his leg, is sitting quietly. He yawns. His head nods forward briefly. A NOISE. White looks up. A TRAP-DOOR has opened in the ceiling. Two feet in black leather shoes descend from the hole. A sea breeze blows through the room. The SOUND OF SURF, SEAGULLS CRYING. ON Whiteís nose twitching. He can smell the ocean. The WALLPAPER COMES ALIVE - like a seething tangle of worms. One by one, THREE MEN in black coats lower into the room, floating on air. They pull out knifes, step forward. ON WHITE rigid with terror. ON THE MEN - takes a step forward, then another - and RUNS INTO THE SKY - A PAINTED WALL. He glances up at a small SPEAKER built into the wall - the SOURCE of the sea- side SOUND EFFECTS. He hears the click of the gun being cocked behind him. Hopes dashed, he turns. ANGLE ON A MYSTERY MAN - a gun pointed at White's stomach. White is led into a pitch black room. The Man motions with the gun for White to walk forward. As soon as White turns to do this, the Man slips from the room and shuts the door, cutting off any existing light. A NOISE O.S. - some kind of machine being turned on - lights start to come up all over the room. It's a normal, average-sized, living room. All the furniture has been removed and replaced with chairs, tables, podiums - an arrangement resembling an IMPROVISED COURT of law. In fact, White realizes he is standing behind some kind of witness box. The apartment is devoid of people, though almost immediately a door opens to the side (looks like it would lead to the kitchen) and a series of figures step through. MYSTERY MEN. All the MEN take up specific positions around the room, without uttering a word, but don't sit. One MYSTERY MAN opens a curtain beneath an arched entrance - beyond it, within a very small room, stand DOZENS OF PEOPLE, crammed shoulder to shoulder. The people stare at White silently - a bizarre gallery of spectators. An eerie silence falls on the room. The kitchen door opens again. White is shocked to see the VICTIMS WALK INTO the | Where was Murdoch at when he woke up with amnesia at the beginning of the story? | In a hotel bathtub. |
oblivious. He moves away slowly, feeling strange. His feet stop making contact with the floor. He grabs a table to steady himself. The table-cloth comes away, things spill to the floor and smash. He's FLOATING. White desperately reaches out to grab something, holds the light-fixture in the ceiling. It breaks off in a cloud of plaster. Sparks briefly illuminate. He falls heavily ONTO THE CEILING - now the floor. The apartment is upside down. He stares up at furniture and objects. White takes off his clothes and climbs the wall, towards the floor. It's difficult, but he reaches the tap, turns it off. Pulls himself towards the tub. Gravity becomes NORMAL AGAIN as he sinks in the warm water. He's incredibly weak - floats limply in the bath. Submerges his face. A distant throbbing O.S., like a huge machine heart somewhere in the building. He opens his eyes, still underwater, stares up at the ceiling. White rigid with fright, cannot focus on the figure through the thin veil of water. The FIGURE reaches out. A GLOVED HAND grabs White about the throat, holds him forcefully. White gulps for air, swallows water. His eyes widen. He tries to stop the hand strangling him but can't. Suddenly the hand pulls away. The BLURRY FIGURE stumbles back and ERUPTS into bloody explosion. The body splits apart, throwing internal organs through the room. White awakens in the bathtub. He looks about the room. Empty. Silent. He gets out of the water, starts to dress. A third YOUNG COP steps up to the cop in charge, glancing at the bile on Bumstead's suit. The cop leads Bumstead behind a WOODEN PARTITION. going to explode. A whimper deep in his throat. His body is trembling violently. PUSH IN TIGHT on the paper on the ground. A front-page headline: MAN-HUNT CONTINUES FOR SERIAL KILLER! White looks up - terrified. The RUSHING NOISE O.S. again. White, stands quickly, thrusts the newspaper into a pocket. Tries to side-step the ADVANCING DOOR but itís too late, he can only open it and step through, to avoid getting pinned to the wall. THE HOTEL MANAGER looks up, moves forward into light: a squat, hunch-backed man with glasses. He steps through the beads, glares at the intruders. ON THE MEN - an uncanny resemblance to the one who tried to kill White. Black coats, glasses, pale skin. Creepy. A BLACK GLOVED HAND flashes forward, grips the managerís face and doesnít let go. The manager struggles, gulps for air. Heís pushed back heavily against the wall. The leather glove SQUEEZES, blood trickles from the managerís ears, through the fingers. ON THE MAN - FREDRICK - a stunted body, an oversized head, thick limbs. The rest of his features lost in shadow. The door swings open, a shaft of light floods the dark room. ON THE TWO MYSTERY MEN as they step in and look around. They search the room, knock stuff over. One of the men kicks at the womanís corpse in the corner. Behind him, Fredrick, still hiding near the door, slips into the corridor unnoticed. As he puts the wallet back in his pocket, a BUSINESS CARD he hadnít noticed, flutters to the ground. He stops, picks it up. In simple print: DOCTOR D.P. SCHREBER M.D., a phone number. Scribbled handwriting on the though their faces cannot be seen clearly in the gloom, they too resemble the MAN who confronted White earlier. They walk towards him slowly, holding knifes above their heads. Ready to attack. They lean over him, pause dramatically. This Man turns to the others. They all smile, then turn back to White. MEN (in unison) Fifty-six. ANOTHER VOICE has been speaking softly - now it is louder. Repeating: ANGLE - a chair falls to the floor. White leaps up from the table, terrified, disoriented. Just a DREAM - he had dozed. WIDEN ANGLE - The place is still empty. White glances to the serving window. A DISH waits for him, framed in the glowing fluoro square. He gets it. A bowl of soupy liquid with noodles. He sits down. He is about to start eating - realizes he has a fork instead of a spoon. Picking up the bowl again, he heads to the kitchen. He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and shut automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor. Deserted spaces long forgotten - dusty, crumbling. He feels the fish moving about in his pocket, pulls it out and looks at it. White holds the dying fish in one hand, the bowl of cold soup in the other. Disgusted, he puts the fish into the bowl. Standing beside him is FREDRICK - the little man from Whiteís hotel room. FREDRICK (stutters) Where have you been? The doctorís been worried about you. Fredrick looks nervously down the corridor. The little man grabs Whiteís sleeve, starts to pull him along. ANGLE ON - the top of a pitcher of water, and dumps this on the flames. It kills the fire but leaves a black hole in the table-cloth. The paper is ash. He moves to another table pretending nothing happened, fans the smoke away. He starts to look around. TIGHT ON FILING CABINET - a drawer is pulled open. Thompsonís files are also a mess. Bumstead continues to shake his head. He reaches for a file. A loud SNAP! He leans down to scratch an itchy ankle, lifts his trouser leg to examine the bites - worse, inflamed. He uses a napkin to wipe at the pus. AERIAL PERSPECTIVE OF A FLY - circling the room, looking down on White. ON THE FLY - It lands on a plate of half eaten food on another table. The creature is some kind of SURVEILLANCE DEVICE - half insect/half machine. Itís spying on him. MOVE IN TIGHT as inbuilt camera lenses focus in its head. It shits on the food behind it. White is oblivious to this. Heís finished examining his leg, is sitting quietly. He yawns. His head nods forward briefly. A NOISE. White looks up. A TRAP-DOOR has opened in the ceiling. Two feet in black leather shoes descend from the hole. A sea breeze blows through the room. The SOUND OF SURF, SEAGULLS CRYING. ON Whiteís nose twitching. He can smell the ocean. The WALLPAPER COMES ALIVE - like a seething tangle of worms. One by one, THREE MEN in black coats lower into the room, floating on air. They pull out knifes, step forward. ON WHITE rigid with terror. ON THE MEN - Also takes his wallet. He glances at the doctor, who hides the syringe behind his back. BUMSTEAD (to Doctor) You Schreber? Schreber nods blankly. Bumstead runs his hand over White's side pocket - feels something. White says nothing. The inspector opens the pocket and looks in. BUMSTEAD (disgusted) A fish, huh? He shakes his watch, puts it to his ear. WHITE (confused) What? I... BUMSTEAD (counts on fingers) Let's see, there's the little guy with no arms or legs. And the young boy? WHITE (disturbed) Young boy? CLOSE ON WHITE - frightened now. Bumstead pulls something from under the dashboard. A SANDWICH, carefully wrapped and prepared. After glancing at his watch again, he bites into it. BUMSTEAD (chewing) Y'know, the kid you left in the meat packing plant, cut into pieces. Packed into brown paper parcels, wrapped in twine, that kind of thing. WHITE (cuts in) Stop it. You're making me sick... RADIO CRACKLE O.S. - A tinny voice cuts in. Bumstead picks up a microphone, speaks into it. Bumstead replaces the microphone under the dashboard, takes a SHARP CORNER as he finishes off the sandwich. Burastead pulls out a small brush, cleans the fallen crumbs from his trousers, keeping a hand on the wheel. White is silent - his wounds continue to bother him. He leans down to scratch through his trousers. WHITE (quietly) Shit! WHITE (looks up) I didn't sneeze. Bumstead grabs a bunch of flowers off the back seat. The inspector shuts the door behind him. White looks about the blank room, takes a seat. He can see Bumstead, through the glass panel in the door, walk up to the male nurse opposite. BUMSTEAD (whisper) Brought you these. | Who called Murdoch to warn him of men coming after him? | Dr. Schreber. |
they poke out of his sleeves like tiny children's limbs. The cuffs effortlessly slip off. White looks at the woman, then back at his hands - NOTHING STRANGE, they are normal size, but somehow the cuffs have been removed. He looks at the woman again, grateful. He can't help smiling. Slowly, White lifts his hands to her breasts, touches them. She starts to breath deeply. OUT OF FOCUS - their bodies entangle, begin to move rhythmically. The CAMERA TRACKS SIDEWAYS, REVEALS a microphone behind a chair, leads us to a mirror on a wall. On the other side of the one-way glass a reel-to-reel tape recorder is picking up the SOUNDS OF HEAVY BREATHING. The JAPANESE WOMAN stands naked at the window, clutching a large red megaphone. IN PERFECT ENGLISH she shouts down at the streets drifting past. LONG SHADOWS move towards the entrance... WHITE WAKES UP AGAIN - finds he is still on the couch. NO SIGN of the woman. Then he notices her standing by the window (minus megaphone). The wind pulls at her black hair. A distant SIREN O.S. He gets up, walks over, stands beside her, looks out at the dark city. She ignores him, goes back to the couch, turns on a table-lamp, puts her hands before the lit bulb, casts animal shadows on the wall. White watches her. He walks across and sits next to her. She points to herself. WOMAN (a whisper) Sachiko. He nods slowly, looks at her. She waits for him to respond with his name. He shrugs, remains silent. Then he puts his hands in the light, makes his own animal shadow. She smiles at the shadows. oblivious. He moves away slowly, feeling strange. His feet stop making contact with the floor. He grabs a table to steady himself. The table-cloth comes away, things spill to the floor and smash. He's FLOATING. White desperately reaches out to grab something, holds the light-fixture in the ceiling. It breaks off in a cloud of plaster. Sparks briefly illuminate. He falls heavily ONTO THE CEILING - now the floor. The apartment is upside down. He stares up at furniture and objects. White takes off his clothes and climbs the wall, towards the floor. It's difficult, but he reaches the tap, turns it off. Pulls himself towards the tub. Gravity becomes NORMAL AGAIN as he sinks in the warm water. He's incredibly weak - floats limply in the bath. Submerges his face. A distant throbbing O.S., like a huge machine heart somewhere in the building. He opens his eyes, still underwater, stares up at the ceiling. White rigid with fright, cannot focus on the figure through the thin veil of water. The FIGURE reaches out. A GLOVED HAND grabs White about the throat, holds him forcefully. White gulps for air, swallows water. His eyes widen. He tries to stop the hand strangling him but can't. Suddenly the hand pulls away. The BLURRY FIGURE stumbles back and ERUPTS into bloody explosion. The body splits apart, throwing internal organs through the room. White awakens in the bathtub. He looks about the room. Empty. Silent. He gets out of the water, starts to dress. A third YOUNG COP steps up to the cop in charge, glancing at the bile on Bumstead's suit. The cop leads Bumstead behind a WOODEN PARTITION. motion - the door across the room (leading to a corridor?) is shutting. No sign of life. Cheap decorations. He walks around cautiously. Turns lights on. Then reconsiders. Turns them off again. Disturbed, he studies his features in a wall mirror. ANGLE ON OPEN BATHROOM DOOR - the fish has jumped from the tub again and is flapping on the floor. White steps back into the bathroom. He picks up the fish again, doesn't know what to do with it, so he puts it in his pocket. ANGLE ON A REVOLVER on the bed-side table. He picks it up, his grip tightens on the handle, his finger applies pressure to the trigger and... Startled, he holds the gun away from him like it might go off again. He examines it carefully now. Opens the chamber. TIGHT ON THE GUN - Five bullets left. He turns the chamber carefully, shuts it, puts the gun in the inside pocket of the coat. He moves to the bed. A RIPPED PHOTOGRAPH on the rug. A fragment of a woman's face, her left eye. He lifts the fragment up. There's handwriting on the back, part of a note: He sits on the edge of the bed. As he does this, he notices something else on the floor. HIS P.O.V. - follows a dark stain on the floorboards, to a woman's bare foot behind the bed. He stands abruptly, fumbles across the bed to stare into a dark corner of the room. In the shadows he can make out a woman's naked BODY lying in a pool of blood. Her eyes stare lifeless. White stumbles back in horror, throws his while he describes the evidence to support their case. MAN 1 places a large black and white photo blow-up on the easel. It shows White at the door of the JAPANESE WOMAN'S apartment, clutching a kitchen knife, covered in blood. White watches in stunned silence. A general murmur of agreement through the room as the point is made. Mister Black turns to the victims, nods his head slowly. MAN 1 removes a small tape recorder, hands it to MAN 2. He turns a switch, the reels spin slowly. A hush fills the room. VOICE 2 (sounds like White) Shut up! Another scream. A ripping sound. VOICE 3 (sounds like his WIFE) John! Don't... White is standing up, involuntarily, he can't listen to this any longer. WHITE (a squeak, almost inaudible) Stop it! This is a lie... Mister Black turns to White. The Men testifying stop the tape and look at him also. The Men in the audience turn and all stare at White, as do the victims and the spectators in the adjoining room. WHITE (back to a whisper) I didn't kill anyone. WHITE (finds his voice) It's lies. Everything. He grips the barrier before him. A SHRIEK from the pram containing the BABY - it rocks violently from side to side. The DISEMBOWELED WOMAN rises from her chair. She has difficulty standing, her limbs stiff. She looks at White, opens her mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. Instead a tiny RED CRAB scuttles out, across her face, and falls to the ground. She sits down. White is stunned. AN OLDER COUPLE are led out of the kitchen by a Mystery Man. Shown to seats behind a podium. The woman looks sadly at pitcher of water, and dumps this on the flames. It kills the fire but leaves a black hole in the table-cloth. The paper is ash. He moves to another table pretending nothing happened, fans the smoke away. He starts to look around. TIGHT ON FILING CABINET - a drawer is pulled open. Thompsonís files are also a mess. Bumstead continues to shake his head. He reaches for a file. A loud SNAP! He leans down to scratch an itchy ankle, lifts his trouser leg to examine the bites - worse, inflamed. He uses a napkin to wipe at the pus. AERIAL PERSPECTIVE OF A FLY - circling the room, looking down on White. ON THE FLY - It lands on a plate of half eaten food on another table. The creature is some kind of SURVEILLANCE DEVICE - half insect/half machine. Itís spying on him. MOVE IN TIGHT as inbuilt camera lenses focus in its head. It shits on the food behind it. White is oblivious to this. Heís finished examining his leg, is sitting quietly. He yawns. His head nods forward briefly. A NOISE. White looks up. A TRAP-DOOR has opened in the ceiling. Two feet in black leather shoes descend from the hole. A sea breeze blows through the room. The SOUND OF SURF, SEAGULLS CRYING. ON Whiteís nose twitching. He can smell the ocean. The WALLPAPER COMES ALIVE - like a seething tangle of worms. One by one, THREE MEN in black coats lower into the room, floating on air. They pull out knifes, step forward. ON WHITE rigid with terror. ON THE MEN - | What was Murdoch's wife's name? | Emma |
He places flowers on the bedside table. His mother just stares expressionless into space, in a coma. He sits on a metal chair, looks at the woman. Her life-sustaining machines hiss and breathe. MECHANICAL VOICE (through speaker) Move - forward. White follows a painted line on the floor, stands against a wall, in front of an old-fashioned camera. A slot opens in the wall behind him, mechanical arms spring forward, restrain him, one arm holds a sign with a number in front of him. A flash goes off, the click of a shutter. A claw lowers from the ceiling, grips White's head, turns it abruptly - the camera fires. The claw turns his head the other way. The camera fires again. Across the room A BUZZER SOUNDS, a red light flashes above a door. White is released by the mechanical hands, walks over, opens the door and steps into darkness. LIGHTS COME ON - extremely bright. A room for line-ups - markings on the white wall behind White indicate varying heights, a darkened window faces him. He is obviously to be identified by an unseen person. A buzzer sounds again, a light indicates another door. White moves into another room. A chair faces a large wheel painted in a black and white spiral. He sits down - the wheel turns, faster and faster. The wheel stops after several seconds. The next room is full of scientific equipment. White sees a metal-frame X-ray machine - he steps across to it. The screen lights up, filling the room with a green glow. We can see the shape of his skeleton. Where his pocket would be, is the oblivious. He moves away slowly, feeling strange. His feet stop making contact with the floor. He grabs a table to steady himself. The table-cloth comes away, things spill to the floor and smash. He's FLOATING. White desperately reaches out to grab something, holds the light-fixture in the ceiling. It breaks off in a cloud of plaster. Sparks briefly illuminate. He falls heavily ONTO THE CEILING - now the floor. The apartment is upside down. He stares up at furniture and objects. White takes off his clothes and climbs the wall, towards the floor. It's difficult, but he reaches the tap, turns it off. Pulls himself towards the tub. Gravity becomes NORMAL AGAIN as he sinks in the warm water. He's incredibly weak - floats limply in the bath. Submerges his face. A distant throbbing O.S., like a huge machine heart somewhere in the building. He opens his eyes, still underwater, stares up at the ceiling. White rigid with fright, cannot focus on the figure through the thin veil of water. The FIGURE reaches out. A GLOVED HAND grabs White about the throat, holds him forcefully. White gulps for air, swallows water. His eyes widen. He tries to stop the hand strangling him but can't. Suddenly the hand pulls away. The BLURRY FIGURE stumbles back and ERUPTS into bloody explosion. The body splits apart, throwing internal organs through the room. White awakens in the bathtub. He looks about the room. Empty. Silent. He gets out of the water, starts to dress. A third YOUNG COP steps up to the cop in charge, glancing at the bile on Bumstead's suit. The cop leads Bumstead behind a WOODEN PARTITION. though their faces cannot be seen clearly in the gloom, they too resemble the MAN who confronted White earlier. They walk towards him slowly, holding knifes above their heads. Ready to attack. They lean over him, pause dramatically. This Man turns to the others. They all smile, then turn back to White. MEN (in unison) Fifty-six. ANOTHER VOICE has been speaking softly - now it is louder. Repeating: ANGLE - a chair falls to the floor. White leaps up from the table, terrified, disoriented. Just a DREAM - he had dozed. WIDEN ANGLE - The place is still empty. White glances to the serving window. A DISH waits for him, framed in the glowing fluoro square. He gets it. A bowl of soupy liquid with noodles. He sits down. He is about to start eating - realizes he has a fork instead of a spoon. Picking up the bowl again, he heads to the kitchen. He moves through a number of RUSTED METAL DOORS that open and shut automatically. Each reveals another room or corridor. Deserted spaces long forgotten - dusty, crumbling. He feels the fish moving about in his pocket, pulls it out and looks at it. White holds the dying fish in one hand, the bowl of cold soup in the other. Disgusted, he puts the fish into the bowl. Standing beside him is FREDRICK - the little man from Whiteís hotel room. FREDRICK (stutters) Where have you been? The doctorís been worried about you. Fredrick looks nervously down the corridor. The little man grabs Whiteís sleeve, starts to pull him along. ANGLE ON - the top of a while he describes the evidence to support their case. MAN 1 places a large black and white photo blow-up on the easel. It shows White at the door of the JAPANESE WOMAN'S apartment, clutching a kitchen knife, covered in blood. White watches in stunned silence. A general murmur of agreement through the room as the point is made. Mister Black turns to the victims, nods his head slowly. MAN 1 removes a small tape recorder, hands it to MAN 2. He turns a switch, the reels spin slowly. A hush fills the room. VOICE 2 (sounds like White) Shut up! Another scream. A ripping sound. VOICE 3 (sounds like his WIFE) John! Don't... White is standing up, involuntarily, he can't listen to this any longer. WHITE (a squeak, almost inaudible) Stop it! This is a lie... Mister Black turns to White. The Men testifying stop the tape and look at him also. The Men in the audience turn and all stare at White, as do the victims and the spectators in the adjoining room. WHITE (back to a whisper) I didn't kill anyone. WHITE (finds his voice) It's lies. Everything. He grips the barrier before him. A SHRIEK from the pram containing the BABY - it rocks violently from side to side. The DISEMBOWELED WOMAN rises from her chair. She has difficulty standing, her limbs stiff. She looks at White, opens her mouth to say something, but no sound comes out. Instead a tiny RED CRAB scuttles out, across her face, and falls to the ground. She sits down. White is stunned. AN OLDER COUPLE are led out of the kitchen by a Mystery Man. Shown to seats behind a podium. The woman looks sadly at There are TWO - identical. He cannot remember which he came through. Takes a guess, opens one and steps into darkness. He realizes he's picked the wrong door, tries to go back but the door CLICKS behind him: locked. He steps into a bare concrete area, a public phone hangs on a blank wall. He pulls a coin from his pocket, puts it in the slot, dials the number on his message. Ringing - no answer. Suddenly White feels cold. Startled, White drops the phone and turns. A figure moves forward out of darkness: ANGLE ON THE MYSTERY MAN from the hotel lobby. The stranger wears a long black coat, dark glasses, and has extremely pale skin. He is completely bald. He studies White carefully. White glances about nervously - walks back up the corridor, his eyes pinned to the man. White retreats faster. A FLASH OF STEEL - a dagger appears by the stranger's side, gripped in a black leather glove. He moves forward, a grin on his pale face. White stops, backs against the wall. White panics - he's cornered. He remembers the revolver. He pulls it from his coat and LEVELS it at the stranger, his hand shakes terribly. ON THE STRANGER continuing to advance. Something about his eyes makes White immobile, unable to think clearly. THE GUN FIRES again and again. Red splashes appear on the man. His shoulder. His leg. His neck. He walks forward, with spastic jerks as bullets RIP into him. A final shot POINT BLANK into the stranger's forehead. A stream of black liquid spouts from the hole. Blue smoke clears. The man | Who's side was Mr. Hand on? | The Strangers. |
going to explode. A whimper deep in his throat. His body is trembling violently. PUSH IN TIGHT on the paper on the ground. A front-page headline: MAN-HUNT CONTINUES FOR SERIAL KILLER! White looks up - terrified. The RUSHING NOISE O.S. again. White, stands quickly, thrusts the newspaper into a pocket. Tries to side-step the ADVANCING DOOR but itís too late, he can only open it and step through, to avoid getting pinned to the wall. THE HOTEL MANAGER looks up, moves forward into light: a squat, hunch-backed man with glasses. He steps through the beads, glares at the intruders. ON THE MEN - an uncanny resemblance to the one who tried to kill White. Black coats, glasses, pale skin. Creepy. A BLACK GLOVED HAND flashes forward, grips the managerís face and doesnít let go. The manager struggles, gulps for air. Heís pushed back heavily against the wall. The leather glove SQUEEZES, blood trickles from the managerís ears, through the fingers. ON THE MAN - FREDRICK - a stunted body, an oversized head, thick limbs. The rest of his features lost in shadow. The door swings open, a shaft of light floods the dark room. ON THE TWO MYSTERY MEN as they step in and look around. They search the room, knock stuff over. One of the men kicks at the womanís corpse in the corner. Behind him, Fredrick, still hiding near the door, slips into the corridor unnoticed. As he puts the wallet back in his pocket, a BUSINESS CARD he hadnít noticed, flutters to the ground. He stops, picks it up. In simple print: DOCTOR D.P. SCHREBER M.D., a phone number. Scribbled handwriting on the opens it. He plucks out the note and reads FREDRICKís SCRAWLED MESSAGE: TIGHT ON - a manís shadow as it descends a wooden staircase. REVEAL WHITE - He rummages in a paper bag as he walks. Pulls out two capsules, swallows them. Now he pulls out a pack of "LUMP-O", rips it open, eats ravenously. HIS P.O.V. - A CHURCH. A bell-tower, black against the sky. White stares up into the night. A PRIEST - appears at the altar, cloaked in a blood-red robe, followed by two altar boys also in red. They move past a statue of an insect-like creature, walk in circles chanting softly, stop and stare at the congregation through eye-slits in their hoods. The priest begins his sermon. White looks forward. TIGHT ON the priestís hand - It rises, points, moves over the heads of the congregation, accusingly. Suddenly the red finger jabs towards an OLD WOMAN in the front row. All the congregation turn and stare at the woman. Sheís terrified. The hand moves slowly now, across to a BEAUTIFUL JAPANESE WOMAN several rows back. The priest pauses dramatically then: Suddenly the finger is pointing at White. All the faces turn, stare suspiciously at White. ANGLE ON WHITE - frozen with fright. Fortunately his face is obscured by shadow and the priest lowers his hand, continues the sermon. The people look away. White goes to leave. As he stands he notices the DOORS of the church open - two figures step in and move into the candle- light. MYSTERY MEN - Whiteís bizarre pursuers. They look around. White ducks down, crawls between pews, startling several of the takes a step forward, then another - and RUNS INTO THE SKY - A PAINTED WALL. He glances up at a small SPEAKER built into the wall - the SOURCE of the sea- side SOUND EFFECTS. He hears the click of the gun being cocked behind him. Hopes dashed, he turns. ANGLE ON A MYSTERY MAN - a gun pointed at White's stomach. White is led into a pitch black room. The Man motions with the gun for White to walk forward. As soon as White turns to do this, the Man slips from the room and shuts the door, cutting off any existing light. A NOISE O.S. - some kind of machine being turned on - lights start to come up all over the room. It's a normal, average-sized, living room. All the furniture has been removed and replaced with chairs, tables, podiums - an arrangement resembling an IMPROVISED COURT of law. In fact, White realizes he is standing behind some kind of witness box. The apartment is devoid of people, though almost immediately a door opens to the side (looks like it would lead to the kitchen) and a series of figures step through. MYSTERY MEN. All the MEN take up specific positions around the room, without uttering a word, but don't sit. One MYSTERY MAN opens a curtain beneath an arched entrance - beyond it, within a very small room, stand DOZENS OF PEOPLE, crammed shoulder to shoulder. The people stare at White silently - a bizarre gallery of spectators. An eerie silence falls on the room. The kitchen door opens again. White is shocked to see the VICTIMS WALK INTO the pitcher of water, and dumps this on the flames. It kills the fire but leaves a black hole in the table-cloth. The paper is ash. He moves to another table pretending nothing happened, fans the smoke away. He starts to look around. TIGHT ON FILING CABINET - a drawer is pulled open. Thompsonís files are also a mess. Bumstead continues to shake his head. He reaches for a file. A loud SNAP! He leans down to scratch an itchy ankle, lifts his trouser leg to examine the bites - worse, inflamed. He uses a napkin to wipe at the pus. AERIAL PERSPECTIVE OF A FLY - circling the room, looking down on White. ON THE FLY - It lands on a plate of half eaten food on another table. The creature is some kind of SURVEILLANCE DEVICE - half insect/half machine. Itís spying on him. MOVE IN TIGHT as inbuilt camera lenses focus in its head. It shits on the food behind it. White is oblivious to this. Heís finished examining his leg, is sitting quietly. He yawns. His head nods forward briefly. A NOISE. White looks up. A TRAP-DOOR has opened in the ceiling. Two feet in black leather shoes descend from the hole. A sea breeze blows through the room. The SOUND OF SURF, SEAGULLS CRYING. ON Whiteís nose twitching. He can smell the ocean. The WALLPAPER COMES ALIVE - like a seething tangle of worms. One by one, THREE MEN in black coats lower into the room, floating on air. They pull out knifes, step forward. ON WHITE rigid with terror. ON THE MEN - sees White has picked up the LITTLE SILVER FISH. BUMSTEAD (not convinced) Uh-huh. (pauses) What are you scared of? PIANO ACCORDION MUSIC wafts on a breeze, someone breathing. HIGH ANGLE - Down through an OPENING metal hatch. A dim laboratory IS REVEALED - a maze of scientific instruments. Elongated shadows move about. MYSTERY MEN are hunched over something. Behind them a diagrammatic chart of the evolution of the human brain. Wires lead from the metal box to a HUMAN BRAIN within a metallic container. Electricity arches across electrodes. More sounds from the speaker: WATER BUBBLING. HIGH HEELS WALK <b> DOWN STAIRS. BED-SPRINGS. LOVERS MOAN PASSIONATELY. </b> MAN 2 steps forward and pulls a bloodied sheet from their handiwork. A PUPPET-LIKE CREATURE is revealed. Small - two and half feet tall. The top of its head an open hatch containing the BRAIN. Wires lead to this. TIGHT ON PUPPET'S EYES - They glance about the room. Its body is a series of geometric shapes and polished surfaces. MAN 1 shines a torch into the puppet's eyes. MAN 2 shows the puppet PHOTOGRAPHS: WHITE as he looks currently, shots of him as a teenager, a young boy, a baby. Photos of what we realise are his parents, standing on a seaside pier sirtiling and waving. Where he went to school. A red push-bike he owned as a boy. His first sweetheart. Then a photo of a young woman smiling - his WIFE. MAN 3 holds up a small sea shell to the mechanical ear of the puppet creature - MORE SOUNDS OF SURF... A FIGURE clutching a wooden cane looks | What are The Strangers? | Endangered extraterrestrial parasites. |
off. Yoww! She puts it on her right hand and turns * the modest diamond palm-side in . . . Out of site. Then, * reading the number off the key, she goes to the room and unlocks the door. She goes into the bedroom. There is a dark figure sitting in a chair, just a silhouette. It is a corner room. The drapes on one side are closed, shadowing the man, but open on the other just enough to let in a slash of moonlight. She steps forward into it. TIGHT CLOSE UP on the figure. We can just make out that it is Harry, though Helen cannot. TILT DOWN to show his hand, out of sight behind the chair-arm, as he manipulates the pause button on the DAT tape deck. Harry goes SSSSHHHH. Silencing her gently. He silently clicks off the PAUSE button. The DAT recorder plays. Charles Boyer, deep and hypnotic, speaks from Harry's outline. Harry lipsynchs. Harry winces. He starts the next line immediately. The ritual continues as she strips slowly (this will be tastefully done). She conceals the bugging device in her hand as she sets her clothes on the bed near the phone. Helen is still concentrating on her mission. She turns. Her skin is beautiful in the silvery light. Helen has no idea what to do, but she improvises quite well. The scrutiny of the shadowed man, who is fully clothed, and her raw vulnerability are a quiveringly powerful erotic combination. TIGHT ON Harry's eyes as he studies her. His game, meant to give her a dangerous fantasy, is actually turning him on mightily. He is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it side. Gib gets out, his expression blank. He fishes a crumples sheet of paper out of his pocket. Harry grabs it from him, straightening it. As Harry begins to read, we go into FLASHBACK. He jumps back in the car and activates the GPS locator. Helen's purse-blip flashes on the grid map. Harry drives on, ignoring him. Gib grabs his shoulder, shaking him. Harry turns to him. His glare could melt metal. Gib gives a fatalistic shrug. Harry makes the turn, squealing tires. A red-and-white Vette emerges from the darkness and pulls up next to her. Simon motions for her to get in quickly. He pushes her head down onto his lap. She crouches there, with her cheek against his thigh. He's cruising along, loving it. Harry is doing a jaw-clenched slow burn. CUT TO: INFRARED VIEW of the Vette, from the helicopter's FLIR system. The greenish, image-intensified view of the car is like daylight. He takes her inside. He clears a place for her on the bed, shoving clothes and magazines out of the way. She sits down and he tops off her glass from the wine bottle. Simon shoots over and sits next to her, taking her hand. He moves a little closer. Casting his spell. He puts his hand on her knee. She tenses up instantly. He puts his other arm around her shoulders and pulls her slowly into a kiss. This doesn't seem real to Helen. She finds herself not pulling away. He lowers her slowly until they are lying together on the bed. He slides his hand up her thigh. The fingers, stroking in little circles, slips under her skirt. And-- She suddenly EXPLODES, pushing on his chest, away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. He is tender with her. He wishes he can tell her the truth. Helen finds a smile for him somewhere. She really does love him, though more and more often lately she finds her heart in pain. She grins and arches one eyebrow meaningfully. She turns on the stereo. A Kenny G disc she put in there earlier. Soft tenor sax flows around the room. Helen enters the BATHROOM and shuts the door partway. She opens a cupboard and quickly pulls out some things she hid there earlier. A bottle of champagne on ice. Two glasses. Some trashy lingerie. Helen is hurrying to put on the unfamiliar lingerie. G-string panties and low-cut bra. She holds up the garter belt, turning it backward and forward, trying to figure out which way it goes. ON HARRY, yawning. Lying with the ease of years of practice. Helen is pulling up the black stockings. She fastens the garters to the tops. Her features are a scowl of concentration. She is very earnest in her preparations. Red lipstick. Then she puts a little perfume on her wrists. Harry doesn't answer. Helen puts a little perfume down the front of her panties. Helen quickly pours two glasses of champagne. Then she slinks around the doorframe, making her entrance. She looks like a living 900 number. Helen stands before the bed, looking down, holding the champagne glasses. ON HARRY: sprawled on the bed, fully clothed, snoring softly. A little bit of drool is coming out the side of his mouth. HOLD ON HELEN, all dressed up with no place to go. She gazes down at him, her shoulders slumping. She sighs deeply and downs her | What does Helen and Dana think Harry is doing that is causing him to miss Harry's birthday party? | Corporate travel as a computer salesman. |
Harry adjusts his bow-tie and strides confidently out of the shadows, crossing quickly to the main house. He looks ultrasharp in his black tux with the white silk cummerbund and his hair slicked back. He enters the main house through a back service entrance. He breezes through unchallenged, exiting into the-- Harry strolls amiably among the glittering woman, the cigar smoking men, casually snagging a glass of champagne and a canape from the passing waiters. He nods to someone as if he knows them. Greets another is quite fluent Arabic. People in his wake look at each other like "Do you know him?" They shrug, go on with their conversation. Harry moves through the crowd. Scanning. The woman glances up and sees Harry checking her out. There is a frank moment of returned interest. Then the crowd shifts, cutting off their view of each other. He pushes a button and a green light comes on. Fast Faisil is a computer ace. His fingers fly on the keyboard as he types rapid key commands. We see familiar "windows appear". The words are all in Arabic characters. The guard points warily down the corridor. Harry nods and heads that way, back toward the party. He senses someone next to him and turns. It is the WOMAN. She * is captivatingly beautiful, and her gaze is piercing. Harry offers his hand to her. Gib finds the entry he's looking for. Juno's picture and data appear on the screen. Harry glances up the stairs. Khaled's SECURITY CHIEF is gesturing to several of his men, and speaking quickly into a walky. Three SECURITY MEN come down the stairs, scanning the crowd. Harry turns He is an intense looking MIDDLE-EASTERN MAN in his mid- thirties. Juno stops and looks at Harry. Her smile indicates the possibility of more than just business. His manner is self-effacing. Humble. He doesn't meet her gaze. She nods and they go into the private office. Her jaw clenches but her reaction is surprisingly submissive. Malik slaps her again. Juno bites her lip. She punches a key, engaging a digital scrambler and connecting to-- RING. Harry raises an eyebrow as he answers. Harry hangs up. Gib, checking his watch, has a look like he's got a bad gas pain. Only a few lights are on, rendering the place somewhat Gothic. Harry strolls in the direction the workman pointed. Ahead of him, is the huge facade of a royal tomb. There is a flickering light inside. A shadow moves across the wall in the entryway. He enters the stone doorway of the tomb. FOLLOWING HARRY as he steps into the inner chamber. There is an oil-lamp burning on a stone sarcophagus, the only light. The room appears empty. REVERSE ON HARRY. Behind him a figure emerges from a shadowed alcove. It is Juno. She looks ethereal in the strange light. Harry whips around, startled. Juno turns to him in the flickering half-light. She moves closer. Her eyes seem to glitter. She is very close to him. Her eyes seem to glitter in the light from the oil lamp. She is unbelievably beautiful. Juno presses her cheek against the cold stone. She runs her fingers slowly across the figures. It is strange and erotic. She crosses to Harry. She puts her hands on him and pulls herself close. It is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. | What happens after Harry suspects Juno of being in association with Aziz? | Harry is attacked by Aziz. |
off. Yoww! She puts it on her right hand and turns * the modest diamond palm-side in . . . Out of site. Then, * reading the number off the key, she goes to the room and unlocks the door. She goes into the bedroom. There is a dark figure sitting in a chair, just a silhouette. It is a corner room. The drapes on one side are closed, shadowing the man, but open on the other just enough to let in a slash of moonlight. She steps forward into it. TIGHT CLOSE UP on the figure. We can just make out that it is Harry, though Helen cannot. TILT DOWN to show his hand, out of sight behind the chair-arm, as he manipulates the pause button on the DAT tape deck. Harry goes SSSSHHHH. Silencing her gently. He silently clicks off the PAUSE button. The DAT recorder plays. Charles Boyer, deep and hypnotic, speaks from Harry's outline. Harry lipsynchs. Harry winces. He starts the next line immediately. The ritual continues as she strips slowly (this will be tastefully done). She conceals the bugging device in her hand as she sets her clothes on the bed near the phone. Helen is still concentrating on her mission. She turns. Her skin is beautiful in the silvery light. Helen has no idea what to do, but she improvises quite well. The scrutiny of the shadowed man, who is fully clothed, and her raw vulnerability are a quiveringly powerful erotic combination. TIGHT ON Harry's eyes as he studies her. His game, meant to give her a dangerous fantasy, is actually turning him on mightily. He is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. side. Gib gets out, his expression blank. He fishes a crumples sheet of paper out of his pocket. Harry grabs it from him, straightening it. As Harry begins to read, we go into FLASHBACK. He jumps back in the car and activates the GPS locator. Helen's purse-blip flashes on the grid map. Harry drives on, ignoring him. Gib grabs his shoulder, shaking him. Harry turns to him. His glare could melt metal. Gib gives a fatalistic shrug. Harry makes the turn, squealing tires. A red-and-white Vette emerges from the darkness and pulls up next to her. Simon motions for her to get in quickly. He pushes her head down onto his lap. She crouches there, with her cheek against his thigh. He's cruising along, loving it. Harry is doing a jaw-clenched slow burn. CUT TO: INFRARED VIEW of the Vette, from the helicopter's FLIR system. The greenish, image-intensified view of the car is like daylight. He takes her inside. He clears a place for her on the bed, shoving clothes and magazines out of the way. She sits down and he tops off her glass from the wine bottle. Simon shoots over and sits next to her, taking her hand. He moves a little closer. Casting his spell. He puts his hand on her knee. She tenses up instantly. He puts his other arm around her shoulders and pulls her slowly into a kiss. This doesn't seem real to Helen. She finds herself not pulling away. He lowers her slowly until they are lying together on the bed. He slides his hand up her thigh. The fingers, stroking in little circles, slips under her skirt. And-- She suddenly EXPLODES, pushing on his chest, is a hypnotic moment. She kisses him, very lightly, with infinite sensuality. Juno is moving in for a more passionate lip-lock when-- BEEP BEEP BEEP!! Harry pulls his beeper off his hip and looks at it. The moment is spoiled. Harry adjusts the passenger side mirror. Gib pulls the car to the curb near the mall entrance. Half a block behind them the station wagon does the same. Harry slips on the virtual-image sunglasses and gets out of the car. Harry lets his hand drop to his side, holding the pack of cigarettes casually. He turns his hand. The tiny lens in the cigarette pack glints. POV VIDEO SCREEN --inside the left lens of the glasses. The camera in the cigarette pack reveals Yusif and Mahmoud getting out of their cars, crossing the street half a block away. HARRY strolls into the mall. It is an open promenade design, with a moderate crowd of shoppers and movie-goers. Harry watches in the glasses as Mahmoud and Yusif slip through the crowd behind him. All Gib can see is a silhouette in the car. A soft cherry glow, the tip of a cigarette in the dark. No features. As he is talking he sees that a bus has blocked his view of the station wagon. Helen hangs up the phone just as Dana strides through the room, putting on a jacket and heading for the front door. We see the hurt in her eyes. She doesn't hate her father. She just misses him. Dana runs out the kitchen by the other door. Helen runs after her. The slamming door is her answer. HARRY'S POV - In the video glasses Harry sees himself and Mahmoud. Yusif comes into | What organization frightens Simon into staying away from Helen? | The Omega Sector. |
Harry adjusts his bow-tie and strides confidently out of the shadows, crossing quickly to the main house. He looks ultrasharp in his black tux with the white silk cummerbund and his hair slicked back. He enters the main house through a back service entrance. He breezes through unchallenged, exiting into the-- Harry strolls amiably among the glittering woman, the cigar smoking men, casually snagging a glass of champagne and a canape from the passing waiters. He nods to someone as if he knows them. Greets another is quite fluent Arabic. People in his wake look at each other like "Do you know him?" They shrug, go on with their conversation. Harry moves through the crowd. Scanning. The woman glances up and sees Harry checking her out. There is a frank moment of returned interest. Then the crowd shifts, cutting off their view of each other. He pushes a button and a green light comes on. Fast Faisil is a computer ace. His fingers fly on the keyboard as he types rapid key commands. We see familiar "windows appear". The words are all in Arabic characters. The guard points warily down the corridor. Harry nods and heads that way, back toward the party. He senses someone next to him and turns. It is the WOMAN. She * is captivatingly beautiful, and her gaze is piercing. Harry offers his hand to her. Gib finds the entry he's looking for. Juno's picture and data appear on the screen. Harry glances up the stairs. Khaled's SECURITY CHIEF is gesturing to several of his men, and speaking quickly into a walky. Three SECURITY MEN come down the stairs, scanning the crowd. Harry turns away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. side. Gib gets out, his expression blank. He fishes a crumples sheet of paper out of his pocket. Harry grabs it from him, straightening it. As Harry begins to read, we go into FLASHBACK. He jumps back in the car and activates the GPS locator. Helen's purse-blip flashes on the grid map. Harry drives on, ignoring him. Gib grabs his shoulder, shaking him. Harry turns to him. His glare could melt metal. Gib gives a fatalistic shrug. Harry makes the turn, squealing tires. A red-and-white Vette emerges from the darkness and pulls up next to her. Simon motions for her to get in quickly. He pushes her head down onto his lap. She crouches there, with her cheek against his thigh. He's cruising along, loving it. Harry is doing a jaw-clenched slow burn. CUT TO: INFRARED VIEW of the Vette, from the helicopter's FLIR system. The greenish, image-intensified view of the car is like daylight. He takes her inside. He clears a place for her on the bed, shoving clothes and magazines out of the way. She sits down and he tops off her glass from the wine bottle. Simon shoots over and sits next to her, taking her hand. He moves a little closer. Casting his spell. He puts his hand on her knee. She tenses up instantly. He puts his other arm around her shoulders and pulls her slowly into a kiss. This doesn't seem real to Helen. She finds herself not pulling away. He lowers her slowly until they are lying together on the bed. He slides his hand up her thigh. The fingers, stroking in little circles, slips under her skirt. And-- She suddenly EXPLODES, pushing on his chest, is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. | What is Simon's real profession? | Used car salesman. |
is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. side. Gib gets out, his expression blank. He fishes a crumples sheet of paper out of his pocket. Harry grabs it from him, straightening it. As Harry begins to read, we go into FLASHBACK. He jumps back in the car and activates the GPS locator. Helen's purse-blip flashes on the grid map. Harry drives on, ignoring him. Gib grabs his shoulder, shaking him. Harry turns to him. His glare could melt metal. Gib gives a fatalistic shrug. Harry makes the turn, squealing tires. A red-and-white Vette emerges from the darkness and pulls up next to her. Simon motions for her to get in quickly. He pushes her head down onto his lap. She crouches there, with her cheek against his thigh. He's cruising along, loving it. Harry is doing a jaw-clenched slow burn. CUT TO: INFRARED VIEW of the Vette, from the helicopter's FLIR system. The greenish, image-intensified view of the car is like daylight. He takes her inside. He clears a place for her on the bed, shoving clothes and magazines out of the way. She sits down and he tops off her glass from the wine bottle. Simon shoots over and sits next to her, taking her hand. He moves a little closer. Casting his spell. He puts his hand on her knee. She tenses up instantly. He puts his other arm around her shoulders and pulls her slowly into a kiss. This doesn't seem real to Helen. She finds herself not pulling away. He lowers her slowly until they are lying together on the bed. He slides his hand up her thigh. The fingers, stroking in little circles, slips under her skirt. And-- She suddenly EXPLODES, pushing on his chest, is a hypnotic moment. She kisses him, very lightly, with infinite sensuality. Juno is moving in for a more passionate lip-lock when-- BEEP BEEP BEEP!! Harry pulls his beeper off his hip and looks at it. The moment is spoiled. Harry adjusts the passenger side mirror. Gib pulls the car to the curb near the mall entrance. Half a block behind them the station wagon does the same. Harry slips on the virtual-image sunglasses and gets out of the car. Harry lets his hand drop to his side, holding the pack of cigarettes casually. He turns his hand. The tiny lens in the cigarette pack glints. POV VIDEO SCREEN --inside the left lens of the glasses. The camera in the cigarette pack reveals Yusif and Mahmoud getting out of their cars, crossing the street half a block away. HARRY strolls into the mall. It is an open promenade design, with a moderate crowd of shoppers and movie-goers. Harry watches in the glasses as Mahmoud and Yusif slip through the crowd behind him. All Gib can see is a silhouette in the car. A soft cherry glow, the tip of a cigarette in the dark. No features. As he is talking he sees that a bus has blocked his view of the station wagon. Helen hangs up the phone just as Dana strides through the room, putting on a jacket and heading for the front door. We see the hurt in her eyes. She doesn't hate her father. She just misses him. Dana runs out the kitchen by the other door. Helen runs after her. The slamming door is her answer. HARRY'S POV - In the video glasses Harry sees himself and Mahmoud. Yusif comes into helicopter lands and Juno steps down from the front door. The sliding door is opened and Akbar and the others pull a groggy Harry and Helen out of the aircraft. They are covered by hoods. Malik walks up to them and pulls their hoods off. Harry takes in his surroundings and looks back into the eyes of Malik. Lethal energy flows between them. THREE HUGE STONE FIGURES, lined up in the middle of the space. The tarp is removes from the object they just unloaded, revealing a FOURTH STATUE. The figures are cracked and obscured by centuries, but they are unmistakably warriors mounted on horseback. The legs and arms are missing on some, but the massive heads and necks remain. She approaches the nearest figure, caressing its flank. A man with a jackhammer steps up to her. She shrugs and nods to the man with the jackhammer. He blasts right into the body of one of the Horseman, destroying it. Stone fragments fall away, revealing a cavity cut with great precision inside the figure. Inside is a BRIGHT METAL CONTAINER. Four terrorists pull it out and set it on the ground. It is six feet long and coffin- like. Malik steps up to it, his eyes glistening. A hush has fallen over the group. The latches are released and the lid lifted. Inside is machined metal object, roughly conical, about five feet long. Malik signals to Harry to step closer and look. Malik grabs Helen, jerking her roughly forward. He whips out a knife and inserts the point under Helen's jaw, forcing her head back and drawing blood. Harry steps forward, his face grim. Malik lowers the knife from her jaw. He turns away from her like | What destroyed the bridge after Harry rescues Helen? | Two Harrier Jump Jets. |
Harry adjusts his bow-tie and strides confidently out of the shadows, crossing quickly to the main house. He looks ultrasharp in his black tux with the white silk cummerbund and his hair slicked back. He enters the main house through a back service entrance. He breezes through unchallenged, exiting into the-- Harry strolls amiably among the glittering woman, the cigar smoking men, casually snagging a glass of champagne and a canape from the passing waiters. He nods to someone as if he knows them. Greets another is quite fluent Arabic. People in his wake look at each other like "Do you know him?" They shrug, go on with their conversation. Harry moves through the crowd. Scanning. The woman glances up and sees Harry checking her out. There is a frank moment of returned interest. Then the crowd shifts, cutting off their view of each other. He pushes a button and a green light comes on. Fast Faisil is a computer ace. His fingers fly on the keyboard as he types rapid key commands. We see familiar "windows appear". The words are all in Arabic characters. The guard points warily down the corridor. Harry nods and heads that way, back toward the party. He senses someone next to him and turns. It is the WOMAN. She * is captivatingly beautiful, and her gaze is piercing. Harry offers his hand to her. Gib finds the entry he's looking for. Juno's picture and data appear on the screen. Harry glances up the stairs. Khaled's SECURITY CHIEF is gesturing to several of his men, and speaking quickly into a walky. Three SECURITY MEN come down the stairs, scanning the crowd. Harry turns He is an intense looking MIDDLE-EASTERN MAN in his mid- thirties. Juno stops and looks at Harry. Her smile indicates the possibility of more than just business. His manner is self-effacing. Humble. He doesn't meet her gaze. She nods and they go into the private office. Her jaw clenches but her reaction is surprisingly submissive. Malik slaps her again. Juno bites her lip. She punches a key, engaging a digital scrambler and connecting to-- RING. Harry raises an eyebrow as he answers. Harry hangs up. Gib, checking his watch, has a look like he's got a bad gas pain. Only a few lights are on, rendering the place somewhat Gothic. Harry strolls in the direction the workman pointed. Ahead of him, is the huge facade of a royal tomb. There is a flickering light inside. A shadow moves across the wall in the entryway. He enters the stone doorway of the tomb. FOLLOWING HARRY as he steps into the inner chamber. There is an oil-lamp burning on a stone sarcophagus, the only light. The room appears empty. REVERSE ON HARRY. Behind him a figure emerges from a shadowed alcove. It is Juno. She looks ethereal in the strange light. Harry whips around, startled. Juno turns to him in the flickering half-light. She moves closer. Her eyes seem to glitter. She is very close to him. Her eyes seem to glitter in the light from the oil lamp. She is unbelievably beautiful. Juno presses her cheek against the cold stone. She runs her fingers slowly across the figures. It is strange and erotic. She crosses to Harry. She puts her hands on him and pulls herself close. It The walled perimeter of the house runs along the lake, forming a kind of rampart. There is an opening, to a kind of waterway or canal, which connects to the private docks inside the grounds. There is a steel grating across the opening. The bars disappear down into the thin ice of early winter. With the house visible BG, we CRANE DOWN below the parapet wall along which a guard is a white exposure-suit is walking... down along the dark wall to the grating... TILTING DOWN to see a glow pulsing under the ice. Seem from below, the figure is a black shadow moving against the rippled-glass of the ice above. HARRY TASKER. Our hero. Harry floats with just his eyes above the surface, silent as a water snake, as a guard passes on a footpath nearby. After a few beats Harry slips out of his tanks and fins, letting them sink, and climbs the frozen ladder onto the dock. He moves like a ninja into the shadows of the boathouse. Opening a WATERPROOF BAG, he pulls out a walky talky. Outside, FAST FAISIL, an Iranian-American, finishes making yellow snow and hurries back to the van. They are parked on a winding mountain road a half-mile from the chateau, whose lights are visible through the trees. Faisil jumps in and goes to the eyepiece of a huge telephoto nightvision scope. The eerie green image lurches as he sweeps the grounds, locating the boathouse. Harry slips into his shoulder harness... holster on one side, containing his .45 auto Glock-22, and the transmitter pack for the ear-piece slung on the other. He slips on a formal jacket, concealing the rig. Then a final touch. A little aftershave from a tiny plastic vial. away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. | Who does Faisal pretend to be? | A camera crew member for Aziz. |
is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it side. Gib gets out, his expression blank. He fishes a crumples sheet of paper out of his pocket. Harry grabs it from him, straightening it. As Harry begins to read, we go into FLASHBACK. He jumps back in the car and activates the GPS locator. Helen's purse-blip flashes on the grid map. Harry drives on, ignoring him. Gib grabs his shoulder, shaking him. Harry turns to him. His glare could melt metal. Gib gives a fatalistic shrug. Harry makes the turn, squealing tires. A red-and-white Vette emerges from the darkness and pulls up next to her. Simon motions for her to get in quickly. He pushes her head down onto his lap. She crouches there, with her cheek against his thigh. He's cruising along, loving it. Harry is doing a jaw-clenched slow burn. CUT TO: INFRARED VIEW of the Vette, from the helicopter's FLIR system. The greenish, image-intensified view of the car is like daylight. He takes her inside. He clears a place for her on the bed, shoving clothes and magazines out of the way. She sits down and he tops off her glass from the wine bottle. Simon shoots over and sits next to her, taking her hand. He moves a little closer. Casting his spell. He puts his hand on her knee. She tenses up instantly. He puts his other arm around her shoulders and pulls her slowly into a kiss. This doesn't seem real to Helen. She finds herself not pulling away. He lowers her slowly until they are lying together on the bed. He slides his hand up her thigh. The fingers, stroking in little circles, slips under her skirt. And-- She suddenly EXPLODES, pushing on his chest, smoothly away from them and takes Juno's arm. He steers her toward the dance floor. She slips a card out of a pocket in her otherwise sheer dress. She hands it to him, maintaining eye contact. Serious sparks. Without turning, Harry slips a small flat box out of his breast pocket. A REMOTE DETONATOR. KABOOM! The second floor office windows blow out in a fiery explosion. Using the diversion, Harry leaps off the terrace before the guard can open fire. TWO DOBERMANS pelt toward Harry, leaping at him in perfect unison. He waits... and knocks their heads together in mid- leap with a crack like a baseball bat. The dogs drop to the snow, wobbling around like they're drunk. As Harry sprints on, ANOTHER DOBERMAN lunges out of the bushes ahead, leaping directly for his throat. Harry grabs the dog and shot-puts him up into a tree without breaking stride. Dog Fu. The dog yelps and scrambles to hold onto an icy branch, looking down in amazement. Harry looks back as TWO GUARDS ON SKIS come out of a guard station beside the main entrance. TRACKING WITH THE SKI-GUARDS, searching through the trees with lights. They have lost Harry. They stop. A snowbank behind them EXPLODES as Harry leaps out. He disables them both with vicious street-fighter moves. Harry looks upslope as-- A service gate opens in the perimeter wall and TEAMS OF SECURITY MEN in white snow-suits pour out, some on skis, some on SNOWMOBILES. A HELICOPTER rises over the wall in a blast of swirling snow. Its xenon lights rake through the trees, casting lurid wheeling shadows on the snow. ON Harry, snapping closed the ski boots he has stolen from greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. helicopter lands and Juno steps down from the front door. The sliding door is opened and Akbar and the others pull a groggy Harry and Helen out of the aircraft. They are covered by hoods. Malik walks up to them and pulls their hoods off. Harry takes in his surroundings and looks back into the eyes of Malik. Lethal energy flows between them. THREE HUGE STONE FIGURES, lined up in the middle of the space. The tarp is removes from the object they just unloaded, revealing a FOURTH STATUE. The figures are cracked and obscured by centuries, but they are unmistakably warriors mounted on horseback. The legs and arms are missing on some, but the massive heads and necks remain. She approaches the nearest figure, caressing its flank. A man with a jackhammer steps up to her. She shrugs and nods to the man with the jackhammer. He blasts right into the body of one of the Horseman, destroying it. Stone fragments fall away, revealing a cavity cut with great precision inside the figure. Inside is a BRIGHT METAL CONTAINER. Four terrorists pull it out and set it on the ground. It is six feet long and coffin- like. Malik steps up to it, his eyes glistening. A hush has fallen over the group. The latches are released and the lid lifted. Inside is machined metal object, roughly conical, about five feet long. Malik signals to Harry to step closer and look. Malik grabs Helen, jerking her roughly forward. He whips out a knife and inserts the point under Helen's jaw, forcing her head back and drawing blood. Harry steps forward, his face grim. Malik lowers the knife from her jaw. He turns away from her like | What is Helen supposed to do on her secret spy mission after the Omega Sector scares away Simon? | She is to seduce a mysterious person. |
The walled perimeter of the house runs along the lake, forming a kind of rampart. There is an opening, to a kind of waterway or canal, which connects to the private docks inside the grounds. There is a steel grating across the opening. The bars disappear down into the thin ice of early winter. With the house visible BG, we CRANE DOWN below the parapet wall along which a guard is a white exposure-suit is walking... down along the dark wall to the grating... TILTING DOWN to see a glow pulsing under the ice. Seem from below, the figure is a black shadow moving against the rippled-glass of the ice above. HARRY TASKER. Our hero. Harry floats with just his eyes above the surface, silent as a water snake, as a guard passes on a footpath nearby. After a few beats Harry slips out of his tanks and fins, letting them sink, and climbs the frozen ladder onto the dock. He moves like a ninja into the shadows of the boathouse. Opening a WATERPROOF BAG, he pulls out a walky talky. Outside, FAST FAISIL, an Iranian-American, finishes making yellow snow and hurries back to the van. They are parked on a winding mountain road a half-mile from the chateau, whose lights are visible through the trees. Faisil jumps in and goes to the eyepiece of a huge telephoto nightvision scope. The eerie green image lurches as he sweeps the grounds, locating the boathouse. Harry slips into his shoulder harness... holster on one side, containing his .45 auto Glock-22, and the transmitter pack for the ear-piece slung on the other. He slips on a formal jacket, concealing the rig. Then a final touch. A little aftershave from a tiny plastic vial. Harry adjusts his bow-tie and strides confidently out of the shadows, crossing quickly to the main house. He looks ultrasharp in his black tux with the white silk cummerbund and his hair slicked back. He enters the main house through a back service entrance. He breezes through unchallenged, exiting into the-- Harry strolls amiably among the glittering woman, the cigar smoking men, casually snagging a glass of champagne and a canape from the passing waiters. He nods to someone as if he knows them. Greets another is quite fluent Arabic. People in his wake look at each other like "Do you know him?" They shrug, go on with their conversation. Harry moves through the crowd. Scanning. The woman glances up and sees Harry checking her out. There is a frank moment of returned interest. Then the crowd shifts, cutting off their view of each other. He pushes a button and a green light comes on. Fast Faisil is a computer ace. His fingers fly on the keyboard as he types rapid key commands. We see familiar "windows appear". The words are all in Arabic characters. The guard points warily down the corridor. Harry nods and heads that way, back toward the party. He senses someone next to him and turns. It is the WOMAN. She * is captivatingly beautiful, and her gaze is piercing. Harry offers his hand to her. Gib finds the entry he's looking for. Juno's picture and data appear on the screen. Harry glances up the stairs. Khaled's SECURITY CHIEF is gesturing to several of his men, and speaking quickly into a walky. Three SECURITY MEN come down the stairs, scanning the crowd. Harry turns away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. helicopter lands and Juno steps down from the front door. The sliding door is opened and Akbar and the others pull a groggy Harry and Helen out of the aircraft. They are covered by hoods. Malik walks up to them and pulls their hoods off. Harry takes in his surroundings and looks back into the eyes of Malik. Lethal energy flows between them. THREE HUGE STONE FIGURES, lined up in the middle of the space. The tarp is removes from the object they just unloaded, revealing a FOURTH STATUE. The figures are cracked and obscured by centuries, but they are unmistakably warriors mounted on horseback. The legs and arms are missing on some, but the massive heads and necks remain. She approaches the nearest figure, caressing its flank. A man with a jackhammer steps up to her. She shrugs and nods to the man with the jackhammer. He blasts right into the body of one of the Horseman, destroying it. Stone fragments fall away, revealing a cavity cut with great precision inside the figure. Inside is a BRIGHT METAL CONTAINER. Four terrorists pull it out and set it on the ground. It is six feet long and coffin- like. Malik steps up to it, his eyes glistening. A hush has fallen over the group. The latches are released and the lid lifted. Inside is machined metal object, roughly conical, about five feet long. Malik signals to Harry to step closer and look. Malik grabs Helen, jerking her roughly forward. He whips out a knife and inserts the point under Helen's jaw, forcing her head back and drawing blood. Harry steps forward, his face grim. Malik lowers the knife from her jaw. He turns away from her like | How does Aziz plan on scaring away the US from the Persian Gulf? | Aziz threatens to detonate small nuclear warheads in US cities. |
Harry adjusts his bow-tie and strides confidently out of the shadows, crossing quickly to the main house. He looks ultrasharp in his black tux with the white silk cummerbund and his hair slicked back. He enters the main house through a back service entrance. He breezes through unchallenged, exiting into the-- Harry strolls amiably among the glittering woman, the cigar smoking men, casually snagging a glass of champagne and a canape from the passing waiters. He nods to someone as if he knows them. Greets another is quite fluent Arabic. People in his wake look at each other like "Do you know him?" They shrug, go on with their conversation. Harry moves through the crowd. Scanning. The woman glances up and sees Harry checking her out. There is a frank moment of returned interest. Then the crowd shifts, cutting off their view of each other. He pushes a button and a green light comes on. Fast Faisil is a computer ace. His fingers fly on the keyboard as he types rapid key commands. We see familiar "windows appear". The words are all in Arabic characters. The guard points warily down the corridor. Harry nods and heads that way, back toward the party. He senses someone next to him and turns. It is the WOMAN. She * is captivatingly beautiful, and her gaze is piercing. Harry offers his hand to her. Gib finds the entry he's looking for. Juno's picture and data appear on the screen. Harry glances up the stairs. Khaled's SECURITY CHIEF is gesturing to several of his men, and speaking quickly into a walky. Three SECURITY MEN come down the stairs, scanning the crowd. Harry turns He is an intense looking MIDDLE-EASTERN MAN in his mid- thirties. Juno stops and looks at Harry. Her smile indicates the possibility of more than just business. His manner is self-effacing. Humble. He doesn't meet her gaze. She nods and they go into the private office. Her jaw clenches but her reaction is surprisingly submissive. Malik slaps her again. Juno bites her lip. She punches a key, engaging a digital scrambler and connecting to-- RING. Harry raises an eyebrow as he answers. Harry hangs up. Gib, checking his watch, has a look like he's got a bad gas pain. Only a few lights are on, rendering the place somewhat Gothic. Harry strolls in the direction the workman pointed. Ahead of him, is the huge facade of a royal tomb. There is a flickering light inside. A shadow moves across the wall in the entryway. He enters the stone doorway of the tomb. FOLLOWING HARRY as he steps into the inner chamber. There is an oil-lamp burning on a stone sarcophagus, the only light. The room appears empty. REVERSE ON HARRY. Behind him a figure emerges from a shadowed alcove. It is Juno. She looks ethereal in the strange light. Harry whips around, startled. Juno turns to him in the flickering half-light. She moves closer. Her eyes seem to glitter. She is very close to him. Her eyes seem to glitter in the light from the oil lamp. She is unbelievably beautiful. Juno presses her cheek against the cold stone. She runs her fingers slowly across the figures. It is strange and erotic. She crosses to Harry. She puts her hands on him and pulls herself close. It away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. are black with murder. A MAN enters the room carrying a small suitcase. He has skull- like features. He opens the suitcase and Harry has a good view of the contents: medical instruments, needle-probes, drills, Dremel tools with saw blades. Samir injects Harry in the arm with the syringe. She kneels down in front of Harry, stroking his leg. Harry's words are beginning to be slightly slurred. The drugs are taking effect. Juno puts her arms around him and kisses him passionately. She breaks, looking at Helen to savor the effect. Helen is trembling with rage. Juno crosses to the guard and takes a hand-grenade off his belt. Then she goes to Helen and places it between her knees. She pushes Helen's knees together to hold the spoon against the grenade then pulls the pin. Juno leaves. Harry looks dopily at Helen. Helen doesn't believe him, and why should she. She looks up * from staring at the grenade, to see that Harry's head has slumped forward. Samir approaches Harry with a long steel needle probe. He holds them up to show Samir. Then he explodes out of the chair-- Breaks the torturer's neck-- Spins him between himself and the guard-- Who then hesitates to fire-- Giving Harry the split second he needs to grab the knife from the table and throw it into the guard's eye, killing him instantly. Helen is flat blown away. Wow. It only took a few seconds for Harry to reverse the situation. Her Harry! He picks up the guard's 9mm pistol and staggers over to her. He kneels down in front of her. Gently he slips his hands between her thighs, getting a grip on | Who is Aziz's organization? | Crimson Jihad. |
Harry adjusts his bow-tie and strides confidently out of the shadows, crossing quickly to the main house. He looks ultrasharp in his black tux with the white silk cummerbund and his hair slicked back. He enters the main house through a back service entrance. He breezes through unchallenged, exiting into the-- Harry strolls amiably among the glittering woman, the cigar smoking men, casually snagging a glass of champagne and a canape from the passing waiters. He nods to someone as if he knows them. Greets another is quite fluent Arabic. People in his wake look at each other like "Do you know him?" They shrug, go on with their conversation. Harry moves through the crowd. Scanning. The woman glances up and sees Harry checking her out. There is a frank moment of returned interest. Then the crowd shifts, cutting off their view of each other. He pushes a button and a green light comes on. Fast Faisil is a computer ace. His fingers fly on the keyboard as he types rapid key commands. We see familiar "windows appear". The words are all in Arabic characters. The guard points warily down the corridor. Harry nods and heads that way, back toward the party. He senses someone next to him and turns. It is the WOMAN. She * is captivatingly beautiful, and her gaze is piercing. Harry offers his hand to her. Gib finds the entry he's looking for. Juno's picture and data appear on the screen. Harry glances up the stairs. Khaled's SECURITY CHIEF is gesturing to several of his men, and speaking quickly into a walky. Three SECURITY MEN come down the stairs, scanning the crowd. Harry turns greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. is a hypnotic moment. She kisses him, very lightly, with infinite sensuality. Juno is moving in for a more passionate lip-lock when-- BEEP BEEP BEEP!! Harry pulls his beeper off his hip and looks at it. The moment is spoiled. Harry adjusts the passenger side mirror. Gib pulls the car to the curb near the mall entrance. Half a block behind them the station wagon does the same. Harry slips on the virtual-image sunglasses and gets out of the car. Harry lets his hand drop to his side, holding the pack of cigarettes casually. He turns his hand. The tiny lens in the cigarette pack glints. POV VIDEO SCREEN --inside the left lens of the glasses. The camera in the cigarette pack reveals Yusif and Mahmoud getting out of their cars, crossing the street half a block away. HARRY strolls into the mall. It is an open promenade design, with a moderate crowd of shoppers and movie-goers. Harry watches in the glasses as Mahmoud and Yusif slip through the crowd behind him. All Gib can see is a silhouette in the car. A soft cherry glow, the tip of a cigarette in the dark. No features. As he is talking he sees that a bus has blocked his view of the station wagon. Helen hangs up the phone just as Dana strides through the room, putting on a jacket and heading for the front door. We see the hurt in her eyes. She doesn't hate her father. She just misses him. Dana runs out the kitchen by the other door. Helen runs after her. The slamming door is her answer. HARRY'S POV - In the video glasses Harry sees himself and Mahmoud. Yusif comes into away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. helicopter lands and Juno steps down from the front door. The sliding door is opened and Akbar and the others pull a groggy Harry and Helen out of the aircraft. They are covered by hoods. Malik walks up to them and pulls their hoods off. Harry takes in his surroundings and looks back into the eyes of Malik. Lethal energy flows between them. THREE HUGE STONE FIGURES, lined up in the middle of the space. The tarp is removes from the object they just unloaded, revealing a FOURTH STATUE. The figures are cracked and obscured by centuries, but they are unmistakably warriors mounted on horseback. The legs and arms are missing on some, but the massive heads and necks remain. She approaches the nearest figure, caressing its flank. A man with a jackhammer steps up to her. She shrugs and nods to the man with the jackhammer. He blasts right into the body of one of the Horseman, destroying it. Stone fragments fall away, revealing a cavity cut with great precision inside the figure. Inside is a BRIGHT METAL CONTAINER. Four terrorists pull it out and set it on the ground. It is six feet long and coffin- like. Malik steps up to it, his eyes glistening. A hush has fallen over the group. The latches are released and the lid lifted. Inside is machined metal object, roughly conical, about five feet long. Malik signals to Harry to step closer and look. Malik grabs Helen, jerking her roughly forward. He whips out a knife and inserts the point under Helen's jaw, forcing her head back and drawing blood. Harry steps forward, his face grim. Malik lowers the knife from her jaw. He turns away from her like | What does Dana steal after she is rescued by Faisal? | An ignition key. |
The walled perimeter of the house runs along the lake, forming a kind of rampart. There is an opening, to a kind of waterway or canal, which connects to the private docks inside the grounds. There is a steel grating across the opening. The bars disappear down into the thin ice of early winter. With the house visible BG, we CRANE DOWN below the parapet wall along which a guard is a white exposure-suit is walking... down along the dark wall to the grating... TILTING DOWN to see a glow pulsing under the ice. Seem from below, the figure is a black shadow moving against the rippled-glass of the ice above. HARRY TASKER. Our hero. Harry floats with just his eyes above the surface, silent as a water snake, as a guard passes on a footpath nearby. After a few beats Harry slips out of his tanks and fins, letting them sink, and climbs the frozen ladder onto the dock. He moves like a ninja into the shadows of the boathouse. Opening a WATERPROOF BAG, he pulls out a walky talky. Outside, FAST FAISIL, an Iranian-American, finishes making yellow snow and hurries back to the van. They are parked on a winding mountain road a half-mile from the chateau, whose lights are visible through the trees. Faisil jumps in and goes to the eyepiece of a huge telephoto nightvision scope. The eerie green image lurches as he sweeps the grounds, locating the boathouse. Harry slips into his shoulder harness... holster on one side, containing his .45 auto Glock-22, and the transmitter pack for the ear-piece slung on the other. He slips on a formal jacket, concealing the rig. Then a final touch. A little aftershave from a tiny plastic vial. Harry adjusts his bow-tie and strides confidently out of the shadows, crossing quickly to the main house. He looks ultrasharp in his black tux with the white silk cummerbund and his hair slicked back. He enters the main house through a back service entrance. He breezes through unchallenged, exiting into the-- Harry strolls amiably among the glittering woman, the cigar smoking men, casually snagging a glass of champagne and a canape from the passing waiters. He nods to someone as if he knows them. Greets another is quite fluent Arabic. People in his wake look at each other like "Do you know him?" They shrug, go on with their conversation. Harry moves through the crowd. Scanning. The woman glances up and sees Harry checking her out. There is a frank moment of returned interest. Then the crowd shifts, cutting off their view of each other. He pushes a button and a green light comes on. Fast Faisil is a computer ace. His fingers fly on the keyboard as he types rapid key commands. We see familiar "windows appear". The words are all in Arabic characters. The guard points warily down the corridor. Harry nods and heads that way, back toward the party. He senses someone next to him and turns. It is the WOMAN. She * is captivatingly beautiful, and her gaze is piercing. Harry offers his hand to her. Gib finds the entry he's looking for. Juno's picture and data appear on the screen. Harry glances up the stairs. Khaled's SECURITY CHIEF is gesturing to several of his men, and speaking quickly into a walky. Three SECURITY MEN come down the stairs, scanning the crowd. Harry turns greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. they crash together on the filthy floor. Harry grabs Yusif's hair and pounds his face repeatedly against the rim of a urinal. In case you haven't noticed, this is a messy, nasty fight. Survival is like that. Yusif sags into submission. Harry pulls a nylon zip-strip out of his pocket and uses it like hand-cuffs, securing Yusif's wrists. Malik hoses the room with the Beretta. The metal stalls are riddled with hits. HARRY is in the stall with the old guy, who's just sitting there. The walls of the stall are pimpling with the hits on the far side. Harry reaches under the stall, retrieving his Glock. MALIK goes empty. Harry hears that and pops out, cranking off rounds-- Malik is a blur going out the door, as Harry's shots shatter tiles on the doorframe. Then silence. Gib tries to hide behind the light-standard, which is about half as wide as he is. Shots hit all around him, shattering window glass behind him. His stomach sticks out from behind the pole. He sucks it in. Now his butt is sticking out on the other side. Shots clang into the steel column, and riddle everything behind him. Gib nods and heads the other way as Harry takes off after Malik. Malik is fast and vicious. He hurls people out of the way, sending shoppers sprawling. Harry is ruthless in his pursuit. They pound through the mall and out onto the street-- He turns and sees a MOTORCYCLIST coming down the street, accelerating from a right-turn. Malik runs at him, clothes- lining him right off the bike. The terrorist picks up the nimble little Kawasaki 250, which is still running, and leaps on. helicopter lands and Juno steps down from the front door. The sliding door is opened and Akbar and the others pull a groggy Harry and Helen out of the aircraft. They are covered by hoods. Malik walks up to them and pulls their hoods off. Harry takes in his surroundings and looks back into the eyes of Malik. Lethal energy flows between them. THREE HUGE STONE FIGURES, lined up in the middle of the space. The tarp is removes from the object they just unloaded, revealing a FOURTH STATUE. The figures are cracked and obscured by centuries, but they are unmistakably warriors mounted on horseback. The legs and arms are missing on some, but the massive heads and necks remain. She approaches the nearest figure, caressing its flank. A man with a jackhammer steps up to her. She shrugs and nods to the man with the jackhammer. He blasts right into the body of one of the Horseman, destroying it. Stone fragments fall away, revealing a cavity cut with great precision inside the figure. Inside is a BRIGHT METAL CONTAINER. Four terrorists pull it out and set it on the ground. It is six feet long and coffin- like. Malik steps up to it, his eyes glistening. A hush has fallen over the group. The latches are released and the lid lifted. Inside is machined metal object, roughly conical, about five feet long. Malik signals to Harry to step closer and look. Malik grabs Helen, jerking her roughly forward. He whips out a knife and inserts the point under Helen's jaw, forcing her head back and drawing blood. Harry steps forward, his face grim. Malik lowers the knife from her jaw. He turns away from her like | What is the name of the counter-terrorism task force? | The Omega Sector |
The walled perimeter of the house runs along the lake, forming a kind of rampart. There is an opening, to a kind of waterway or canal, which connects to the private docks inside the grounds. There is a steel grating across the opening. The bars disappear down into the thin ice of early winter. With the house visible BG, we CRANE DOWN below the parapet wall along which a guard is a white exposure-suit is walking... down along the dark wall to the grating... TILTING DOWN to see a glow pulsing under the ice. Seem from below, the figure is a black shadow moving against the rippled-glass of the ice above. HARRY TASKER. Our hero. Harry floats with just his eyes above the surface, silent as a water snake, as a guard passes on a footpath nearby. After a few beats Harry slips out of his tanks and fins, letting them sink, and climbs the frozen ladder onto the dock. He moves like a ninja into the shadows of the boathouse. Opening a WATERPROOF BAG, he pulls out a walky talky. Outside, FAST FAISIL, an Iranian-American, finishes making yellow snow and hurries back to the van. They are parked on a winding mountain road a half-mile from the chateau, whose lights are visible through the trees. Faisil jumps in and goes to the eyepiece of a huge telephoto nightvision scope. The eerie green image lurches as he sweeps the grounds, locating the boathouse. Harry slips into his shoulder harness... holster on one side, containing his .45 auto Glock-22, and the transmitter pack for the ear-piece slung on the other. He slips on a formal jacket, concealing the rig. Then a final touch. A little aftershave from a tiny plastic vial. greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. are black with murder. A MAN enters the room carrying a small suitcase. He has skull- like features. He opens the suitcase and Harry has a good view of the contents: medical instruments, needle-probes, drills, Dremel tools with saw blades. Samir injects Harry in the arm with the syringe. She kneels down in front of Harry, stroking his leg. Harry's words are beginning to be slightly slurred. The drugs are taking effect. Juno puts her arms around him and kisses him passionately. She breaks, looking at Helen to savor the effect. Helen is trembling with rage. Juno crosses to the guard and takes a hand-grenade off his belt. Then she goes to Helen and places it between her knees. She pushes Helen's knees together to hold the spoon against the grenade then pulls the pin. Juno leaves. Harry looks dopily at Helen. Helen doesn't believe him, and why should she. She looks up * from staring at the grenade, to see that Harry's head has slumped forward. Samir approaches Harry with a long steel needle probe. He holds them up to show Samir. Then he explodes out of the chair-- Breaks the torturer's neck-- Spins him between himself and the guard-- Who then hesitates to fire-- Giving Harry the split second he needs to grab the knife from the table and throw it into the guard's eye, killing him instantly. Helen is flat blown away. Wow. It only took a few seconds for Harry to reverse the situation. Her Harry! He picks up the guard's 9mm pistol and staggers over to her. He kneels down in front of her. Gently he slips his hands between her thighs, getting a grip on the bike as Trent pops the clutch and they shoot down the driveway. Gib and Harry turn onto Pennsylvania Avenue, heading toward Lafayette Square. Capital Hill is behind them. They approach another door, with a (bulletproof) glass window * in it. Beyond is a brightly lit room, with a woman sitting at a desk... and nothing else. Gib presses a buzzer. Harry and Gib step up to the combination retinal-thumbprint- voice scanners. Harry presses his thumb against a black-glass plate for laser scan, and looks into the eye-piece of the retinal scanner. Their clearance appears on a monitor on Janice's desk. She stands to give them plastic I.D. badges which they hang around their necks. He kisses her wetly on the cheek as he goes by. She does not react is any discernible way. They pass through a heavy stainless steel door which opens automatically. Beyond is a kind of airlock... a SALLY PORT. Behind a lexan shield are TWO GUARDS armed with MP5s. They nod but do not speak at Harry and Gib pass them. ANGLE FROM ABOVE as they cross. A huge graphic logo covers the floor. Across the center is says OMEGA SECTOR. In smaller print, around the perimeter, is the motto: "THE LAST LINE OF <b> DEFENSE". </b> They enter a high-tech office space. It is a maze of glass partitions surrounding a central floor-space of cubicles. There is a hushed quality here. People do not joke. They do not hurry. There are a lot of computer screens displaying information from around the world. It looks like a combination of NASA mission control and FBI headquarters. Fast Faisil the restroom, seemingly ignoring both Harry and Mahmoud, as if heading for the stalls. As he passes behind Harry he reaches into his coat-- Harry spins lightning fast. He knocks away the SILENCED PISTOL aimed at the back of his head with a sweeping block, capturing Yusif's arm in an arm-lock. The shot goes wide, shattering a urinal. Harry slams his palm into Yusif's face like a piledriver, and spins him against the steel stalls. The silenced pistol goes skittering across the floor. Mahmoud whips a pistol out of his waistband. Still holding the bear-like Yusif, Harry draws his Glock so fast we can barely see him move. BLAM! BLAM! BLAM! Three .45 slugs go through Mahmoud's chest, shattering the mirror behind him. He flops on his butt, slumping against the wall. Yusif, who is easily Harry's size, bellows and grabs his gun arm. They smash against the walls, struggling for the gun. Yusif, locked to Harry, hurls him against the stalls. They hit a locked door, which pops open, banging inward. Yusif drives Harry to the floor. Harry's head is between the shoes of an OLD GUY sitting on the can, who looks down uncomprehendingly at him. Yusif slams Harry's gun hand repeatedly against the doorframe of the stall. He twists Harry's wrist brutally. He even pounds against Harry's hand with his knee. The old guy winces. That's got to hurt. Harry cries out in pain and the gun drops. Yusif reaches for it, but Harry kicks it under the stalls. He punches Yusif in the face, driving him back. They grapple, spinning. Harry drives Yusif's head into the counter. Then he elbows him in the throat and | Who commanded the task force? | Spencer Trilby |
is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it He is an intense looking MIDDLE-EASTERN MAN in his mid- thirties. Juno stops and looks at Harry. Her smile indicates the possibility of more than just business. His manner is self-effacing. Humble. He doesn't meet her gaze. She nods and they go into the private office. Her jaw clenches but her reaction is surprisingly submissive. Malik slaps her again. Juno bites her lip. She punches a key, engaging a digital scrambler and connecting to-- RING. Harry raises an eyebrow as he answers. Harry hangs up. Gib, checking his watch, has a look like he's got a bad gas pain. Only a few lights are on, rendering the place somewhat Gothic. Harry strolls in the direction the workman pointed. Ahead of him, is the huge facade of a royal tomb. There is a flickering light inside. A shadow moves across the wall in the entryway. He enters the stone doorway of the tomb. FOLLOWING HARRY as he steps into the inner chamber. There is an oil-lamp burning on a stone sarcophagus, the only light. The room appears empty. REVERSE ON HARRY. Behind him a figure emerges from a shadowed alcove. It is Juno. She looks ethereal in the strange light. Harry whips around, startled. Juno turns to him in the flickering half-light. She moves closer. Her eyes seem to glitter. She is very close to him. Her eyes seem to glitter in the light from the oil lamp. She is unbelievably beautiful. Juno presses her cheek against the cold stone. She runs her fingers slowly across the figures. It is strange and erotic. She crosses to Harry. She puts her hands on him and pulls herself close. It away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. He is tender with her. He wishes he can tell her the truth. Helen finds a smile for him somewhere. She really does love him, though more and more often lately she finds her heart in pain. She grins and arches one eyebrow meaningfully. She turns on the stereo. A Kenny G disc she put in there earlier. Soft tenor sax flows around the room. Helen enters the BATHROOM and shuts the door partway. She opens a cupboard and quickly pulls out some things she hid there earlier. A bottle of champagne on ice. Two glasses. Some trashy lingerie. Helen is hurrying to put on the unfamiliar lingerie. G-string panties and low-cut bra. She holds up the garter belt, turning it backward and forward, trying to figure out which way it goes. ON HARRY, yawning. Lying with the ease of years of practice. Helen is pulling up the black stockings. She fastens the garters to the tops. Her features are a scowl of concentration. She is very earnest in her preparations. Red lipstick. Then she puts a little perfume on her wrists. Harry doesn't answer. Helen puts a little perfume down the front of her panties. Helen quickly pours two glasses of champagne. Then she slinks around the doorframe, making her entrance. She looks like a living 900 number. Helen stands before the bed, looking down, holding the champagne glasses. ON HARRY: sprawled on the bed, fully clothed, snoring softly. A little bit of drool is coming out the side of his mouth. HOLD ON HELEN, all dressed up with no place to go. She gazes down at him, her shoulders slumping. She sighs deeply and downs her side. Gib gets out, his expression blank. He fishes a crumples sheet of paper out of his pocket. Harry grabs it from him, straightening it. As Harry begins to read, we go into FLASHBACK. He jumps back in the car and activates the GPS locator. Helen's purse-blip flashes on the grid map. Harry drives on, ignoring him. Gib grabs his shoulder, shaking him. Harry turns to him. His glare could melt metal. Gib gives a fatalistic shrug. Harry makes the turn, squealing tires. A red-and-white Vette emerges from the darkness and pulls up next to her. Simon motions for her to get in quickly. He pushes her head down onto his lap. She crouches there, with her cheek against his thigh. He's cruising along, loving it. Harry is doing a jaw-clenched slow burn. CUT TO: INFRARED VIEW of the Vette, from the helicopter's FLIR system. The greenish, image-intensified view of the car is like daylight. He takes her inside. He clears a place for her on the bed, shoving clothes and magazines out of the way. She sits down and he tops off her glass from the wine bottle. Simon shoots over and sits next to her, taking her hand. He moves a little closer. Casting his spell. He puts his hand on her knee. She tenses up instantly. He puts his other arm around her shoulders and pulls her slowly into a kiss. This doesn't seem real to Helen. She finds herself not pulling away. He lowers her slowly until they are lying together on the bed. He slides his hand up her thigh. The fingers, stroking in little circles, slips under her skirt. And-- She suddenly EXPLODES, pushing on his chest, | What is the name of Harry's wife? | Helen |
Harry adjusts his bow-tie and strides confidently out of the shadows, crossing quickly to the main house. He looks ultrasharp in his black tux with the white silk cummerbund and his hair slicked back. He enters the main house through a back service entrance. He breezes through unchallenged, exiting into the-- Harry strolls amiably among the glittering woman, the cigar smoking men, casually snagging a glass of champagne and a canape from the passing waiters. He nods to someone as if he knows them. Greets another is quite fluent Arabic. People in his wake look at each other like "Do you know him?" They shrug, go on with their conversation. Harry moves through the crowd. Scanning. The woman glances up and sees Harry checking her out. There is a frank moment of returned interest. Then the crowd shifts, cutting off their view of each other. He pushes a button and a green light comes on. Fast Faisil is a computer ace. His fingers fly on the keyboard as he types rapid key commands. We see familiar "windows appear". The words are all in Arabic characters. The guard points warily down the corridor. Harry nods and heads that way, back toward the party. He senses someone next to him and turns. It is the WOMAN. She * is captivatingly beautiful, and her gaze is piercing. Harry offers his hand to her. Gib finds the entry he's looking for. Juno's picture and data appear on the screen. Harry glances up the stairs. Khaled's SECURITY CHIEF is gesturing to several of his men, and speaking quickly into a walky. Three SECURITY MEN come down the stairs, scanning the crowd. Harry turns He is an intense looking MIDDLE-EASTERN MAN in his mid- thirties. Juno stops and looks at Harry. Her smile indicates the possibility of more than just business. His manner is self-effacing. Humble. He doesn't meet her gaze. She nods and they go into the private office. Her jaw clenches but her reaction is surprisingly submissive. Malik slaps her again. Juno bites her lip. She punches a key, engaging a digital scrambler and connecting to-- RING. Harry raises an eyebrow as he answers. Harry hangs up. Gib, checking his watch, has a look like he's got a bad gas pain. Only a few lights are on, rendering the place somewhat Gothic. Harry strolls in the direction the workman pointed. Ahead of him, is the huge facade of a royal tomb. There is a flickering light inside. A shadow moves across the wall in the entryway. He enters the stone doorway of the tomb. FOLLOWING HARRY as he steps into the inner chamber. There is an oil-lamp burning on a stone sarcophagus, the only light. The room appears empty. REVERSE ON HARRY. Behind him a figure emerges from a shadowed alcove. It is Juno. She looks ethereal in the strange light. Harry whips around, startled. Juno turns to him in the flickering half-light. She moves closer. Her eyes seem to glitter. She is very close to him. Her eyes seem to glitter in the light from the oil lamp. She is unbelievably beautiful. Juno presses her cheek against the cold stone. She runs her fingers slowly across the figures. It is strange and erotic. She crosses to Harry. She puts her hands on him and pulls herself close. It is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. side. Gib gets out, his expression blank. He fishes a crumples sheet of paper out of his pocket. Harry grabs it from him, straightening it. As Harry begins to read, we go into FLASHBACK. He jumps back in the car and activates the GPS locator. Helen's purse-blip flashes on the grid map. Harry drives on, ignoring him. Gib grabs his shoulder, shaking him. Harry turns to him. His glare could melt metal. Gib gives a fatalistic shrug. Harry makes the turn, squealing tires. A red-and-white Vette emerges from the darkness and pulls up next to her. Simon motions for her to get in quickly. He pushes her head down onto his lap. She crouches there, with her cheek against his thigh. He's cruising along, loving it. Harry is doing a jaw-clenched slow burn. CUT TO: INFRARED VIEW of the Vette, from the helicopter's FLIR system. The greenish, image-intensified view of the car is like daylight. He takes her inside. He clears a place for her on the bed, shoving clothes and magazines out of the way. She sits down and he tops off her glass from the wine bottle. Simon shoots over and sits next to her, taking her hand. He moves a little closer. Casting his spell. He puts his hand on her knee. She tenses up instantly. He puts his other arm around her shoulders and pulls her slowly into a kiss. This doesn't seem real to Helen. She finds herself not pulling away. He lowers her slowly until they are lying together on the bed. He slides his hand up her thigh. The fingers, stroking in little circles, slips under her skirt. And-- She suddenly EXPLODES, pushing on his chest, | What is the name of Harry's daughter? | Dana |
away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. helicopter lands and Juno steps down from the front door. The sliding door is opened and Akbar and the others pull a groggy Harry and Helen out of the aircraft. They are covered by hoods. Malik walks up to them and pulls their hoods off. Harry takes in his surroundings and looks back into the eyes of Malik. Lethal energy flows between them. THREE HUGE STONE FIGURES, lined up in the middle of the space. The tarp is removes from the object they just unloaded, revealing a FOURTH STATUE. The figures are cracked and obscured by centuries, but they are unmistakably warriors mounted on horseback. The legs and arms are missing on some, but the massive heads and necks remain. She approaches the nearest figure, caressing its flank. A man with a jackhammer steps up to her. She shrugs and nods to the man with the jackhammer. He blasts right into the body of one of the Horseman, destroying it. Stone fragments fall away, revealing a cavity cut with great precision inside the figure. Inside is a BRIGHT METAL CONTAINER. Four terrorists pull it out and set it on the ground. It is six feet long and coffin- like. Malik steps up to it, his eyes glistening. A hush has fallen over the group. The latches are released and the lid lifted. Inside is machined metal object, roughly conical, about five feet long. Malik signals to Harry to step closer and look. Malik grabs Helen, jerking her roughly forward. He whips out a knife and inserts the point under Helen's jaw, forcing her head back and drawing blood. Harry steps forward, his face grim. Malik lowers the knife from her jaw. He turns away from her like is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it they crash together on the filthy floor. Harry grabs Yusif's hair and pounds his face repeatedly against the rim of a urinal. In case you haven't noticed, this is a messy, nasty fight. Survival is like that. Yusif sags into submission. Harry pulls a nylon zip-strip out of his pocket and uses it like hand-cuffs, securing Yusif's wrists. Malik hoses the room with the Beretta. The metal stalls are riddled with hits. HARRY is in the stall with the old guy, who's just sitting there. The walls of the stall are pimpling with the hits on the far side. Harry reaches under the stall, retrieving his Glock. MALIK goes empty. Harry hears that and pops out, cranking off rounds-- Malik is a blur going out the door, as Harry's shots shatter tiles on the doorframe. Then silence. Gib tries to hide behind the light-standard, which is about half as wide as he is. Shots hit all around him, shattering window glass behind him. His stomach sticks out from behind the pole. He sucks it in. Now his butt is sticking out on the other side. Shots clang into the steel column, and riddle everything behind him. Gib nods and heads the other way as Harry takes off after Malik. Malik is fast and vicious. He hurls people out of the way, sending shoppers sprawling. Harry is ruthless in his pursuit. They pound through the mall and out onto the street-- He turns and sees a MOTORCYCLIST coming down the street, accelerating from a right-turn. Malik runs at him, clothes- lining him right off the bike. The terrorist picks up the nimble little Kawasaki 250, which is still running, and leaps on. the bike as Trent pops the clutch and they shoot down the driveway. Gib and Harry turn onto Pennsylvania Avenue, heading toward Lafayette Square. Capital Hill is behind them. They approach another door, with a (bulletproof) glass window * in it. Beyond is a brightly lit room, with a woman sitting at a desk... and nothing else. Gib presses a buzzer. Harry and Gib step up to the combination retinal-thumbprint- voice scanners. Harry presses his thumb against a black-glass plate for laser scan, and looks into the eye-piece of the retinal scanner. Their clearance appears on a monitor on Janice's desk. She stands to give them plastic I.D. badges which they hang around their necks. He kisses her wetly on the cheek as he goes by. She does not react is any discernible way. They pass through a heavy stainless steel door which opens automatically. Beyond is a kind of airlock... a SALLY PORT. Behind a lexan shield are TWO GUARDS armed with MP5s. They nod but do not speak at Harry and Gib pass them. ANGLE FROM ABOVE as they cross. A huge graphic logo covers the floor. Across the center is says OMEGA SECTOR. In smaller print, around the perimeter, is the motto: "THE LAST LINE OF <b> DEFENSE". </b> They enter a high-tech office space. It is a maze of glass partitions surrounding a central floor-space of cubicles. There is a hushed quality here. People do not joke. They do not hurry. There are a lot of computer screens displaying information from around the world. It looks like a combination of NASA mission control and FBI headquarters. Fast Faisil | What is the name of the terrorist cell that Harry discovers? | Crimson Jihad |
The walled perimeter of the house runs along the lake, forming a kind of rampart. There is an opening, to a kind of waterway or canal, which connects to the private docks inside the grounds. There is a steel grating across the opening. The bars disappear down into the thin ice of early winter. With the house visible BG, we CRANE DOWN below the parapet wall along which a guard is a white exposure-suit is walking... down along the dark wall to the grating... TILTING DOWN to see a glow pulsing under the ice. Seem from below, the figure is a black shadow moving against the rippled-glass of the ice above. HARRY TASKER. Our hero. Harry floats with just his eyes above the surface, silent as a water snake, as a guard passes on a footpath nearby. After a few beats Harry slips out of his tanks and fins, letting them sink, and climbs the frozen ladder onto the dock. He moves like a ninja into the shadows of the boathouse. Opening a WATERPROOF BAG, he pulls out a walky talky. Outside, FAST FAISIL, an Iranian-American, finishes making yellow snow and hurries back to the van. They are parked on a winding mountain road a half-mile from the chateau, whose lights are visible through the trees. Faisil jumps in and goes to the eyepiece of a huge telephoto nightvision scope. The eerie green image lurches as he sweeps the grounds, locating the boathouse. Harry slips into his shoulder harness... holster on one side, containing his .45 auto Glock-22, and the transmitter pack for the ear-piece slung on the other. He slips on a formal jacket, concealing the rig. Then a final touch. A little aftershave from a tiny plastic vial. Harry adjusts his bow-tie and strides confidently out of the shadows, crossing quickly to the main house. He looks ultrasharp in his black tux with the white silk cummerbund and his hair slicked back. He enters the main house through a back service entrance. He breezes through unchallenged, exiting into the-- Harry strolls amiably among the glittering woman, the cigar smoking men, casually snagging a glass of champagne and a canape from the passing waiters. He nods to someone as if he knows them. Greets another is quite fluent Arabic. People in his wake look at each other like "Do you know him?" They shrug, go on with their conversation. Harry moves through the crowd. Scanning. The woman glances up and sees Harry checking her out. There is a frank moment of returned interest. Then the crowd shifts, cutting off their view of each other. He pushes a button and a green light comes on. Fast Faisil is a computer ace. His fingers fly on the keyboard as he types rapid key commands. We see familiar "windows appear". The words are all in Arabic characters. The guard points warily down the corridor. Harry nods and heads that way, back toward the party. He senses someone next to him and turns. It is the WOMAN. She * is captivatingly beautiful, and her gaze is piercing. Harry offers his hand to her. Gib finds the entry he's looking for. Juno's picture and data appear on the screen. Harry glances up the stairs. Khaled's SECURITY CHIEF is gesturing to several of his men, and speaking quickly into a walky. Three SECURITY MEN come down the stairs, scanning the crowd. Harry turns greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. helicopter lands and Juno steps down from the front door. The sliding door is opened and Akbar and the others pull a groggy Harry and Helen out of the aircraft. They are covered by hoods. Malik walks up to them and pulls their hoods off. Harry takes in his surroundings and looks back into the eyes of Malik. Lethal energy flows between them. THREE HUGE STONE FIGURES, lined up in the middle of the space. The tarp is removes from the object they just unloaded, revealing a FOURTH STATUE. The figures are cracked and obscured by centuries, but they are unmistakably warriors mounted on horseback. The legs and arms are missing on some, but the massive heads and necks remain. She approaches the nearest figure, caressing its flank. A man with a jackhammer steps up to her. She shrugs and nods to the man with the jackhammer. He blasts right into the body of one of the Horseman, destroying it. Stone fragments fall away, revealing a cavity cut with great precision inside the figure. Inside is a BRIGHT METAL CONTAINER. Four terrorists pull it out and set it on the ground. It is six feet long and coffin- like. Malik steps up to it, his eyes glistening. A hush has fallen over the group. The latches are released and the lid lifted. Inside is machined metal object, roughly conical, about five feet long. Malik signals to Harry to step closer and look. Malik grabs Helen, jerking her roughly forward. He whips out a knife and inserts the point under Helen's jaw, forcing her head back and drawing blood. Harry steps forward, his face grim. Malik lowers the knife from her jaw. He turns away from her like away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. | Which city have Aziz's men taken over a skyscraper in? | Miami |
The walled perimeter of the house runs along the lake, forming a kind of rampart. There is an opening, to a kind of waterway or canal, which connects to the private docks inside the grounds. There is a steel grating across the opening. The bars disappear down into the thin ice of early winter. With the house visible BG, we CRANE DOWN below the parapet wall along which a guard is a white exposure-suit is walking... down along the dark wall to the grating... TILTING DOWN to see a glow pulsing under the ice. Seem from below, the figure is a black shadow moving against the rippled-glass of the ice above. HARRY TASKER. Our hero. Harry floats with just his eyes above the surface, silent as a water snake, as a guard passes on a footpath nearby. After a few beats Harry slips out of his tanks and fins, letting them sink, and climbs the frozen ladder onto the dock. He moves like a ninja into the shadows of the boathouse. Opening a WATERPROOF BAG, he pulls out a walky talky. Outside, FAST FAISIL, an Iranian-American, finishes making yellow snow and hurries back to the van. They are parked on a winding mountain road a half-mile from the chateau, whose lights are visible through the trees. Faisil jumps in and goes to the eyepiece of a huge telephoto nightvision scope. The eerie green image lurches as he sweeps the grounds, locating the boathouse. Harry slips into his shoulder harness... holster on one side, containing his .45 auto Glock-22, and the transmitter pack for the ear-piece slung on the other. He slips on a formal jacket, concealing the rig. Then a final touch. A little aftershave from a tiny plastic vial. Harry adjusts his bow-tie and strides confidently out of the shadows, crossing quickly to the main house. He looks ultrasharp in his black tux with the white silk cummerbund and his hair slicked back. He enters the main house through a back service entrance. He breezes through unchallenged, exiting into the-- Harry strolls amiably among the glittering woman, the cigar smoking men, casually snagging a glass of champagne and a canape from the passing waiters. He nods to someone as if he knows them. Greets another is quite fluent Arabic. People in his wake look at each other like "Do you know him?" They shrug, go on with their conversation. Harry moves through the crowd. Scanning. The woman glances up and sees Harry checking her out. There is a frank moment of returned interest. Then the crowd shifts, cutting off their view of each other. He pushes a button and a green light comes on. Fast Faisil is a computer ace. His fingers fly on the keyboard as he types rapid key commands. We see familiar "windows appear". The words are all in Arabic characters. The guard points warily down the corridor. Harry nods and heads that way, back toward the party. He senses someone next to him and turns. It is the WOMAN. She * is captivatingly beautiful, and her gaze is piercing. Harry offers his hand to her. Gib finds the entry he's looking for. Juno's picture and data appear on the screen. Harry glances up the stairs. Khaled's SECURITY CHIEF is gesturing to several of his men, and speaking quickly into a walky. Three SECURITY MEN come down the stairs, scanning the crowd. Harry turns greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it is a hypnotic moment. She kisses him, very lightly, with infinite sensuality. Juno is moving in for a more passionate lip-lock when-- BEEP BEEP BEEP!! Harry pulls his beeper off his hip and looks at it. The moment is spoiled. Harry adjusts the passenger side mirror. Gib pulls the car to the curb near the mall entrance. Half a block behind them the station wagon does the same. Harry slips on the virtual-image sunglasses and gets out of the car. Harry lets his hand drop to his side, holding the pack of cigarettes casually. He turns his hand. The tiny lens in the cigarette pack glints. POV VIDEO SCREEN --inside the left lens of the glasses. The camera in the cigarette pack reveals Yusif and Mahmoud getting out of their cars, crossing the street half a block away. HARRY strolls into the mall. It is an open promenade design, with a moderate crowd of shoppers and movie-goers. Harry watches in the glasses as Mahmoud and Yusif slip through the crowd behind him. All Gib can see is a silhouette in the car. A soft cherry glow, the tip of a cigarette in the dark. No features. As he is talking he sees that a bus has blocked his view of the station wagon. Helen hangs up the phone just as Dana strides through the room, putting on a jacket and heading for the front door. We see the hurt in her eyes. She doesn't hate her father. She just misses him. Dana runs out the kitchen by the other door. Helen runs after her. The slamming door is her answer. HARRY'S POV - In the video glasses Harry sees himself and Mahmoud. Yusif comes into | Who poses as part of the camera crew, and helps Dana escape? | Faisal |
The walled perimeter of the house runs along the lake, forming a kind of rampart. There is an opening, to a kind of waterway or canal, which connects to the private docks inside the grounds. There is a steel grating across the opening. The bars disappear down into the thin ice of early winter. With the house visible BG, we CRANE DOWN below the parapet wall along which a guard is a white exposure-suit is walking... down along the dark wall to the grating... TILTING DOWN to see a glow pulsing under the ice. Seem from below, the figure is a black shadow moving against the rippled-glass of the ice above. HARRY TASKER. Our hero. Harry floats with just his eyes above the surface, silent as a water snake, as a guard passes on a footpath nearby. After a few beats Harry slips out of his tanks and fins, letting them sink, and climbs the frozen ladder onto the dock. He moves like a ninja into the shadows of the boathouse. Opening a WATERPROOF BAG, he pulls out a walky talky. Outside, FAST FAISIL, an Iranian-American, finishes making yellow snow and hurries back to the van. They are parked on a winding mountain road a half-mile from the chateau, whose lights are visible through the trees. Faisil jumps in and goes to the eyepiece of a huge telephoto nightvision scope. The eerie green image lurches as he sweeps the grounds, locating the boathouse. Harry slips into his shoulder harness... holster on one side, containing his .45 auto Glock-22, and the transmitter pack for the ear-piece slung on the other. He slips on a formal jacket, concealing the rig. Then a final touch. A little aftershave from a tiny plastic vial. away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. helicopter lands and Juno steps down from the front door. The sliding door is opened and Akbar and the others pull a groggy Harry and Helen out of the aircraft. They are covered by hoods. Malik walks up to them and pulls their hoods off. Harry takes in his surroundings and looks back into the eyes of Malik. Lethal energy flows between them. THREE HUGE STONE FIGURES, lined up in the middle of the space. The tarp is removes from the object they just unloaded, revealing a FOURTH STATUE. The figures are cracked and obscured by centuries, but they are unmistakably warriors mounted on horseback. The legs and arms are missing on some, but the massive heads and necks remain. She approaches the nearest figure, caressing its flank. A man with a jackhammer steps up to her. She shrugs and nods to the man with the jackhammer. He blasts right into the body of one of the Horseman, destroying it. Stone fragments fall away, revealing a cavity cut with great precision inside the figure. Inside is a BRIGHT METAL CONTAINER. Four terrorists pull it out and set it on the ground. It is six feet long and coffin- like. Malik steps up to it, his eyes glistening. A hush has fallen over the group. The latches are released and the lid lifted. Inside is machined metal object, roughly conical, about five feet long. Malik signals to Harry to step closer and look. Malik grabs Helen, jerking her roughly forward. He whips out a knife and inserts the point under Helen's jaw, forcing her head back and drawing blood. Harry steps forward, his face grim. Malik lowers the knife from her jaw. He turns away from her like greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. they crash together on the filthy floor. Harry grabs Yusif's hair and pounds his face repeatedly against the rim of a urinal. In case you haven't noticed, this is a messy, nasty fight. Survival is like that. Yusif sags into submission. Harry pulls a nylon zip-strip out of his pocket and uses it like hand-cuffs, securing Yusif's wrists. Malik hoses the room with the Beretta. The metal stalls are riddled with hits. HARRY is in the stall with the old guy, who's just sitting there. The walls of the stall are pimpling with the hits on the far side. Harry reaches under the stall, retrieving his Glock. MALIK goes empty. Harry hears that and pops out, cranking off rounds-- Malik is a blur going out the door, as Harry's shots shatter tiles on the doorframe. Then silence. Gib tries to hide behind the light-standard, which is about half as wide as he is. Shots hit all around him, shattering window glass behind him. His stomach sticks out from behind the pole. He sucks it in. Now his butt is sticking out on the other side. Shots clang into the steel column, and riddle everything behind him. Gib nods and heads the other way as Harry takes off after Malik. Malik is fast and vicious. He hurls people out of the way, sending shoppers sprawling. Harry is ruthless in his pursuit. They pound through the mall and out onto the street-- He turns and sees a MOTORCYCLIST coming down the street, accelerating from a right-turn. Malik runs at him, clothes- lining him right off the bike. The terrorist picks up the nimble little Kawasaki 250, which is still running, and leaps on. | Which area does the Crimson Jihad want the US military to leave? | The Persian Gulf |
The walled perimeter of the house runs along the lake, forming a kind of rampart. There is an opening, to a kind of waterway or canal, which connects to the private docks inside the grounds. There is a steel grating across the opening. The bars disappear down into the thin ice of early winter. With the house visible BG, we CRANE DOWN below the parapet wall along which a guard is a white exposure-suit is walking... down along the dark wall to the grating... TILTING DOWN to see a glow pulsing under the ice. Seem from below, the figure is a black shadow moving against the rippled-glass of the ice above. HARRY TASKER. Our hero. Harry floats with just his eyes above the surface, silent as a water snake, as a guard passes on a footpath nearby. After a few beats Harry slips out of his tanks and fins, letting them sink, and climbs the frozen ladder onto the dock. He moves like a ninja into the shadows of the boathouse. Opening a WATERPROOF BAG, he pulls out a walky talky. Outside, FAST FAISIL, an Iranian-American, finishes making yellow snow and hurries back to the van. They are parked on a winding mountain road a half-mile from the chateau, whose lights are visible through the trees. Faisil jumps in and goes to the eyepiece of a huge telephoto nightvision scope. The eerie green image lurches as he sweeps the grounds, locating the boathouse. Harry slips into his shoulder harness... holster on one side, containing his .45 auto Glock-22, and the transmitter pack for the ear-piece slung on the other. He slips on a formal jacket, concealing the rig. Then a final touch. A little aftershave from a tiny plastic vial. greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. He is an intense looking MIDDLE-EASTERN MAN in his mid- thirties. Juno stops and looks at Harry. Her smile indicates the possibility of more than just business. His manner is self-effacing. Humble. He doesn't meet her gaze. She nods and they go into the private office. Her jaw clenches but her reaction is surprisingly submissive. Malik slaps her again. Juno bites her lip. She punches a key, engaging a digital scrambler and connecting to-- RING. Harry raises an eyebrow as he answers. Harry hangs up. Gib, checking his watch, has a look like he's got a bad gas pain. Only a few lights are on, rendering the place somewhat Gothic. Harry strolls in the direction the workman pointed. Ahead of him, is the huge facade of a royal tomb. There is a flickering light inside. A shadow moves across the wall in the entryway. He enters the stone doorway of the tomb. FOLLOWING HARRY as he steps into the inner chamber. There is an oil-lamp burning on a stone sarcophagus, the only light. The room appears empty. REVERSE ON HARRY. Behind him a figure emerges from a shadowed alcove. It is Juno. She looks ethereal in the strange light. Harry whips around, startled. Juno turns to him in the flickering half-light. She moves closer. Her eyes seem to glitter. She is very close to him. Her eyes seem to glitter in the light from the oil lamp. She is unbelievably beautiful. Juno presses her cheek against the cold stone. She runs her fingers slowly across the figures. It is strange and erotic. She crosses to Harry. She puts her hands on him and pulls herself close. It helicopter lands and Juno steps down from the front door. The sliding door is opened and Akbar and the others pull a groggy Harry and Helen out of the aircraft. They are covered by hoods. Malik walks up to them and pulls their hoods off. Harry takes in his surroundings and looks back into the eyes of Malik. Lethal energy flows between them. THREE HUGE STONE FIGURES, lined up in the middle of the space. The tarp is removes from the object they just unloaded, revealing a FOURTH STATUE. The figures are cracked and obscured by centuries, but they are unmistakably warriors mounted on horseback. The legs and arms are missing on some, but the massive heads and necks remain. She approaches the nearest figure, caressing its flank. A man with a jackhammer steps up to her. She shrugs and nods to the man with the jackhammer. He blasts right into the body of one of the Horseman, destroying it. Stone fragments fall away, revealing a cavity cut with great precision inside the figure. Inside is a BRIGHT METAL CONTAINER. Four terrorists pull it out and set it on the ground. It is six feet long and coffin- like. Malik steps up to it, his eyes glistening. A hush has fallen over the group. The latches are released and the lid lifted. Inside is machined metal object, roughly conical, about five feet long. Malik signals to Harry to step closer and look. Malik grabs Helen, jerking her roughly forward. He whips out a knife and inserts the point under Helen's jaw, forcing her head back and drawing blood. Harry steps forward, his face grim. Malik lowers the knife from her jaw. He turns away from her like off his tux, and clomps toward the van in his ski-boots. He is completely unruffled. As Faisil is getting into the van behind Harry, TWO GUARD TEAMS ON SNOWMOBILES roar around the bend behind them, fish-tailing on the ice. Faisil OPENS FIRE. One snowmobile swerves over the embankment. The other pulls up broadside, and the guards duck behind it. Gib floors it and the van roars down the mountain. Faisil is still Ramboing on full-auto. Gib starts handing him items from a briefcase. This should all feel like a tired ceremony between them. Gib snows him how is snows when you shake it up and turn it over. Harry opens the car door. Gib holds up Harry's gold wedding band. Harry puts it on. Harry silently opens the door and looks in at his sleeping daughter, DANA. She looks like an angel in the moonlight coming in the window. In fact, she is a typical 14 year old girl, and therefore hardly an angel. But to Harry she is unflawed. As she drifts off, Harry puts his head on the pillow and stares at the ceiling. ON DANA, reaching to the present Harry just gave her. They are in her room, which is your basic room from Hell. Pearl Jam posters, and an unbelievable clutter of junk, magazines and cheap jewelry. Harry kisses her on the cheek, to which she submits dutifully. He looks at his watch and heads for the door. Harry hurries out and Dana considers the Swiss village a moment. She plonks is straight in the wastebasket. Harry crosses the bedroom, hurrying past Helen who is clearly rushing to get ready herself. We get our first good look at Helen. She | Who shipped the statues that contained the warheads? | Juno |
off. Yoww! She puts it on her right hand and turns * the modest diamond palm-side in . . . Out of site. Then, * reading the number off the key, she goes to the room and unlocks the door. She goes into the bedroom. There is a dark figure sitting in a chair, just a silhouette. It is a corner room. The drapes on one side are closed, shadowing the man, but open on the other just enough to let in a slash of moonlight. She steps forward into it. TIGHT CLOSE UP on the figure. We can just make out that it is Harry, though Helen cannot. TILT DOWN to show his hand, out of sight behind the chair-arm, as he manipulates the pause button on the DAT tape deck. Harry goes SSSSHHHH. Silencing her gently. He silently clicks off the PAUSE button. The DAT recorder plays. Charles Boyer, deep and hypnotic, speaks from Harry's outline. Harry lipsynchs. Harry winces. He starts the next line immediately. The ritual continues as she strips slowly (this will be tastefully done). She conceals the bugging device in her hand as she sets her clothes on the bed near the phone. Helen is still concentrating on her mission. She turns. Her skin is beautiful in the silvery light. Helen has no idea what to do, but she improvises quite well. The scrutiny of the shadowed man, who is fully clothed, and her raw vulnerability are a quiveringly powerful erotic combination. TIGHT ON Harry's eyes as he studies her. His game, meant to give her a dangerous fantasy, is actually turning him on mightily. He Harry adjusts his bow-tie and strides confidently out of the shadows, crossing quickly to the main house. He looks ultrasharp in his black tux with the white silk cummerbund and his hair slicked back. He enters the main house through a back service entrance. He breezes through unchallenged, exiting into the-- Harry strolls amiably among the glittering woman, the cigar smoking men, casually snagging a glass of champagne and a canape from the passing waiters. He nods to someone as if he knows them. Greets another is quite fluent Arabic. People in his wake look at each other like "Do you know him?" They shrug, go on with their conversation. Harry moves through the crowd. Scanning. The woman glances up and sees Harry checking her out. There is a frank moment of returned interest. Then the crowd shifts, cutting off their view of each other. He pushes a button and a green light comes on. Fast Faisil is a computer ace. His fingers fly on the keyboard as he types rapid key commands. We see familiar "windows appear". The words are all in Arabic characters. The guard points warily down the corridor. Harry nods and heads that way, back toward the party. He senses someone next to him and turns. It is the WOMAN. She * is captivatingly beautiful, and her gaze is piercing. Harry offers his hand to her. Gib finds the entry he's looking for. Juno's picture and data appear on the screen. Harry glances up the stairs. Khaled's SECURITY CHIEF is gesturing to several of his men, and speaking quickly into a walky. Three SECURITY MEN come down the stairs, scanning the crowd. Harry turns is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. | Which dance do Helen and Harry perform at the party? | Tango |
greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it they crash together on the filthy floor. Harry grabs Yusif's hair and pounds his face repeatedly against the rim of a urinal. In case you haven't noticed, this is a messy, nasty fight. Survival is like that. Yusif sags into submission. Harry pulls a nylon zip-strip out of his pocket and uses it like hand-cuffs, securing Yusif's wrists. Malik hoses the room with the Beretta. The metal stalls are riddled with hits. HARRY is in the stall with the old guy, who's just sitting there. The walls of the stall are pimpling with the hits on the far side. Harry reaches under the stall, retrieving his Glock. MALIK goes empty. Harry hears that and pops out, cranking off rounds-- Malik is a blur going out the door, as Harry's shots shatter tiles on the doorframe. Then silence. Gib tries to hide behind the light-standard, which is about half as wide as he is. Shots hit all around him, shattering window glass behind him. His stomach sticks out from behind the pole. He sucks it in. Now his butt is sticking out on the other side. Shots clang into the steel column, and riddle everything behind him. Gib nods and heads the other way as Harry takes off after Malik. Malik is fast and vicious. He hurls people out of the way, sending shoppers sprawling. Harry is ruthless in his pursuit. They pound through the mall and out onto the street-- He turns and sees a MOTORCYCLIST coming down the street, accelerating from a right-turn. Malik runs at him, clothes- lining him right off the bike. The terrorist picks up the nimble little Kawasaki 250, which is still running, and leaps on. smoothly away from them and takes Juno's arm. He steers her toward the dance floor. She slips a card out of a pocket in her otherwise sheer dress. She hands it to him, maintaining eye contact. Serious sparks. Without turning, Harry slips a small flat box out of his breast pocket. A REMOTE DETONATOR. KABOOM! The second floor office windows blow out in a fiery explosion. Using the diversion, Harry leaps off the terrace before the guard can open fire. TWO DOBERMANS pelt toward Harry, leaping at him in perfect unison. He waits... and knocks their heads together in mid- leap with a crack like a baseball bat. The dogs drop to the snow, wobbling around like they're drunk. As Harry sprints on, ANOTHER DOBERMAN lunges out of the bushes ahead, leaping directly for his throat. Harry grabs the dog and shot-puts him up into a tree without breaking stride. Dog Fu. The dog yelps and scrambles to hold onto an icy branch, looking down in amazement. Harry looks back as TWO GUARDS ON SKIS come out of a guard station beside the main entrance. TRACKING WITH THE SKI-GUARDS, searching through the trees with lights. They have lost Harry. They stop. A snowbank behind them EXPLODES as Harry leaps out. He disables them both with vicious street-fighter moves. Harry looks upslope as-- A service gate opens in the perimeter wall and TEAMS OF SECURITY MEN in white snow-suits pour out, some on skis, some on SNOWMOBILES. A HELICOPTER rises over the wall in a blast of swirling snow. Its xenon lights rake through the trees, casting lurid wheeling shadows on the snow. ON Harry, snapping closed the ski boots he has stolen from the bike as Trent pops the clutch and they shoot down the driveway. Gib and Harry turn onto Pennsylvania Avenue, heading toward Lafayette Square. Capital Hill is behind them. They approach another door, with a (bulletproof) glass window * in it. Beyond is a brightly lit room, with a woman sitting at a desk... and nothing else. Gib presses a buzzer. Harry and Gib step up to the combination retinal-thumbprint- voice scanners. Harry presses his thumb against a black-glass plate for laser scan, and looks into the eye-piece of the retinal scanner. Their clearance appears on a monitor on Janice's desk. She stands to give them plastic I.D. badges which they hang around their necks. He kisses her wetly on the cheek as he goes by. She does not react is any discernible way. They pass through a heavy stainless steel door which opens automatically. Beyond is a kind of airlock... a SALLY PORT. Behind a lexan shield are TWO GUARDS armed with MP5s. They nod but do not speak at Harry and Gib pass them. ANGLE FROM ABOVE as they cross. A huge graphic logo covers the floor. Across the center is says OMEGA SECTOR. In smaller print, around the perimeter, is the motto: "THE LAST LINE OF <b> DEFENSE". </b> They enter a high-tech office space. It is a maze of glass partitions surrounding a central floor-space of cubicles. There is a hushed quality here. People do not joke. They do not hurry. There are a lot of computer screens displaying information from around the world. It looks like a combination of NASA mission control and FBI headquarters. Fast Faisil | What is the task force Harry works for? | The Omega Sector. |
Harry adjusts his bow-tie and strides confidently out of the shadows, crossing quickly to the main house. He looks ultrasharp in his black tux with the white silk cummerbund and his hair slicked back. He enters the main house through a back service entrance. He breezes through unchallenged, exiting into the-- Harry strolls amiably among the glittering woman, the cigar smoking men, casually snagging a glass of champagne and a canape from the passing waiters. He nods to someone as if he knows them. Greets another is quite fluent Arabic. People in his wake look at each other like "Do you know him?" They shrug, go on with their conversation. Harry moves through the crowd. Scanning. The woman glances up and sees Harry checking her out. There is a frank moment of returned interest. Then the crowd shifts, cutting off their view of each other. He pushes a button and a green light comes on. Fast Faisil is a computer ace. His fingers fly on the keyboard as he types rapid key commands. We see familiar "windows appear". The words are all in Arabic characters. The guard points warily down the corridor. Harry nods and heads that way, back toward the party. He senses someone next to him and turns. It is the WOMAN. She * is captivatingly beautiful, and her gaze is piercing. Harry offers his hand to her. Gib finds the entry he's looking for. Juno's picture and data appear on the screen. Harry glances up the stairs. Khaled's SECURITY CHIEF is gesturing to several of his men, and speaking quickly into a walky. Three SECURITY MEN come down the stairs, scanning the crowd. Harry turns is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. He is tender with her. He wishes he can tell her the truth. Helen finds a smile for him somewhere. She really does love him, though more and more often lately she finds her heart in pain. She grins and arches one eyebrow meaningfully. She turns on the stereo. A Kenny G disc she put in there earlier. Soft tenor sax flows around the room. Helen enters the BATHROOM and shuts the door partway. She opens a cupboard and quickly pulls out some things she hid there earlier. A bottle of champagne on ice. Two glasses. Some trashy lingerie. Helen is hurrying to put on the unfamiliar lingerie. G-string panties and low-cut bra. She holds up the garter belt, turning it backward and forward, trying to figure out which way it goes. ON HARRY, yawning. Lying with the ease of years of practice. Helen is pulling up the black stockings. She fastens the garters to the tops. Her features are a scowl of concentration. She is very earnest in her preparations. Red lipstick. Then she puts a little perfume on her wrists. Harry doesn't answer. Helen puts a little perfume down the front of her panties. Helen quickly pours two glasses of champagne. Then she slinks around the doorframe, making her entrance. She looks like a living 900 number. Helen stands before the bed, looking down, holding the champagne glasses. ON HARRY: sprawled on the bed, fully clothed, snoring softly. A little bit of drool is coming out the side of his mouth. HOLD ON HELEN, all dressed up with no place to go. She gazes down at him, her shoulders slumping. She sighs deeply and downs her smoothly away from them and takes Juno's arm. He steers her toward the dance floor. She slips a card out of a pocket in her otherwise sheer dress. She hands it to him, maintaining eye contact. Serious sparks. Without turning, Harry slips a small flat box out of his breast pocket. A REMOTE DETONATOR. KABOOM! The second floor office windows blow out in a fiery explosion. Using the diversion, Harry leaps off the terrace before the guard can open fire. TWO DOBERMANS pelt toward Harry, leaping at him in perfect unison. He waits... and knocks their heads together in mid- leap with a crack like a baseball bat. The dogs drop to the snow, wobbling around like they're drunk. As Harry sprints on, ANOTHER DOBERMAN lunges out of the bushes ahead, leaping directly for his throat. Harry grabs the dog and shot-puts him up into a tree without breaking stride. Dog Fu. The dog yelps and scrambles to hold onto an icy branch, looking down in amazement. Harry looks back as TWO GUARDS ON SKIS come out of a guard station beside the main entrance. TRACKING WITH THE SKI-GUARDS, searching through the trees with lights. They have lost Harry. They stop. A snowbank behind them EXPLODES as Harry leaps out. He disables them both with vicious street-fighter moves. Harry looks upslope as-- A service gate opens in the perimeter wall and TEAMS OF SECURITY MEN in white snow-suits pour out, some on skis, some on SNOWMOBILES. A HELICOPTER rises over the wall in a blast of swirling snow. Its xenon lights rake through the trees, casting lurid wheeling shadows on the snow. ON Harry, snapping closed the ski boots he has stolen from | What does Harry's family think he does? | They think he is a computer salesman. |
is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. is amazed to see her playing the role, getting into it. This is not the Helen is thought he knew for sixteen years. She does. Harry rises and goes to her, bringing the tape deck. He sits on the bed, next to her, but without touching her. He strokes her hair, lovingly. Then runs his fingertips over her eyes, down her cheeks. To her it feels delicate and delicious. Part of her is enjoying this a lot. But Helen is torn between wanting to flee and knowing that nothing the man has done so far is enough to cause her to abort her mission. Harry goes SSSHHH. It's all he can do. He bends over her and brings his lips slowly down to her. He touches them to hers so slowly that she barely knows he is kissing her. Then he takes her in a passionate kiss. And she grabs the lamp on the bedside table and SMASHES IT OVER HIS HEAD. Harry flies off onto the floor, groaning and semiconscious. Helen flips on the light and grabs her clothes, starting to dress rapidly. She still doesn't recognize Harry, who is face down. He groans and starts to rise. She kicks him in the ribs and finishes putting her dress on. She sticks the bug under the night table and grabs her shoes. Mission accomplished, motherfuckers. Harry grabs her ankle. She raises one shoe to kosh him again, and sees who it is. Freezeframe. Total shock. She can't even form the question. Harry is still groggy, and he doesn't want to start anything with Helen there, and risk her getting shot. He acquiesces as they pull him to his are black with murder. A MAN enters the room carrying a small suitcase. He has skull- like features. He opens the suitcase and Harry has a good view of the contents: medical instruments, needle-probes, drills, Dremel tools with saw blades. Samir injects Harry in the arm with the syringe. She kneels down in front of Harry, stroking his leg. Harry's words are beginning to be slightly slurred. The drugs are taking effect. Juno puts her arms around him and kisses him passionately. She breaks, looking at Helen to savor the effect. Helen is trembling with rage. Juno crosses to the guard and takes a hand-grenade off his belt. Then she goes to Helen and places it between her knees. She pushes Helen's knees together to hold the spoon against the grenade then pulls the pin. Juno leaves. Harry looks dopily at Helen. Helen doesn't believe him, and why should she. She looks up * from staring at the grenade, to see that Harry's head has slumped forward. Samir approaches Harry with a long steel needle probe. He holds them up to show Samir. Then he explodes out of the chair-- Breaks the torturer's neck-- Spins him between himself and the guard-- Who then hesitates to fire-- Giving Harry the split second he needs to grab the knife from the table and throw it into the guard's eye, killing him instantly. Helen is flat blown away. Wow. It only took a few seconds for Harry to reverse the situation. Her Harry! He picks up the guard's 9mm pistol and staggers over to her. He kneels down in front of her. Gently he slips his hands between her thighs, getting a grip on helicopter lands and Juno steps down from the front door. The sliding door is opened and Akbar and the others pull a groggy Harry and Helen out of the aircraft. They are covered by hoods. Malik walks up to them and pulls their hoods off. Harry takes in his surroundings and looks back into the eyes of Malik. Lethal energy flows between them. THREE HUGE STONE FIGURES, lined up in the middle of the space. The tarp is removes from the object they just unloaded, revealing a FOURTH STATUE. The figures are cracked and obscured by centuries, but they are unmistakably warriors mounted on horseback. The legs and arms are missing on some, but the massive heads and necks remain. She approaches the nearest figure, caressing its flank. A man with a jackhammer steps up to her. She shrugs and nods to the man with the jackhammer. He blasts right into the body of one of the Horseman, destroying it. Stone fragments fall away, revealing a cavity cut with great precision inside the figure. Inside is a BRIGHT METAL CONTAINER. Four terrorists pull it out and set it on the ground. It is six feet long and coffin- like. Malik steps up to it, his eyes glistening. A hush has fallen over the group. The latches are released and the lid lifted. Inside is machined metal object, roughly conical, about five feet long. Malik signals to Harry to step closer and look. Malik grabs Helen, jerking her roughly forward. He whips out a knife and inserts the point under Helen's jaw, forcing her head back and drawing blood. Harry steps forward, his face grim. Malik lowers the knife from her jaw. He turns away from her like | Who attacks Harry? | Aziz. |
Harry adjusts his bow-tie and strides confidently out of the shadows, crossing quickly to the main house. He looks ultrasharp in his black tux with the white silk cummerbund and his hair slicked back. He enters the main house through a back service entrance. He breezes through unchallenged, exiting into the-- Harry strolls amiably among the glittering woman, the cigar smoking men, casually snagging a glass of champagne and a canape from the passing waiters. He nods to someone as if he knows them. Greets another is quite fluent Arabic. People in his wake look at each other like "Do you know him?" They shrug, go on with their conversation. Harry moves through the crowd. Scanning. The woman glances up and sees Harry checking her out. There is a frank moment of returned interest. Then the crowd shifts, cutting off their view of each other. He pushes a button and a green light comes on. Fast Faisil is a computer ace. His fingers fly on the keyboard as he types rapid key commands. We see familiar "windows appear". The words are all in Arabic characters. The guard points warily down the corridor. Harry nods and heads that way, back toward the party. He senses someone next to him and turns. It is the WOMAN. She * is captivatingly beautiful, and her gaze is piercing. Harry offers his hand to her. Gib finds the entry he's looking for. Juno's picture and data appear on the screen. Harry glances up the stairs. Khaled's SECURITY CHIEF is gesturing to several of his men, and speaking quickly into a walky. Three SECURITY MEN come down the stairs, scanning the crowd. Harry turns is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. side. Gib gets out, his expression blank. He fishes a crumples sheet of paper out of his pocket. Harry grabs it from him, straightening it. As Harry begins to read, we go into FLASHBACK. He jumps back in the car and activates the GPS locator. Helen's purse-blip flashes on the grid map. Harry drives on, ignoring him. Gib grabs his shoulder, shaking him. Harry turns to him. His glare could melt metal. Gib gives a fatalistic shrug. Harry makes the turn, squealing tires. A red-and-white Vette emerges from the darkness and pulls up next to her. Simon motions for her to get in quickly. He pushes her head down onto his lap. She crouches there, with her cheek against his thigh. He's cruising along, loving it. Harry is doing a jaw-clenched slow burn. CUT TO: INFRARED VIEW of the Vette, from the helicopter's FLIR system. The greenish, image-intensified view of the car is like daylight. He takes her inside. He clears a place for her on the bed, shoving clothes and magazines out of the way. She sits down and he tops off her glass from the wine bottle. Simon shoots over and sits next to her, taking her hand. He moves a little closer. Casting his spell. He puts his hand on her knee. She tenses up instantly. He puts his other arm around her shoulders and pulls her slowly into a kiss. This doesn't seem real to Helen. She finds herself not pulling away. He lowers her slowly until they are lying together on the bed. He slides his hand up her thigh. The fingers, stroking in little circles, slips under her skirt. And-- She suddenly EXPLODES, pushing on his chest, | What event has Harry missed at home? | A birthday party. |
is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. side. Gib gets out, his expression blank. He fishes a crumples sheet of paper out of his pocket. Harry grabs it from him, straightening it. As Harry begins to read, we go into FLASHBACK. He jumps back in the car and activates the GPS locator. Helen's purse-blip flashes on the grid map. Harry drives on, ignoring him. Gib grabs his shoulder, shaking him. Harry turns to him. His glare could melt metal. Gib gives a fatalistic shrug. Harry makes the turn, squealing tires. A red-and-white Vette emerges from the darkness and pulls up next to her. Simon motions for her to get in quickly. He pushes her head down onto his lap. She crouches there, with her cheek against his thigh. He's cruising along, loving it. Harry is doing a jaw-clenched slow burn. CUT TO: INFRARED VIEW of the Vette, from the helicopter's FLIR system. The greenish, image-intensified view of the car is like daylight. He takes her inside. He clears a place for her on the bed, shoving clothes and magazines out of the way. She sits down and he tops off her glass from the wine bottle. Simon shoots over and sits next to her, taking her hand. He moves a little closer. Casting his spell. He puts his hand on her knee. She tenses up instantly. He puts his other arm around her shoulders and pulls her slowly into a kiss. This doesn't seem real to Helen. She finds herself not pulling away. He lowers her slowly until they are lying together on the bed. He slides his hand up her thigh. The fingers, stroking in little circles, slips under her skirt. And-- She suddenly EXPLODES, pushing on his chest, He is tender with her. He wishes he can tell her the truth. Helen finds a smile for him somewhere. She really does love him, though more and more often lately she finds her heart in pain. She grins and arches one eyebrow meaningfully. She turns on the stereo. A Kenny G disc she put in there earlier. Soft tenor sax flows around the room. Helen enters the BATHROOM and shuts the door partway. She opens a cupboard and quickly pulls out some things she hid there earlier. A bottle of champagne on ice. Two glasses. Some trashy lingerie. Helen is hurrying to put on the unfamiliar lingerie. G-string panties and low-cut bra. She holds up the garter belt, turning it backward and forward, trying to figure out which way it goes. ON HARRY, yawning. Lying with the ease of years of practice. Helen is pulling up the black stockings. She fastens the garters to the tops. Her features are a scowl of concentration. She is very earnest in her preparations. Red lipstick. Then she puts a little perfume on her wrists. Harry doesn't answer. Helen puts a little perfume down the front of her panties. Helen quickly pours two glasses of champagne. Then she slinks around the doorframe, making her entrance. She looks like a living 900 number. Helen stands before the bed, looking down, holding the champagne glasses. ON HARRY: sprawled on the bed, fully clothed, snoring softly. A little bit of drool is coming out the side of his mouth. HOLD ON HELEN, all dressed up with no place to go. She gazes down at him, her shoulders slumping. She sighs deeply and downs her sees is-- HARRY, browsing among the cars. DOUG turns from the window and bears down on Simon, who sees him coming and speeds up his rap. Doug grabs the phone out of his hand and slams it in the cradle. Simon opens the passenger door and sits Harry inside, then runs around the car. He leaps over the closed door into the driver's seat and starts the car. Simon gives Harry a big grin. Harry returns a knowing chuckle. Ha ha. Simon laughs. Harry laughs. A big lusty, male-bonding kind of laugh. How do you grin warmly while your eyes are so cold? Ask Harry. Simon leans forward, conspiratorially. Unconsciously, Harry's hands clench the wheel tighter. Harry takes a corner too fast. The tires squealing. When Simon is looking, Harry is open and encouraging... they laugh together... then when he looks away Harry goes snake- eyed. He could kill Simon with one punch. He's visualizing his wife getting porked by this guy. They laugh together. Harry's laugh is getting a bit brittle. He speeds up, his knuckles white on the wheel. Now for the big question: HAVE THEY OR HAVEN'T THEY? Simon is bugeyed. But he is non-plussed for only about two seconds. Then he's back to selling. He scrambles out and goes around to Harry, coughing in the cloud of tire smoke. Simon grins and winks. Dana is momentarily puzzled by the reversal of roles. Keeping one eye on the road, Harry riffles through the sheets. He glances at the top of the last couple of sheets. He scowls. Then SUDDENLY SLAMS ON THE BRAKES. The car dives to the curb, bumping one wheel. Harry gets out and charges around to Gib's | Where are Harry and his wife taken? | The Florida Keys. |
off. Yoww! She puts it on her right hand and turns * the modest diamond palm-side in . . . Out of site. Then, * reading the number off the key, she goes to the room and unlocks the door. She goes into the bedroom. There is a dark figure sitting in a chair, just a silhouette. It is a corner room. The drapes on one side are closed, shadowing the man, but open on the other just enough to let in a slash of moonlight. She steps forward into it. TIGHT CLOSE UP on the figure. We can just make out that it is Harry, though Helen cannot. TILT DOWN to show his hand, out of sight behind the chair-arm, as he manipulates the pause button on the DAT tape deck. Harry goes SSSSHHHH. Silencing her gently. He silently clicks off the PAUSE button. The DAT recorder plays. Charles Boyer, deep and hypnotic, speaks from Harry's outline. Harry lipsynchs. Harry winces. He starts the next line immediately. The ritual continues as she strips slowly (this will be tastefully done). She conceals the bugging device in her hand as she sets her clothes on the bed near the phone. Helen is still concentrating on her mission. She turns. Her skin is beautiful in the silvery light. Helen has no idea what to do, but she improvises quite well. The scrutiny of the shadowed man, who is fully clothed, and her raw vulnerability are a quiveringly powerful erotic combination. TIGHT ON Harry's eyes as he studies her. His game, meant to give her a dangerous fantasy, is actually turning him on mightily. He is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. side. Gib gets out, his expression blank. He fishes a crumples sheet of paper out of his pocket. Harry grabs it from him, straightening it. As Harry begins to read, we go into FLASHBACK. He jumps back in the car and activates the GPS locator. Helen's purse-blip flashes on the grid map. Harry drives on, ignoring him. Gib grabs his shoulder, shaking him. Harry turns to him. His glare could melt metal. Gib gives a fatalistic shrug. Harry makes the turn, squealing tires. A red-and-white Vette emerges from the darkness and pulls up next to her. Simon motions for her to get in quickly. He pushes her head down onto his lap. She crouches there, with her cheek against his thigh. He's cruising along, loving it. Harry is doing a jaw-clenched slow burn. CUT TO: INFRARED VIEW of the Vette, from the helicopter's FLIR system. The greenish, image-intensified view of the car is like daylight. He takes her inside. He clears a place for her on the bed, shoving clothes and magazines out of the way. She sits down and he tops off her glass from the wine bottle. Simon shoots over and sits next to her, taking her hand. He moves a little closer. Casting his spell. He puts his hand on her knee. She tenses up instantly. He puts his other arm around her shoulders and pulls her slowly into a kiss. This doesn't seem real to Helen. She finds herself not pulling away. He lowers her slowly until they are lying together on the bed. He slides his hand up her thigh. The fingers, stroking in little circles, slips under her skirt. And-- She suddenly EXPLODES, pushing on his chest, He is tender with her. He wishes he can tell her the truth. Helen finds a smile for him somewhere. She really does love him, though more and more often lately she finds her heart in pain. She grins and arches one eyebrow meaningfully. She turns on the stereo. A Kenny G disc she put in there earlier. Soft tenor sax flows around the room. Helen enters the BATHROOM and shuts the door partway. She opens a cupboard and quickly pulls out some things she hid there earlier. A bottle of champagne on ice. Two glasses. Some trashy lingerie. Helen is hurrying to put on the unfamiliar lingerie. G-string panties and low-cut bra. She holds up the garter belt, turning it backward and forward, trying to figure out which way it goes. ON HARRY, yawning. Lying with the ease of years of practice. Helen is pulling up the black stockings. She fastens the garters to the tops. Her features are a scowl of concentration. She is very earnest in her preparations. Red lipstick. Then she puts a little perfume on her wrists. Harry doesn't answer. Helen puts a little perfume down the front of her panties. Helen quickly pours two glasses of champagne. Then she slinks around the doorframe, making her entrance. She looks like a living 900 number. Helen stands before the bed, looking down, holding the champagne glasses. ON HARRY: sprawled on the bed, fully clothed, snoring softly. A little bit of drool is coming out the side of his mouth. HOLD ON HELEN, all dressed up with no place to go. She gazes down at him, her shoulders slumping. She sighs deeply and downs her | Why does Harry reveal his secret life? | He is given a truth serum. |
is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. side. Gib gets out, his expression blank. He fishes a crumples sheet of paper out of his pocket. Harry grabs it from him, straightening it. As Harry begins to read, we go into FLASHBACK. He jumps back in the car and activates the GPS locator. Helen's purse-blip flashes on the grid map. Harry drives on, ignoring him. Gib grabs his shoulder, shaking him. Harry turns to him. His glare could melt metal. Gib gives a fatalistic shrug. Harry makes the turn, squealing tires. A red-and-white Vette emerges from the darkness and pulls up next to her. Simon motions for her to get in quickly. He pushes her head down onto his lap. She crouches there, with her cheek against his thigh. He's cruising along, loving it. Harry is doing a jaw-clenched slow burn. CUT TO: INFRARED VIEW of the Vette, from the helicopter's FLIR system. The greenish, image-intensified view of the car is like daylight. He takes her inside. He clears a place for her on the bed, shoving clothes and magazines out of the way. She sits down and he tops off her glass from the wine bottle. Simon shoots over and sits next to her, taking her hand. He moves a little closer. Casting his spell. He puts his hand on her knee. She tenses up instantly. He puts his other arm around her shoulders and pulls her slowly into a kiss. This doesn't seem real to Helen. She finds herself not pulling away. He lowers her slowly until they are lying together on the bed. He slides his hand up her thigh. The fingers, stroking in little circles, slips under her skirt. And-- She suddenly EXPLODES, pushing on his chest, off his tux, and clomps toward the van in his ski-boots. He is completely unruffled. As Faisil is getting into the van behind Harry, TWO GUARD TEAMS ON SNOWMOBILES roar around the bend behind them, fish-tailing on the ice. Faisil OPENS FIRE. One snowmobile swerves over the embankment. The other pulls up broadside, and the guards duck behind it. Gib floors it and the van roars down the mountain. Faisil is still Ramboing on full-auto. Gib starts handing him items from a briefcase. This should all feel like a tired ceremony between them. Gib snows him how is snows when you shake it up and turn it over. Harry opens the car door. Gib holds up Harry's gold wedding band. Harry puts it on. Harry silently opens the door and looks in at his sleeping daughter, DANA. She looks like an angel in the moonlight coming in the window. In fact, she is a typical 14 year old girl, and therefore hardly an angel. But to Harry she is unflawed. As she drifts off, Harry puts his head on the pillow and stares at the ceiling. ON DANA, reaching to the present Harry just gave her. They are in her room, which is your basic room from Hell. Pearl Jam posters, and an unbelievable clutter of junk, magazines and cheap jewelry. Harry kisses her on the cheek, to which she submits dutifully. He looks at his watch and heads for the door. Harry hurries out and Dana considers the Swiss village a moment. She plonks is straight in the wastebasket. Harry crosses the bedroom, hurrying past Helen who is clearly rushing to get ready herself. We get our first good look at Helen. She is amazed to see her playing the role, getting into it. This is not the Helen is thought he knew for sixteen years. She does. Harry rises and goes to her, bringing the tape deck. He sits on the bed, next to her, but without touching her. He strokes her hair, lovingly. Then runs his fingertips over her eyes, down her cheeks. To her it feels delicate and delicious. Part of her is enjoying this a lot. But Helen is torn between wanting to flee and knowing that nothing the man has done so far is enough to cause her to abort her mission. Harry goes SSSHHH. It's all he can do. He bends over her and brings his lips slowly down to her. He touches them to hers so slowly that she barely knows he is kissing her. Then he takes her in a passionate kiss. And she grabs the lamp on the bedside table and SMASHES IT OVER HIS HEAD. Harry flies off onto the floor, groaning and semiconscious. Helen flips on the light and grabs her clothes, starting to dress rapidly. She still doesn't recognize Harry, who is face down. He groans and starts to rise. She kicks him in the ribs and finishes putting her dress on. She sticks the bug under the night table and grabs her shoes. Mission accomplished, motherfuckers. Harry grabs her ankle. She raises one shoe to kosh him again, and sees who it is. Freezeframe. Total shock. She can't even form the question. Harry is still groggy, and he doesn't want to start anything with Helen there, and risk her getting shot. He acquiesces as they pull him to his | Who rescues Harry? | The Omega agents. |
He is an intense looking MIDDLE-EASTERN MAN in his mid- thirties. Juno stops and looks at Harry. Her smile indicates the possibility of more than just business. His manner is self-effacing. Humble. He doesn't meet her gaze. She nods and they go into the private office. Her jaw clenches but her reaction is surprisingly submissive. Malik slaps her again. Juno bites her lip. She punches a key, engaging a digital scrambler and connecting to-- RING. Harry raises an eyebrow as he answers. Harry hangs up. Gib, checking his watch, has a look like he's got a bad gas pain. Only a few lights are on, rendering the place somewhat Gothic. Harry strolls in the direction the workman pointed. Ahead of him, is the huge facade of a royal tomb. There is a flickering light inside. A shadow moves across the wall in the entryway. He enters the stone doorway of the tomb. FOLLOWING HARRY as he steps into the inner chamber. There is an oil-lamp burning on a stone sarcophagus, the only light. The room appears empty. REVERSE ON HARRY. Behind him a figure emerges from a shadowed alcove. It is Juno. She looks ethereal in the strange light. Harry whips around, startled. Juno turns to him in the flickering half-light. She moves closer. Her eyes seem to glitter. She is very close to him. Her eyes seem to glitter in the light from the oil lamp. She is unbelievably beautiful. Juno presses her cheek against the cold stone. She runs her fingers slowly across the figures. It is strange and erotic. She crosses to Harry. She puts her hands on him and pulls herself close. It Harry adjusts his bow-tie and strides confidently out of the shadows, crossing quickly to the main house. He looks ultrasharp in his black tux with the white silk cummerbund and his hair slicked back. He enters the main house through a back service entrance. He breezes through unchallenged, exiting into the-- Harry strolls amiably among the glittering woman, the cigar smoking men, casually snagging a glass of champagne and a canape from the passing waiters. He nods to someone as if he knows them. Greets another is quite fluent Arabic. People in his wake look at each other like "Do you know him?" They shrug, go on with their conversation. Harry moves through the crowd. Scanning. The woman glances up and sees Harry checking her out. There is a frank moment of returned interest. Then the crowd shifts, cutting off their view of each other. He pushes a button and a green light comes on. Fast Faisil is a computer ace. His fingers fly on the keyboard as he types rapid key commands. We see familiar "windows appear". The words are all in Arabic characters. The guard points warily down the corridor. Harry nods and heads that way, back toward the party. He senses someone next to him and turns. It is the WOMAN. She * is captivatingly beautiful, and her gaze is piercing. Harry offers his hand to her. Gib finds the entry he's looking for. Juno's picture and data appear on the screen. Harry glances up the stairs. Khaled's SECURITY CHIEF is gesturing to several of his men, and speaking quickly into a walky. Three SECURITY MEN come down the stairs, scanning the crowd. Harry turns away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. helicopter lands and Juno steps down from the front door. The sliding door is opened and Akbar and the others pull a groggy Harry and Helen out of the aircraft. They are covered by hoods. Malik walks up to them and pulls their hoods off. Harry takes in his surroundings and looks back into the eyes of Malik. Lethal energy flows between them. THREE HUGE STONE FIGURES, lined up in the middle of the space. The tarp is removes from the object they just unloaded, revealing a FOURTH STATUE. The figures are cracked and obscured by centuries, but they are unmistakably warriors mounted on horseback. The legs and arms are missing on some, but the massive heads and necks remain. She approaches the nearest figure, caressing its flank. A man with a jackhammer steps up to her. She shrugs and nods to the man with the jackhammer. He blasts right into the body of one of the Horseman, destroying it. Stone fragments fall away, revealing a cavity cut with great precision inside the figure. Inside is a BRIGHT METAL CONTAINER. Four terrorists pull it out and set it on the ground. It is six feet long and coffin- like. Malik steps up to it, his eyes glistening. A hush has fallen over the group. The latches are released and the lid lifted. Inside is machined metal object, roughly conical, about five feet long. Malik signals to Harry to step closer and look. Malik grabs Helen, jerking her roughly forward. He whips out a knife and inserts the point under Helen's jaw, forcing her head back and drawing blood. Harry steps forward, his face grim. Malik lowers the knife from her jaw. He turns away from her like greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. | Who else has Aziz kidnapped? | Dana. |
is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it away. Malik is inside, punching a button. He glances up and sees Harry. There eyes meet for a moment, just before Malik's car ascends rapidly. Malik's malevolent glare is etched on Harry's retinas. The older couple is jammed against the side-wall by Harry's panting, snorting horse. It clomps around the tight elevator. The woman is trying to crawl between her husband and the wall. The man nods mutely and complies. Their elevator takes off, rising after Malik's. The porter points at the elevators. The older woman is still just staring, trying not to breathe. The horse flicks her in the face with his tail. Harry is out of control now, seeing the guy setting away. He wheels his mount and charges across the roof to get some running space. Then he turns again, back toward the edge Malik jumped from. He kicks the horse's flanks and yells HAAHH!! The horse's hoofs thunder on the roof as they go full tilt toward the edge. But a horse is not a motorcycle. It is slightly smarter. It slams its front hoofs down together, stopping suddenly. Harry goes right over its head. He flies forward, almost going right off the roof. He slams to the edge, with his legs dangling over, holding onto a piece of pipe with one hand. His Glock tumbles down into darkness. Harry sees Malik far below, climb out of the pool, running to the roof door of the other building. Getting away. Harry clambers up onto his own roof, breathing hard. He walks over to the horse. He looks into the horse's innocent brown eyes. Pats its neck fondly. He goes to her and puts his arms around her. greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. off his tux, and clomps toward the van in his ski-boots. He is completely unruffled. As Faisil is getting into the van behind Harry, TWO GUARD TEAMS ON SNOWMOBILES roar around the bend behind them, fish-tailing on the ice. Faisil OPENS FIRE. One snowmobile swerves over the embankment. The other pulls up broadside, and the guards duck behind it. Gib floors it and the van roars down the mountain. Faisil is still Ramboing on full-auto. Gib starts handing him items from a briefcase. This should all feel like a tired ceremony between them. Gib snows him how is snows when you shake it up and turn it over. Harry opens the car door. Gib holds up Harry's gold wedding band. Harry puts it on. Harry silently opens the door and looks in at his sleeping daughter, DANA. She looks like an angel in the moonlight coming in the window. In fact, she is a typical 14 year old girl, and therefore hardly an angel. But to Harry she is unflawed. As she drifts off, Harry puts his head on the pillow and stares at the ceiling. ON DANA, reaching to the present Harry just gave her. They are in her room, which is your basic room from Hell. Pearl Jam posters, and an unbelievable clutter of junk, magazines and cheap jewelry. Harry kisses her on the cheek, to which she submits dutifully. He looks at his watch and heads for the door. Harry hurries out and Dana considers the Swiss village a moment. She plonks is straight in the wastebasket. Harry crosses the bedroom, hurrying past Helen who is clearly rushing to get ready herself. We get our first good look at Helen. She sees is-- HARRY, browsing among the cars. DOUG turns from the window and bears down on Simon, who sees him coming and speeds up his rap. Doug grabs the phone out of his hand and slams it in the cradle. Simon opens the passenger door and sits Harry inside, then runs around the car. He leaps over the closed door into the driver's seat and starts the car. Simon gives Harry a big grin. Harry returns a knowing chuckle. Ha ha. Simon laughs. Harry laughs. A big lusty, male-bonding kind of laugh. How do you grin warmly while your eyes are so cold? Ask Harry. Simon leans forward, conspiratorially. Unconsciously, Harry's hands clench the wheel tighter. Harry takes a corner too fast. The tires squealing. When Simon is looking, Harry is open and encouraging... they laugh together... then when he looks away Harry goes snake- eyed. He could kill Simon with one punch. He's visualizing his wife getting porked by this guy. They laugh together. Harry's laugh is getting a bit brittle. He speeds up, his knuckles white on the wheel. Now for the big question: HAVE THEY OR HAVEN'T THEY? Simon is bugeyed. But he is non-plussed for only about two seconds. Then he's back to selling. He scrambles out and goes around to Harry, coughing in the cloud of tire smoke. Simon grins and winks. Dana is momentarily puzzled by the reversal of roles. Keeping one eye on the road, Harry riffles through the sheets. He glances at the top of the last couple of sheets. He scowls. Then SUDDENLY SLAMS ON THE BRAKES. The car dives to the curb, bumping one wheel. Harry gets out and charges around to Gib's | How does Harry reach the skyscraper? | By jet. |
He is an intense looking MIDDLE-EASTERN MAN in his mid- thirties. Juno stops and looks at Harry. Her smile indicates the possibility of more than just business. His manner is self-effacing. Humble. He doesn't meet her gaze. She nods and they go into the private office. Her jaw clenches but her reaction is surprisingly submissive. Malik slaps her again. Juno bites her lip. She punches a key, engaging a digital scrambler and connecting to-- RING. Harry raises an eyebrow as he answers. Harry hangs up. Gib, checking his watch, has a look like he's got a bad gas pain. Only a few lights are on, rendering the place somewhat Gothic. Harry strolls in the direction the workman pointed. Ahead of him, is the huge facade of a royal tomb. There is a flickering light inside. A shadow moves across the wall in the entryway. He enters the stone doorway of the tomb. FOLLOWING HARRY as he steps into the inner chamber. There is an oil-lamp burning on a stone sarcophagus, the only light. The room appears empty. REVERSE ON HARRY. Behind him a figure emerges from a shadowed alcove. It is Juno. She looks ethereal in the strange light. Harry whips around, startled. Juno turns to him in the flickering half-light. She moves closer. Her eyes seem to glitter. She is very close to him. Her eyes seem to glitter in the light from the oil lamp. She is unbelievably beautiful. Juno presses her cheek against the cold stone. She runs her fingers slowly across the figures. It is strange and erotic. She crosses to Harry. She puts her hands on him and pulls herself close. It The walled perimeter of the house runs along the lake, forming a kind of rampart. There is an opening, to a kind of waterway or canal, which connects to the private docks inside the grounds. There is a steel grating across the opening. The bars disappear down into the thin ice of early winter. With the house visible BG, we CRANE DOWN below the parapet wall along which a guard is a white exposure-suit is walking... down along the dark wall to the grating... TILTING DOWN to see a glow pulsing under the ice. Seem from below, the figure is a black shadow moving against the rippled-glass of the ice above. HARRY TASKER. Our hero. Harry floats with just his eyes above the surface, silent as a water snake, as a guard passes on a footpath nearby. After a few beats Harry slips out of his tanks and fins, letting them sink, and climbs the frozen ladder onto the dock. He moves like a ninja into the shadows of the boathouse. Opening a WATERPROOF BAG, he pulls out a walky talky. Outside, FAST FAISIL, an Iranian-American, finishes making yellow snow and hurries back to the van. They are parked on a winding mountain road a half-mile from the chateau, whose lights are visible through the trees. Faisil jumps in and goes to the eyepiece of a huge telephoto nightvision scope. The eerie green image lurches as he sweeps the grounds, locating the boathouse. Harry slips into his shoulder harness... holster on one side, containing his .45 auto Glock-22, and the transmitter pack for the ear-piece slung on the other. He slips on a formal jacket, concealing the rig. Then a final touch. A little aftershave from a tiny plastic vial. Harry adjusts his bow-tie and strides confidently out of the shadows, crossing quickly to the main house. He looks ultrasharp in his black tux with the white silk cummerbund and his hair slicked back. He enters the main house through a back service entrance. He breezes through unchallenged, exiting into the-- Harry strolls amiably among the glittering woman, the cigar smoking men, casually snagging a glass of champagne and a canape from the passing waiters. He nods to someone as if he knows them. Greets another is quite fluent Arabic. People in his wake look at each other like "Do you know him?" They shrug, go on with their conversation. Harry moves through the crowd. Scanning. The woman glances up and sees Harry checking her out. There is a frank moment of returned interest. Then the crowd shifts, cutting off their view of each other. He pushes a button and a green light comes on. Fast Faisil is a computer ace. His fingers fly on the keyboard as he types rapid key commands. We see familiar "windows appear". The words are all in Arabic characters. The guard points warily down the corridor. Harry nods and heads that way, back toward the party. He senses someone next to him and turns. It is the WOMAN. She * is captivatingly beautiful, and her gaze is piercing. Harry offers his hand to her. Gib finds the entry he's looking for. Juno's picture and data appear on the screen. Harry glances up the stairs. Khaled's SECURITY CHIEF is gesturing to several of his men, and speaking quickly into a walky. Three SECURITY MEN come down the stairs, scanning the crowd. Harry turns is not just some chump that she has to put up with. This is her father. He is a part of her. No matter what happens they are in this thing together. Tears start to run down her cheeks. She grabs his in a fierce hug. Harry closes his eyes, letting the moment purify him. She pulls back, suddenly wary. Oh shit. They crack up after the long sustain. They are both suffused with a glow of rediscovery. Harry pulls the car to the curb in front of Dana's school. Helen watches her go. That's strange. Harry smiles, reaching for more chicken. The phone RINGS. Helen controls the urge to run to it. Harry smirks, listening to her lie. She's good. The smirk drops as she turns. She walks unhurriedly out of the room. Behind her back, Harry is grinning. The second Helen is out of his sight line, she runs up the stairs. Harry waits a moment then picks up the phone. Gib looks over at a SOUND RECORDING BOOTH nearby. In it a FAT * FRENCH AGENT, JEAN-CLAUDE is doing voice recording from a hand- * written page. The man nods. Saying nothing, he reaches under the counter and hands her the envelope. She opens it as she walks across the lobby. In contains a room key, a small bugging device, and a phone number. Now she doesn't look hot and elegant... just hot. She practices a slinky walk, getting into the role. Suddenly she remembers her wedding ring. She pulls on it. It probably hasn't been off in years. She licks her finger and * twists it greets them, yawning, as they pass his partitioned cubicle. Faisil gulps his coffee and hurries after them. He hits a button and a photo of Khaled fills a wall-screen. Faisil hits some buttons and a second screen lights up with the data for their raid. Helen's nerdy boss BRAD, comes up behind her, scowling. They both crack up at that one. The following will play as they wind their way through the rows * of data-analysis workstations. Gib starts tangoing with an imaginary partner. Harry picks up his porkchop and goes out the back door. Dana studies something really fascinating at the end of a fingernail. INSIDE, Gib is at the wheel in a chauffeur's uniform. He talks to Harry, riding in the back, without turning. Harry is extending his business card to the receptionist as Juno breezes into the lobby from a corridor. She is dressed sharply and looks as stunning as Harry remembers. Juno lingers a second or so long on the handshake. There is definitely unholy magnetism here. She indicates for Harry to walk with her and leads him through the suite of offices. There are mounted fragments of ancient sculpture in niches on either side, and beautifully restored mosaics and tablets of hieroglyphics mounted on the walls. Juno leads Harry through a door into a large warehouse area. There is a bustle of activity as workmen unpack crates. An overhead crane is used to move huge stone pieces. There are massive columns, and statues two stories high. Even the entire facade of a tomb. They stroll amongst the statues, as coveralled workmen move around them with tools, scaffolding, pneumatic equipment. Most of the workers are middle-eastern. We realize that A WORKMAN is watching them intently from nearby. | Who later becomes an Omega agent? | Helen. |
quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh Fate has with my father fought, Now the mere mouth-piece of its victory Oh, shall not I, the champions' sword laid down, Be yet more shamed to wear the teacher's gown, And, blushing at the part I had to play, Down where that honour'd head I was to lay By this more just submission of my own, The treason Fate has forced on me atone? KING. Oh, Segismund, in whom I see indeed, Out of the ashes of my self-extinction A better self revive; if not beneath Your feet, beneath your better wisdom bow'd, The Sovereignty of Poland I resign, With this its golden symbol; which if thus Saved with its silver head inviolate, Shall nevermore be subject to decline; But when the head that it alights on now Falls honour'd by the very foe that must, As all things mortal, lay it in the dust, Shall star-like shift to his successor's brow. (Shouts, trumpets, etc. God save King Segismund!) SEG. For what remains-- As for my own, so for my people's peace, Astolfo's and Estrella's plighted hands I disunite, and taking hers to mine, His to one yet more dearly his resign. (Shouts, etc. God save Estrella, Queen of Poland!) SEG (to Clotaldo). You That with unflinching duty to your King, Till countermanded by the mightier Power, Have held your Prince a captive in the tower, Henceforth as strictly guard him on the throne No less my people's keeper than my own. You stare upon me all, amazed to hear The word of civil justice from such lips As never yet seem'd tuned to such discourse. But listen--In that same enchanted tower, Not long ago I learn'd it from a dream Expounded by this ancient prophet here; And which he told me, should it come again, How I should in that heavenly face, That now I know for having over-ruled Those evil ones that darken'd all my past And brought me forth from that captivity To be the slave of her who set me free. EST. Indeed, my Lord, these eyes have no such power Over the past or present: but perhaps They brighten at your welcome to supply The little that a lady's speech commends; And in the hope that, let whichever be The other's subject, we may both be friends. SEG. Your hand to that--But why does this warm hand Shoot a cold shudder through me? EST. In revenge For likening me to that cold moon, perhaps. SEG. Oh, but the lip whose music tells me so Breathes of a warmer planet, and that lip Shall remedy the treason of the hand! (He catches to embrace her.) EST. Release me, sir! CHAMB. And pardon me, my Lord. This lady is a Princess absolute, As Prince he is who just saluted you, And claims her by affiance. SEG. Hence, old fool, For ever thrusting that white stick of yours Between me and my pleasure! AST. This cause is mine. Forbear, sir-- SEG. What, sir mouth-piece, you again? AST. My Lord, I waive your insult to myself In recognition of the dignity You yet are new to, and that greater still You look in time to wear. But for this lady-- Whom, if my cousin now, I hope to claim Henceforth by yet a nearer, dearer name-- SEG. And what care I? She is my cousin too: And if you be a Prince--well, am not I Lord of the very soil you stand upon? By that, and by that right beside of blood That like a fiery fountain hitherto Pent in the rock leaps toward her at her touch, the rest to heaven. KING. Whose written words If I should misinterpret or transgress! But as you say-- (To the Lord, who exit.) You, back to him at once; Clotaldo, you, when he is somewhat used To the new world of which they call him Prince, Where place and face, and all, is strange to him, With your known features and familiar garb Shall then, as chorus to the scene, accost him, And by such earnest of that old and too Familiar world, assure him of the new. Last in the strange procession, I myself Will by one full and last development Complete the plot for that catastrophe That he must put to all; God grant it be The crown of Poland on his brows!--Hark! hark!-- Was that his voice within!--Now louder--Oh, Clotaldo, what! so soon begun to roar!-- Again! above the music--But betide What may, until the moment, we must hide. (Exeunt King and Clotaldo.) (He has seated himself on the throne. Enter Chamberlain, with lords in waiting.) CHAMB. I rejoice That unadvised of any but the voice Of royal instinct in the blood, your Highness Has ta'en the chair that you were born to fill. SEG. The chair? CHAMB. The royal throne of Poland, Sir, Which may your Royal Highness keep as long As he that now rules from it shall have ruled When heaven has call'd him to itself. SEG. When he?-- CHAMB. Your royal father, King Basilio, Sir. SEG. My royal father--King Basilio. You see I answer but as Echo does, Not knowing what she listens or repeats. This is my throne--this is my palace--Oh, But this out of the window?-- CHAMB. Warsaw, Sir, Your capital-- SEG. And all the moving people? CHAMB. Your subjects and your vassals like ourselves. SEG. Ay, ay--my subjects--in my capital-- royal welcome that arose and blew, Breathed from no lying lips, along with it. For here Clotaldo comes, his own old self, Who, if not Lie and phantom with the rest-- (Aloud) Well, then, all this is thus. For have not these fine people told me so, And you, Clotaldo, sworn it? And the Why And Wherefore are to follow by and bye! And yet--and yet--why wait for that which you Who take your oath on it can answer--and Indeed it presses hard upon my brain-- What I was asking of these gentlemen When you came in upon us; how it is That I--the Segismund you know so long No longer than the sun that rose to-day Rose--and from what you know-- Rose to be Prince of Poland? CLO. So to be Acknowledged and entreated, Sir. SEG. So be Acknowledged and entreated-- Well--But if now by all, by some at least So known--if not entreated--heretofore-- Though not by you--For, now I think again, Of what should be your attestation worth, You that of all my questionable subjects Who knowing what, yet left me where I was, You least of all, Clotaldo, till the dawn Of this first day that told it to myself? CLO. Oh, let your Highness draw the line across Fore-written sorrow, and in this new dawn Bury that long sad night. SEG. Not ev'n the Dead, Call'd to the resurrection of the blest, Shall so directly drop all memory Of woes and wrongs foregone! CLO. But not resent-- Purged by the trial of that sorrow past For full fruition of their present bliss. SEG. But leaving with the Judge what, till this earth Be cancell'd in the burning heavens, He leaves His earthly delegates to execute, Of retribution in reward to them And woe to those who | What name does Rosaura give herself when she goes to Court? | Astraea. |
That stare on this unnatural sight aghast, Listen to one who, Heaven-inspired to do What in its secret wisdom Heaven forecast, By that same Heaven instructed prophet-wise To justify the present in the past. What in the sapphire volume of the skies Is writ by God's own finger misleads none, But him whose vain and misinstructed eyes, They mock with misinterpretation, Or who, mistaking what he rightly read, Ill commentary makes, or misapplies Thinking to shirk or thwart it. Which has done The wisdom of this venerable head; Who, well provided with the secret key To that gold alphabet, himself made me, Himself, I say, the savage he fore-read Fate somehow should be charged with; nipp'd the growth Of better nature in constraint and sloth, That only bring to bear the seed of wrong And turn'd the stream to fury whose out-burst Had kept his lawful channel uncoerced, And fertilized the land he flow'd along. Then like to some unskilful duellist, Who having over-reached himself pushing too hard His foe, or but a moment off his guard-- What odds, when Fate is one's antagonist!-- Nay, more, this royal father, self-dismay'd At having Fate against himself array'd, Upon himself the very sword he knew Should wound him, down upon his bosom drew, That might well handled, well have wrought; or, kept Undrawn, have harmless in the scabbard slept. But Fate shall not by human force be broke, Nor foil'd by human feint; the Secret learn'd Against the scholar by that master turn'd Who to himself reserves the master-stroke. Witness whereof this venerable Age, Thrice crown'd as Sire, and Sovereign, and Sage, Down to the very dust dishonour'd by The very means he tempted to defy The irresistible. And shall not I, Till now the mere dumb instrument that wrought The battle chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him--how I know not--whither scarce I understand--dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you--and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly-- However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery-- SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects--Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me--elsewhere?-- CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh mysterious girdle round his waist, Just when my rage was roaring at its height, And after which it all was dark again, Bid me beware lest all should be a dream. CLO. Ay--there another specialty of dreams, That once the dreamer 'gins to dream he dreams, His foot is on the very verge of waking. SEG. Would it had been upon the verge of death That knows no waking-- Lifting me up to glory, to fall back, Stunn'd, crippled--wretcheder than ev'n before. CLO. Yet not so glorious, Segismund, if you Your visionary honour wore so ill As to work murder and revenge on those Who meant you well. SEG. Who meant me!--me! their Prince Chain'd like a felon-- CLO. Stay, stay--Not so fast, You dream'd the Prince, remember. SEG. Then in dream Revenged it only. CLO. True. But as they say Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul Yet uncorrected of the higher Will, So that men sometimes in their dreams confess An unsuspected, or forgotten, self; One must beware to check--ay, if one may, Stifle ere born, such passion in ourselves As makes, we see, such havoc with our sleep, And ill reacts upon the waking day. And, by the bye, for one test, Segismund, Between such swearable realities-- Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin In missing each that salutary rein Of reason, and the guiding will of man: One test, I think, of waking sanity Shall be that conscious power of self-control, To curb all passion, but much most of all That evil and vindictive, that ill squares With human, and with holy canon less, Which bids us pardon ev'n our enemies, And much more those who, out of no ill will, Mistakenly have taken up the rod Which heaven, they think, has put into their hands. tell me here of--how in spite of them, I was enlarged to all that glory. CLO. Ay, By the false spirits' nice contrivance thus A little truth oft leavens all the false, The better to delude us. SEG. For you know 'Tis nothing but a dream? CLO. Nay, you yourself Know best how lately you awoke from that You know you went to sleep on?-- Why, have you never dreamt the like before? SEG. Never, to such reality. CLO. Such dreams Are oftentimes the sleeping exhalations Of that ambition that lies smouldering Under the ashes of the lowest fortune; By which, when reason slumbers, or has lost The reins of sensible comparison, We fly at something higher than we are-- Scarce ever dive to lower--to be kings, Or conquerors, crown'd with laurel or with gold, Nay, mounting heaven itself on eagle wings. Which, by the way, now that I think of it, May furnish us the key to this high flight That royal Eagle we were watching, and Talking of as you went to sleep last night. SEG. Last night? Last night? CLO. Ay, do you not remember Envying his immunity of flight, As, rising from his throne of rock, he sail'd Above the mountains far into the West, That burn'd about him, while with poising wings He darkled in it as a burning brand Is seen to smoulder in the fire it feeds? SEG. Last night--last night--Oh, what a day was that Between that last night and this sad To-day! CLO. And yet, perhaps, Only some few dark moments, into which Imagination, once lit up within And unconditional of time and space, Can pour infinities. SEG. And I remember How the old man they call'd the King, who wore The crown of gold about his silver hair, And a | What may Rousara possibly be representing? | The return of a Golden Age. |
That stare on this unnatural sight aghast, Listen to one who, Heaven-inspired to do What in its secret wisdom Heaven forecast, By that same Heaven instructed prophet-wise To justify the present in the past. What in the sapphire volume of the skies Is writ by God's own finger misleads none, But him whose vain and misinstructed eyes, They mock with misinterpretation, Or who, mistaking what he rightly read, Ill commentary makes, or misapplies Thinking to shirk or thwart it. Which has done The wisdom of this venerable head; Who, well provided with the secret key To that gold alphabet, himself made me, Himself, I say, the savage he fore-read Fate somehow should be charged with; nipp'd the growth Of better nature in constraint and sloth, That only bring to bear the seed of wrong And turn'd the stream to fury whose out-burst Had kept his lawful channel uncoerced, And fertilized the land he flow'd along. Then like to some unskilful duellist, Who having over-reached himself pushing too hard His foe, or but a moment off his guard-- What odds, when Fate is one's antagonist!-- Nay, more, this royal father, self-dismay'd At having Fate against himself array'd, Upon himself the very sword he knew Should wound him, down upon his bosom drew, That might well handled, well have wrought; or, kept Undrawn, have harmless in the scabbard slept. But Fate shall not by human force be broke, Nor foil'd by human feint; the Secret learn'd Against the scholar by that master turn'd Who to himself reserves the master-stroke. Witness whereof this venerable Age, Thrice crown'd as Sire, and Sovereign, and Sage, Down to the very dust dishonour'd by The very means he tempted to defy The irresistible. And shall not I, Till now the mere dumb instrument that wrought The battle By Pedro Calderon De La Barca Translated by Edward Fitzgerald Pedro Calderon de la Barca was born in Madrid, January 17, 1600, of good family. He was educated at the Jesuit College in Madrid and at the University of Salamanca; and a doubtful tradition says that he began to write plays at the age of thirteen. His literary activity was interrupted for ten years, 1625-1635, by military service in Italy and the Low Countries, and again for a year or more in Catalonia. In 1637 he became a Knight of the Order of Santiago, and in 1651 he entered the priesthood, rising to the dignity of Superior of the Brotherhood of San Pedro in Madrid. He held various offices in the court of Philip IV, who rewarded his services with pensions, and had his plays produced with great splendor. He died May 5, 1681. At the time when Calderon began to compose for the stage, the Spanish drama was at its height. Lope de Vega, the most prolific and, with Calderon, the greatest, of Spanish dramatists, was still alive; and by his applause gave encouragement to the beginner whose fame was to rival his own. The national type of drama which Lope had established was maintained in its essential characteristics by Calderon, and he produced abundant specimens of all its varieties. Of regular plays he has left a hundred and twenty; of "Autos Sacramentales," the peculiar Spanish allegorical development of the medieval mystery, we have seventy-three; besides a considerable number of farces. The dominant motives in Calderon's dramas are characteristically national: fervid loyalty to Church and King, and a sense of honor heightened almost to the point of the fantastic. Though his plays are laid in a great variety of scenes and ages, the sentiment and the characters remain essentially quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh I should know That fathers do not use their children so, Or men were loosed from all allegiance To fathers, kings, and heaven that order'd all. But, mad or not, my hour is come, and I Will have my reckoning--Either you lie, Under the skirt of sinless majesty Shrouding your treason; or if _that_ indeed, Guilty itself, take refuge in the stars That cannot hear the charge, or disavow-- You, whether doer or deviser, who Come first to hand, shall pay the penalty By the same hand you owe it to-- (Seizing Clotaldo's sword and about to strike him.) (Enter Rosaura suddenly.) ROSAURA. Fie, my Lord--forbear, What! a young hand raised against silver hair!-- (She retreats through the crowd.) SEG. Stay! stay! What come and vanish'd as before-- I scarce remember how--but-- (Voices within. Room for Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy!) (Enter Astolfo) ASTOLFO. Welcome, thrice welcome, the auspicious day, When from the mountain where he darkling lay, The Polish sun into the firmament Sprung all the brighter for his late ascent, And in meridian glory-- SEG. Where is he? Why must I ask this twice?-- A LORD. The Page, my Lord? I wonder at his boldness-- SEG. But I tell you He came with Angel written in his face As now it is, when all was black as hell About, and none of you who now--he came, And Angel-like flung me a shining sword To cut my way through darkness; and again Angel-like wrests it from me in behalf Of one--whom I will spare for sparing him: But he must come and plead with that same voice That pray'd for me--in vain. CHAMB. He is gone for, And shall attend your pleasure, sir. Meanwhile, Will not your Highness, as in courtesy, Return your royal cousin's greeting? SEG. Whose? CHAMB. Astolfo, in that heavenly face, That now I know for having over-ruled Those evil ones that darken'd all my past And brought me forth from that captivity To be the slave of her who set me free. EST. Indeed, my Lord, these eyes have no such power Over the past or present: but perhaps They brighten at your welcome to supply The little that a lady's speech commends; And in the hope that, let whichever be The other's subject, we may both be friends. SEG. Your hand to that--But why does this warm hand Shoot a cold shudder through me? EST. In revenge For likening me to that cold moon, perhaps. SEG. Oh, but the lip whose music tells me so Breathes of a warmer planet, and that lip Shall remedy the treason of the hand! (He catches to embrace her.) EST. Release me, sir! CHAMB. And pardon me, my Lord. This lady is a Princess absolute, As Prince he is who just saluted you, And claims her by affiance. SEG. Hence, old fool, For ever thrusting that white stick of yours Between me and my pleasure! AST. This cause is mine. Forbear, sir-- SEG. What, sir mouth-piece, you again? AST. My Lord, I waive your insult to myself In recognition of the dignity You yet are new to, and that greater still You look in time to wear. But for this lady-- Whom, if my cousin now, I hope to claim Henceforth by yet a nearer, dearer name-- SEG. And what care I? She is my cousin too: And if you be a Prince--well, am not I Lord of the very soil you stand upon? By that, and by that right beside of blood That like a fiery fountain hitherto Pent in the rock leaps toward her at her touch, | What is Astraea goddess of? | Chastity and justice. |
That stare on this unnatural sight aghast, Listen to one who, Heaven-inspired to do What in its secret wisdom Heaven forecast, By that same Heaven instructed prophet-wise To justify the present in the past. What in the sapphire volume of the skies Is writ by God's own finger misleads none, But him whose vain and misinstructed eyes, They mock with misinterpretation, Or who, mistaking what he rightly read, Ill commentary makes, or misapplies Thinking to shirk or thwart it. Which has done The wisdom of this venerable head; Who, well provided with the secret key To that gold alphabet, himself made me, Himself, I say, the savage he fore-read Fate somehow should be charged with; nipp'd the growth Of better nature in constraint and sloth, That only bring to bear the seed of wrong And turn'd the stream to fury whose out-burst Had kept his lawful channel uncoerced, And fertilized the land he flow'd along. Then like to some unskilful duellist, Who having over-reached himself pushing too hard His foe, or but a moment off his guard-- What odds, when Fate is one's antagonist!-- Nay, more, this royal father, self-dismay'd At having Fate against himself array'd, Upon himself the very sword he knew Should wound him, down upon his bosom drew, That might well handled, well have wrought; or, kept Undrawn, have harmless in the scabbard slept. But Fate shall not by human force be broke, Nor foil'd by human feint; the Secret learn'd Against the scholar by that master turn'd Who to himself reserves the master-stroke. Witness whereof this venerable Age, Thrice crown'd as Sire, and Sovereign, and Sage, Down to the very dust dishonour'd by The very means he tempted to defy The irresistible. And shall not I, Till now the mere dumb instrument that wrought The battle quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him--how I know not--whither scarce I understand--dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you--and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly-- However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery-- SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects--Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me--elsewhere?-- CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of tell me here of--how in spite of them, I was enlarged to all that glory. CLO. Ay, By the false spirits' nice contrivance thus A little truth oft leavens all the false, The better to delude us. SEG. For you know 'Tis nothing but a dream? CLO. Nay, you yourself Know best how lately you awoke from that You know you went to sleep on?-- Why, have you never dreamt the like before? SEG. Never, to such reality. CLO. Such dreams Are oftentimes the sleeping exhalations Of that ambition that lies smouldering Under the ashes of the lowest fortune; By which, when reason slumbers, or has lost The reins of sensible comparison, We fly at something higher than we are-- Scarce ever dive to lower--to be kings, Or conquerors, crown'd with laurel or with gold, Nay, mounting heaven itself on eagle wings. Which, by the way, now that I think of it, May furnish us the key to this high flight That royal Eagle we were watching, and Talking of as you went to sleep last night. SEG. Last night? Last night? CLO. Ay, do you not remember Envying his immunity of flight, As, rising from his throne of rock, he sail'd Above the mountains far into the West, That burn'd about him, while with poising wings He darkled in it as a burning brand Is seen to smoulder in the fire it feeds? SEG. Last night--last night--Oh, what a day was that Between that last night and this sad To-day! CLO. And yet, perhaps, Only some few dark moments, into which Imagination, once lit up within And unconditional of time and space, Can pour infinities. SEG. And I remember How the old man they call'd the King, who wore The crown of gold about his silver hair, And a royal welcome that arose and blew, Breathed from no lying lips, along with it. For here Clotaldo comes, his own old self, Who, if not Lie and phantom with the rest-- (Aloud) Well, then, all this is thus. For have not these fine people told me so, And you, Clotaldo, sworn it? And the Why And Wherefore are to follow by and bye! And yet--and yet--why wait for that which you Who take your oath on it can answer--and Indeed it presses hard upon my brain-- What I was asking of these gentlemen When you came in upon us; how it is That I--the Segismund you know so long No longer than the sun that rose to-day Rose--and from what you know-- Rose to be Prince of Poland? CLO. So to be Acknowledged and entreated, Sir. SEG. So be Acknowledged and entreated-- Well--But if now by all, by some at least So known--if not entreated--heretofore-- Though not by you--For, now I think again, Of what should be your attestation worth, You that of all my questionable subjects Who knowing what, yet left me where I was, You least of all, Clotaldo, till the dawn Of this first day that told it to myself? CLO. Oh, let your Highness draw the line across Fore-written sorrow, and in this new dawn Bury that long sad night. SEG. Not ev'n the Dead, Call'd to the resurrection of the blest, Shall so directly drop all memory Of woes and wrongs foregone! CLO. But not resent-- Purged by the trial of that sorrow past For full fruition of their present bliss. SEG. But leaving with the Judge what, till this earth Be cancell'd in the burning heavens, He leaves His earthly delegates to execute, Of retribution in reward to them And woe to those who | When was the return of a Golden Age that Rousara may be representing? | During the reign of Segismundo. |
By Pedro Calderon De La Barca Translated by Edward Fitzgerald Pedro Calderon de la Barca was born in Madrid, January 17, 1600, of good family. He was educated at the Jesuit College in Madrid and at the University of Salamanca; and a doubtful tradition says that he began to write plays at the age of thirteen. His literary activity was interrupted for ten years, 1625-1635, by military service in Italy and the Low Countries, and again for a year or more in Catalonia. In 1637 he became a Knight of the Order of Santiago, and in 1651 he entered the priesthood, rising to the dignity of Superior of the Brotherhood of San Pedro in Madrid. He held various offices in the court of Philip IV, who rewarded his services with pensions, and had his plays produced with great splendor. He died May 5, 1681. At the time when Calderon began to compose for the stage, the Spanish drama was at its height. Lope de Vega, the most prolific and, with Calderon, the greatest, of Spanish dramatists, was still alive; and by his applause gave encouragement to the beginner whose fame was to rival his own. The national type of drama which Lope had established was maintained in its essential characteristics by Calderon, and he produced abundant specimens of all its varieties. Of regular plays he has left a hundred and twenty; of "Autos Sacramentales," the peculiar Spanish allegorical development of the medieval mystery, we have seventy-three; besides a considerable number of farces. The dominant motives in Calderon's dramas are characteristically national: fervid loyalty to Church and King, and a sense of honor heightened almost to the point of the fantastic. Though his plays are laid in a great variety of scenes and ages, the sentiment and the characters remain essentially cloud or dragon-back Over the mountains, over the wide Deep, And set them down to wake in Fairyland. CHAMB. Oh, my good Lord, you laugh at me--and I Right glad to make you laugh at such a price: You know me no enchanter: if I were, I and my wand as much as your Highness', As now your chamberlain-- SEG. My chamberlain?-- And these that follow you?-- CHAMB. On you, my Lord, Your Highness' lords in waiting. SEG. Lords in waiting. Well, I have now learn'd to repeat, I think, If only but by rote--This is my palace, And this my throne--which unadvised--And that Out of the window there my Capital; And all the people moving up and down My subjects and my vassals like yourselves, My chamberlain--and lords in waiting--and Clotaldo--and Clotaldo?-- You are an aged, and seem a reverend man-- You do not--though his fellow-officer-- You do not mean to mock me? CHAMB. Oh, my Lord! SEG. Well then--If no magician, as you say, Yet setting me a riddle, that my brain, With all its senses whirling, cannot solve, Yourself or one of these with you must answer-- How I--that only last night fell asleep Not knowing that the very soil of earth I lay down--chain'd--to sleep upon was Poland-- Awake to find myself the Lord of it, With Lords, and Generals, and Chamberlains, And ev'n my very Gaoler, for my vassals! CLOTALDO. Stand all aside That I may put into his hand the clue To lead him out of this amazement. Sir, Vouchsafe your Highness from my bended knee Receive my homage first. SEG. Clotaldo! What, At last--his old self--undisguised where all Is masquerade--to end it!--You kneeling too! What! have the stars you told me long ago Laid that old work upon you, added this, That, having quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh the hours that draw the sun from heaven Unite us at the customary board, Each to his several chamber: you to rest; I to contrive with old Clotaldo best The method of a stranger thing than old Time has a yet among his records told. SCENE I--A Throne-room in the Palace. Music within. (Enter King and Clotaldo, meeting a Lord in waiting) KING. You, for a moment beckon'd from your office, Tell me thus far how goes it. In due time The potion left him? LORD. At the very hour To which your Highness temper'd it. Yet not So wholly but some lingering mist still hung About his dawning senses--which to clear, We fill'd and handed him a morning drink With sleep's specific antidote suffused; And while with princely raiment we invested What nature surely modell'd for a Prince-- All but the sword--as you directed-- LORD. If not too loudly, yet emphatically Still with the title of a Prince address'd him. KING. How bore he that? LORD. With all the rest, my liege, I will not say so like one in a dream As one himself misdoubting that he dream'd. KING. So far so well, Clotaldo, either way, And best of all if tow'rd the worse I dread. But yet no violence? LORD. At most, impatience; Wearied perhaps with importunities We yet were bound to offer. KING. Oh, Clotaldo! Though thus far well, yet would myself had drunk The potion he revives from! such suspense Crowds all the pulses of life's residue Into the present moment; and, I think, Whichever way the trembling scale may turn, Will leave the crown of Poland for some one To wait no longer than the setting sun! CLO. Courage, my liege! The curtain is undrawn, And each must play his part out manfully, Leaving I should know That fathers do not use their children so, Or men were loosed from all allegiance To fathers, kings, and heaven that order'd all. But, mad or not, my hour is come, and I Will have my reckoning--Either you lie, Under the skirt of sinless majesty Shrouding your treason; or if _that_ indeed, Guilty itself, take refuge in the stars That cannot hear the charge, or disavow-- You, whether doer or deviser, who Come first to hand, shall pay the penalty By the same hand you owe it to-- (Seizing Clotaldo's sword and about to strike him.) (Enter Rosaura suddenly.) ROSAURA. Fie, my Lord--forbear, What! a young hand raised against silver hair!-- (She retreats through the crowd.) SEG. Stay! stay! What come and vanish'd as before-- I scarce remember how--but-- (Voices within. Room for Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy!) (Enter Astolfo) ASTOLFO. Welcome, thrice welcome, the auspicious day, When from the mountain where he darkling lay, The Polish sun into the firmament Sprung all the brighter for his late ascent, And in meridian glory-- SEG. Where is he? Why must I ask this twice?-- A LORD. The Page, my Lord? I wonder at his boldness-- SEG. But I tell you He came with Angel written in his face As now it is, when all was black as hell About, and none of you who now--he came, And Angel-like flung me a shining sword To cut my way through darkness; and again Angel-like wrests it from me in behalf Of one--whom I will spare for sparing him: But he must come and plead with that same voice That pray'd for me--in vain. CHAMB. He is gone for, And shall attend your pleasure, sir. Meanwhile, Will not your Highness, as in courtesy, Return your royal cousin's greeting? SEG. Whose? CHAMB. Astolfo, | What was representing King Phillip IV of Spain? | The return of a Golden Age during Segismundo. |
chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him--how I know not--whither scarce I understand--dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you--and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly-- However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery-- SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects--Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me--elsewhere?-- CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of mysterious girdle round his waist, Just when my rage was roaring at its height, And after which it all was dark again, Bid me beware lest all should be a dream. CLO. Ay--there another specialty of dreams, That once the dreamer 'gins to dream he dreams, His foot is on the very verge of waking. SEG. Would it had been upon the verge of death That knows no waking-- Lifting me up to glory, to fall back, Stunn'd, crippled--wretcheder than ev'n before. CLO. Yet not so glorious, Segismund, if you Your visionary honour wore so ill As to work murder and revenge on those Who meant you well. SEG. Who meant me!--me! their Prince Chain'd like a felon-- CLO. Stay, stay--Not so fast, You dream'd the Prince, remember. SEG. Then in dream Revenged it only. CLO. True. But as they say Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul Yet uncorrected of the higher Will, So that men sometimes in their dreams confess An unsuspected, or forgotten, self; One must beware to check--ay, if one may, Stifle ere born, such passion in ourselves As makes, we see, such havoc with our sleep, And ill reacts upon the waking day. And, by the bye, for one test, Segismund, Between such swearable realities-- Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin In missing each that salutary rein Of reason, and the guiding will of man: One test, I think, of waking sanity Shall be that conscious power of self-control, To curb all passion, but much most of all That evil and vindictive, that ill squares With human, and with holy canon less, Which bids us pardon ev'n our enemies, And much more those who, out of no ill will, Mistakenly have taken up the rod Which heaven, they think, has put into their hands. quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh the rest to heaven. KING. Whose written words If I should misinterpret or transgress! But as you say-- (To the Lord, who exit.) You, back to him at once; Clotaldo, you, when he is somewhat used To the new world of which they call him Prince, Where place and face, and all, is strange to him, With your known features and familiar garb Shall then, as chorus to the scene, accost him, And by such earnest of that old and too Familiar world, assure him of the new. Last in the strange procession, I myself Will by one full and last development Complete the plot for that catastrophe That he must put to all; God grant it be The crown of Poland on his brows!--Hark! hark!-- Was that his voice within!--Now louder--Oh, Clotaldo, what! so soon begun to roar!-- Again! above the music--But betide What may, until the moment, we must hide. (Exeunt King and Clotaldo.) (He has seated himself on the throne. Enter Chamberlain, with lords in waiting.) CHAMB. I rejoice That unadvised of any but the voice Of royal instinct in the blood, your Highness Has ta'en the chair that you were born to fill. SEG. The chair? CHAMB. The royal throne of Poland, Sir, Which may your Royal Highness keep as long As he that now rules from it shall have ruled When heaven has call'd him to itself. SEG. When he?-- CHAMB. Your royal father, King Basilio, Sir. SEG. My royal father--King Basilio. You see I answer but as Echo does, Not knowing what she listens or repeats. This is my throne--this is my palace--Oh, But this out of the window?-- CHAMB. Warsaw, Sir, Your capital-- SEG. And all the moving people? CHAMB. Your subjects and your vassals like ourselves. SEG. Ay, ay--my subjects--in my capital-- in that heavenly face, That now I know for having over-ruled Those evil ones that darken'd all my past And brought me forth from that captivity To be the slave of her who set me free. EST. Indeed, my Lord, these eyes have no such power Over the past or present: but perhaps They brighten at your welcome to supply The little that a lady's speech commends; And in the hope that, let whichever be The other's subject, we may both be friends. SEG. Your hand to that--But why does this warm hand Shoot a cold shudder through me? EST. In revenge For likening me to that cold moon, perhaps. SEG. Oh, but the lip whose music tells me so Breathes of a warmer planet, and that lip Shall remedy the treason of the hand! (He catches to embrace her.) EST. Release me, sir! CHAMB. And pardon me, my Lord. This lady is a Princess absolute, As Prince he is who just saluted you, And claims her by affiance. SEG. Hence, old fool, For ever thrusting that white stick of yours Between me and my pleasure! AST. This cause is mine. Forbear, sir-- SEG. What, sir mouth-piece, you again? AST. My Lord, I waive your insult to myself In recognition of the dignity You yet are new to, and that greater still You look in time to wear. But for this lady-- Whom, if my cousin now, I hope to claim Henceforth by yet a nearer, dearer name-- SEG. And what care I? She is my cousin too: And if you be a Prince--well, am not I Lord of the very soil you stand upon? By that, and by that right beside of blood That like a fiery fountain hitherto Pent in the rock leaps toward her at her touch, | When does Rosaura give herself a different name? | When she goes to Court. |
That stare on this unnatural sight aghast, Listen to one who, Heaven-inspired to do What in its secret wisdom Heaven forecast, By that same Heaven instructed prophet-wise To justify the present in the past. What in the sapphire volume of the skies Is writ by God's own finger misleads none, But him whose vain and misinstructed eyes, They mock with misinterpretation, Or who, mistaking what he rightly read, Ill commentary makes, or misapplies Thinking to shirk or thwart it. Which has done The wisdom of this venerable head; Who, well provided with the secret key To that gold alphabet, himself made me, Himself, I say, the savage he fore-read Fate somehow should be charged with; nipp'd the growth Of better nature in constraint and sloth, That only bring to bear the seed of wrong And turn'd the stream to fury whose out-burst Had kept his lawful channel uncoerced, And fertilized the land he flow'd along. Then like to some unskilful duellist, Who having over-reached himself pushing too hard His foe, or but a moment off his guard-- What odds, when Fate is one's antagonist!-- Nay, more, this royal father, self-dismay'd At having Fate against himself array'd, Upon himself the very sword he knew Should wound him, down upon his bosom drew, That might well handled, well have wrought; or, kept Undrawn, have harmless in the scabbard slept. But Fate shall not by human force be broke, Nor foil'd by human feint; the Secret learn'd Against the scholar by that master turn'd Who to himself reserves the master-stroke. Witness whereof this venerable Age, Thrice crown'd as Sire, and Sovereign, and Sage, Down to the very dust dishonour'd by The very means he tempted to defy The irresistible. And shall not I, Till now the mere dumb instrument that wrought The battle chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him--how I know not--whither scarce I understand--dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you--and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly-- However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery-- SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects--Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me--elsewhere?-- CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh the hours that draw the sun from heaven Unite us at the customary board, Each to his several chamber: you to rest; I to contrive with old Clotaldo best The method of a stranger thing than old Time has a yet among his records told. SCENE I--A Throne-room in the Palace. Music within. (Enter King and Clotaldo, meeting a Lord in waiting) KING. You, for a moment beckon'd from your office, Tell me thus far how goes it. In due time The potion left him? LORD. At the very hour To which your Highness temper'd it. Yet not So wholly but some lingering mist still hung About his dawning senses--which to clear, We fill'd and handed him a morning drink With sleep's specific antidote suffused; And while with princely raiment we invested What nature surely modell'd for a Prince-- All but the sword--as you directed-- LORD. If not too loudly, yet emphatically Still with the title of a Prince address'd him. KING. How bore he that? LORD. With all the rest, my liege, I will not say so like one in a dream As one himself misdoubting that he dream'd. KING. So far so well, Clotaldo, either way, And best of all if tow'rd the worse I dread. But yet no violence? LORD. At most, impatience; Wearied perhaps with importunities We yet were bound to offer. KING. Oh, Clotaldo! Though thus far well, yet would myself had drunk The potion he revives from! such suspense Crowds all the pulses of life's residue Into the present moment; and, I think, Whichever way the trembling scale may turn, Will leave the crown of Poland for some one To wait no longer than the setting sun! CLO. Courage, my liege! The curtain is undrawn, And each must play his part out manfully, Leaving Fate has with my father fought, Now the mere mouth-piece of its victory Oh, shall not I, the champions' sword laid down, Be yet more shamed to wear the teacher's gown, And, blushing at the part I had to play, Down where that honour'd head I was to lay By this more just submission of my own, The treason Fate has forced on me atone? KING. Oh, Segismund, in whom I see indeed, Out of the ashes of my self-extinction A better self revive; if not beneath Your feet, beneath your better wisdom bow'd, The Sovereignty of Poland I resign, With this its golden symbol; which if thus Saved with its silver head inviolate, Shall nevermore be subject to decline; But when the head that it alights on now Falls honour'd by the very foe that must, As all things mortal, lay it in the dust, Shall star-like shift to his successor's brow. (Shouts, trumpets, etc. God save King Segismund!) SEG. For what remains-- As for my own, so for my people's peace, Astolfo's and Estrella's plighted hands I disunite, and taking hers to mine, His to one yet more dearly his resign. (Shouts, etc. God save Estrella, Queen of Poland!) SEG (to Clotaldo). You That with unflinching duty to your King, Till countermanded by the mightier Power, Have held your Prince a captive in the tower, Henceforth as strictly guard him on the throne No less my people's keeper than my own. You stare upon me all, amazed to hear The word of civil justice from such lips As never yet seem'd tuned to such discourse. But listen--In that same enchanted tower, Not long ago I learn'd it from a dream Expounded by this ancient prophet here; And which he told me, should it come again, How I should | Who was the last immortal to leave Earth? | Astraea. |
chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him--how I know not--whither scarce I understand--dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you--and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly-- However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery-- SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects--Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me--elsewhere?-- CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh mysterious girdle round his waist, Just when my rage was roaring at its height, And after which it all was dark again, Bid me beware lest all should be a dream. CLO. Ay--there another specialty of dreams, That once the dreamer 'gins to dream he dreams, His foot is on the very verge of waking. SEG. Would it had been upon the verge of death That knows no waking-- Lifting me up to glory, to fall back, Stunn'd, crippled--wretcheder than ev'n before. CLO. Yet not so glorious, Segismund, if you Your visionary honour wore so ill As to work murder and revenge on those Who meant you well. SEG. Who meant me!--me! their Prince Chain'd like a felon-- CLO. Stay, stay--Not so fast, You dream'd the Prince, remember. SEG. Then in dream Revenged it only. CLO. True. But as they say Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul Yet uncorrected of the higher Will, So that men sometimes in their dreams confess An unsuspected, or forgotten, self; One must beware to check--ay, if one may, Stifle ere born, such passion in ourselves As makes, we see, such havoc with our sleep, And ill reacts upon the waking day. And, by the bye, for one test, Segismund, Between such swearable realities-- Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin In missing each that salutary rein Of reason, and the guiding will of man: One test, I think, of waking sanity Shall be that conscious power of self-control, To curb all passion, but much most of all That evil and vindictive, that ill squares With human, and with holy canon less, Which bids us pardon ev'n our enemies, And much more those who, out of no ill will, Mistakenly have taken up the rod Which heaven, they think, has put into their hands. not how this is--perhaps in brutes That live by kindlier instincts--but I know That looking now upon that head whose crown Pronounces him a sovereign king, I feel No setting of the current in my blood Tow'rd him as sire. How is't with you, old man, Tow'rd him they call your son?-- KING. Alas! Alas! SEG. Your sorrow, then? KING. Beholding what I do. SEG. Ay, but how know this sorrow that has grown And moulded to this present shape of man, As of your own creation? KING. Ev'n from birth. SEG. But from that hour to this, near, as I think, Some twenty such renewals of the year As trace themselves upon the barren rocks, I never saw you, nor you me--unless, Unless, indeed, through one of those dark masks Through which a son might fail to recognize The best of fathers. KING. Be that as you will: But, now we see each other face to face, Know me as you I know; which did I not, By whatsoever signs, assuredly You were not here to prove it at my risk. SEG. You are my father. And is it true then, as Clotaldo swears, 'Twas you that from the dawning birth of one Yourself brought into being,--you, I say, Who stole his very birthright; not alone That secondary and peculiar right Of sovereignty, but even that prime Inheritance that all men share alike, And chain'd him--chain'd him!--like a wild beast's whelp. Among as savage mountains, to this hour? Answer if this be thus. KING. Oh, Segismund, In all that I have done that seems to you, And, without further hearing, fairly seems, Unnatural and cruel--'twas not I, But One who writes His order in the sky I dared not misinterpret nor neglect, Who knows with what reluctance-- SEG. Oh, Fate has with my father fought, Now the mere mouth-piece of its victory Oh, shall not I, the champions' sword laid down, Be yet more shamed to wear the teacher's gown, And, blushing at the part I had to play, Down where that honour'd head I was to lay By this more just submission of my own, The treason Fate has forced on me atone? KING. Oh, Segismund, in whom I see indeed, Out of the ashes of my self-extinction A better self revive; if not beneath Your feet, beneath your better wisdom bow'd, The Sovereignty of Poland I resign, With this its golden symbol; which if thus Saved with its silver head inviolate, Shall nevermore be subject to decline; But when the head that it alights on now Falls honour'd by the very foe that must, As all things mortal, lay it in the dust, Shall star-like shift to his successor's brow. (Shouts, trumpets, etc. God save King Segismund!) SEG. For what remains-- As for my own, so for my people's peace, Astolfo's and Estrella's plighted hands I disunite, and taking hers to mine, His to one yet more dearly his resign. (Shouts, etc. God save Estrella, Queen of Poland!) SEG (to Clotaldo). You That with unflinching duty to your King, Till countermanded by the mightier Power, Have held your Prince a captive in the tower, Henceforth as strictly guard him on the throne No less my people's keeper than my own. You stare upon me all, amazed to hear The word of civil justice from such lips As never yet seem'd tuned to such discourse. But listen--In that same enchanted tower, Not long ago I learn'd it from a dream Expounded by this ancient prophet here; And which he told me, should it come again, How I should | Which land is the King from who is being represented under the return of a Golden Age during Segismundo? | Spain. |
cloud or dragon-back Over the mountains, over the wide Deep, And set them down to wake in Fairyland. CHAMB. Oh, my good Lord, you laugh at me--and I Right glad to make you laugh at such a price: You know me no enchanter: if I were, I and my wand as much as your Highness', As now your chamberlain-- SEG. My chamberlain?-- And these that follow you?-- CHAMB. On you, my Lord, Your Highness' lords in waiting. SEG. Lords in waiting. Well, I have now learn'd to repeat, I think, If only but by rote--This is my palace, And this my throne--which unadvised--And that Out of the window there my Capital; And all the people moving up and down My subjects and my vassals like yourselves, My chamberlain--and lords in waiting--and Clotaldo--and Clotaldo?-- You are an aged, and seem a reverend man-- You do not--though his fellow-officer-- You do not mean to mock me? CHAMB. Oh, my Lord! SEG. Well then--If no magician, as you say, Yet setting me a riddle, that my brain, With all its senses whirling, cannot solve, Yourself or one of these with you must answer-- How I--that only last night fell asleep Not knowing that the very soil of earth I lay down--chain'd--to sleep upon was Poland-- Awake to find myself the Lord of it, With Lords, and Generals, and Chamberlains, And ev'n my very Gaoler, for my vassals! CLOTALDO. Stand all aside That I may put into his hand the clue To lead him out of this amazement. Sir, Vouchsafe your Highness from my bended knee Receive my homage first. SEG. Clotaldo! What, At last--his old self--undisguised where all Is masquerade--to end it!--You kneeling too! What! have the stars you told me long ago Laid that old work upon you, added this, That, having chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him--how I know not--whither scarce I understand--dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you--and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly-- However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery-- SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects--Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me--elsewhere?-- CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of the hours that draw the sun from heaven Unite us at the customary board, Each to his several chamber: you to rest; I to contrive with old Clotaldo best The method of a stranger thing than old Time has a yet among his records told. SCENE I--A Throne-room in the Palace. Music within. (Enter King and Clotaldo, meeting a Lord in waiting) KING. You, for a moment beckon'd from your office, Tell me thus far how goes it. In due time The potion left him? LORD. At the very hour To which your Highness temper'd it. Yet not So wholly but some lingering mist still hung About his dawning senses--which to clear, We fill'd and handed him a morning drink With sleep's specific antidote suffused; And while with princely raiment we invested What nature surely modell'd for a Prince-- All but the sword--as you directed-- LORD. If not too loudly, yet emphatically Still with the title of a Prince address'd him. KING. How bore he that? LORD. With all the rest, my liege, I will not say so like one in a dream As one himself misdoubting that he dream'd. KING. So far so well, Clotaldo, either way, And best of all if tow'rd the worse I dread. But yet no violence? LORD. At most, impatience; Wearied perhaps with importunities We yet were bound to offer. KING. Oh, Clotaldo! Though thus far well, yet would myself had drunk The potion he revives from! such suspense Crowds all the pulses of life's residue Into the present moment; and, I think, Whichever way the trembling scale may turn, Will leave the crown of Poland for some one To wait no longer than the setting sun! CLO. Courage, my liege! The curtain is undrawn, And each must play his part out manfully, Leaving quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh I should know That fathers do not use their children so, Or men were loosed from all allegiance To fathers, kings, and heaven that order'd all. But, mad or not, my hour is come, and I Will have my reckoning--Either you lie, Under the skirt of sinless majesty Shrouding your treason; or if _that_ indeed, Guilty itself, take refuge in the stars That cannot hear the charge, or disavow-- You, whether doer or deviser, who Come first to hand, shall pay the penalty By the same hand you owe it to-- (Seizing Clotaldo's sword and about to strike him.) (Enter Rosaura suddenly.) ROSAURA. Fie, my Lord--forbear, What! a young hand raised against silver hair!-- (She retreats through the crowd.) SEG. Stay! stay! What come and vanish'd as before-- I scarce remember how--but-- (Voices within. Room for Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy!) (Enter Astolfo) ASTOLFO. Welcome, thrice welcome, the auspicious day, When from the mountain where he darkling lay, The Polish sun into the firmament Sprung all the brighter for his late ascent, And in meridian glory-- SEG. Where is he? Why must I ask this twice?-- A LORD. The Page, my Lord? I wonder at his boldness-- SEG. But I tell you He came with Angel written in his face As now it is, when all was black as hell About, and none of you who now--he came, And Angel-like flung me a shining sword To cut my way through darkness; and again Angel-like wrests it from me in behalf Of one--whom I will spare for sparing him: But he must come and plead with that same voice That pray'd for me--in vain. CHAMB. He is gone for, And shall attend your pleasure, sir. Meanwhile, Will not your Highness, as in courtesy, Return your royal cousin's greeting? SEG. Whose? CHAMB. Astolfo, | Who rides the hippogriff? | Rosaura. |
That stare on this unnatural sight aghast, Listen to one who, Heaven-inspired to do What in its secret wisdom Heaven forecast, By that same Heaven instructed prophet-wise To justify the present in the past. What in the sapphire volume of the skies Is writ by God's own finger misleads none, But him whose vain and misinstructed eyes, They mock with misinterpretation, Or who, mistaking what he rightly read, Ill commentary makes, or misapplies Thinking to shirk or thwart it. Which has done The wisdom of this venerable head; Who, well provided with the secret key To that gold alphabet, himself made me, Himself, I say, the savage he fore-read Fate somehow should be charged with; nipp'd the growth Of better nature in constraint and sloth, That only bring to bear the seed of wrong And turn'd the stream to fury whose out-burst Had kept his lawful channel uncoerced, And fertilized the land he flow'd along. Then like to some unskilful duellist, Who having over-reached himself pushing too hard His foe, or but a moment off his guard-- What odds, when Fate is one's antagonist!-- Nay, more, this royal father, self-dismay'd At having Fate against himself array'd, Upon himself the very sword he knew Should wound him, down upon his bosom drew, That might well handled, well have wrought; or, kept Undrawn, have harmless in the scabbard slept. But Fate shall not by human force be broke, Nor foil'd by human feint; the Secret learn'd Against the scholar by that master turn'd Who to himself reserves the master-stroke. Witness whereof this venerable Age, Thrice crown'd as Sire, and Sovereign, and Sage, Down to the very dust dishonour'd by The very means he tempted to defy The irresistible. And shall not I, Till now the mere dumb instrument that wrought The battle quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh tell me here of--how in spite of them, I was enlarged to all that glory. CLO. Ay, By the false spirits' nice contrivance thus A little truth oft leavens all the false, The better to delude us. SEG. For you know 'Tis nothing but a dream? CLO. Nay, you yourself Know best how lately you awoke from that You know you went to sleep on?-- Why, have you never dreamt the like before? SEG. Never, to such reality. CLO. Such dreams Are oftentimes the sleeping exhalations Of that ambition that lies smouldering Under the ashes of the lowest fortune; By which, when reason slumbers, or has lost The reins of sensible comparison, We fly at something higher than we are-- Scarce ever dive to lower--to be kings, Or conquerors, crown'd with laurel or with gold, Nay, mounting heaven itself on eagle wings. Which, by the way, now that I think of it, May furnish us the key to this high flight That royal Eagle we were watching, and Talking of as you went to sleep last night. SEG. Last night? Last night? CLO. Ay, do you not remember Envying his immunity of flight, As, rising from his throne of rock, he sail'd Above the mountains far into the West, That burn'd about him, while with poising wings He darkled in it as a burning brand Is seen to smoulder in the fire it feeds? SEG. Last night--last night--Oh, what a day was that Between that last night and this sad To-day! CLO. And yet, perhaps, Only some few dark moments, into which Imagination, once lit up within And unconditional of time and space, Can pour infinities. SEG. And I remember How the old man they call'd the King, who wore The crown of gold about his silver hair, And a the rest to heaven. KING. Whose written words If I should misinterpret or transgress! But as you say-- (To the Lord, who exit.) You, back to him at once; Clotaldo, you, when he is somewhat used To the new world of which they call him Prince, Where place and face, and all, is strange to him, With your known features and familiar garb Shall then, as chorus to the scene, accost him, And by such earnest of that old and too Familiar world, assure him of the new. Last in the strange procession, I myself Will by one full and last development Complete the plot for that catastrophe That he must put to all; God grant it be The crown of Poland on his brows!--Hark! hark!-- Was that his voice within!--Now louder--Oh, Clotaldo, what! so soon begun to roar!-- Again! above the music--But betide What may, until the moment, we must hide. (Exeunt King and Clotaldo.) (He has seated himself on the throne. Enter Chamberlain, with lords in waiting.) CHAMB. I rejoice That unadvised of any but the voice Of royal instinct in the blood, your Highness Has ta'en the chair that you were born to fill. SEG. The chair? CHAMB. The royal throne of Poland, Sir, Which may your Royal Highness keep as long As he that now rules from it shall have ruled When heaven has call'd him to itself. SEG. When he?-- CHAMB. Your royal father, King Basilio, Sir. SEG. My royal father--King Basilio. You see I answer but as Echo does, Not knowing what she listens or repeats. This is my throne--this is my palace--Oh, But this out of the window?-- CHAMB. Warsaw, Sir, Your capital-- SEG. And all the moving people? CHAMB. Your subjects and your vassals like ourselves. SEG. Ay, ay--my subjects--in my capital-- those stars, Those stars, that too far up from human blame To clear themselves, or careless of the charge, Still bear upon their shining shoulders all The guilt men shift upon them! KING. Nay, but think: Not only on the common score of kind, But that peculiar count of sovereignty-- If not behind the beast in brain as heart, How should I thus deal with my innocent child, Doubly desired, and doubly dear when come, As that sweet second-self that all desire, And princes more than all, to root themselves By that succession in their people's hearts, Unless at that superior Will, to which Not kings alone, but sovereign nature bows? SEG. And what had those same stars to tell of me That should compel a father and a king So much against that double instinct? KING. That, Which I have brought you hither, at my peril, Against their written warning, to disprove, By justice, mercy, human kindliness. SEG. And therefore made yourself their instrument To make your son the savage and the brute They only prophesied?--Are you not afear'd, Lest, irrespective as such creatures are Of such relationship, the brute you made Revenge the man you marr'd--like sire, like son. To do by you as you by me have done? KING. You never had a savage heart from me; I may appeal to Poland. SEG. Then from whom? If pure in fountain, poison'd by yourself When scarce begun to flow.--To make a man Not, as I see, degraded from the mould I came from, nor compared to those about, And then to throw your own flesh to the dogs!-- Why not at once, I say, if terrified At the prophetic omens of my birth, Have drown'd or stifled me, as they do whelps Too costly or too dangerous to | What does Astraea's return signify? | The return of the Golden Age. |
By Pedro Calderon De La Barca Translated by Edward Fitzgerald Pedro Calderon de la Barca was born in Madrid, January 17, 1600, of good family. He was educated at the Jesuit College in Madrid and at the University of Salamanca; and a doubtful tradition says that he began to write plays at the age of thirteen. His literary activity was interrupted for ten years, 1625-1635, by military service in Italy and the Low Countries, and again for a year or more in Catalonia. In 1637 he became a Knight of the Order of Santiago, and in 1651 he entered the priesthood, rising to the dignity of Superior of the Brotherhood of San Pedro in Madrid. He held various offices in the court of Philip IV, who rewarded his services with pensions, and had his plays produced with great splendor. He died May 5, 1681. At the time when Calderon began to compose for the stage, the Spanish drama was at its height. Lope de Vega, the most prolific and, with Calderon, the greatest, of Spanish dramatists, was still alive; and by his applause gave encouragement to the beginner whose fame was to rival his own. The national type of drama which Lope had established was maintained in its essential characteristics by Calderon, and he produced abundant specimens of all its varieties. Of regular plays he has left a hundred and twenty; of "Autos Sacramentales," the peculiar Spanish allegorical development of the medieval mystery, we have seventy-three; besides a considerable number of farces. The dominant motives in Calderon's dramas are characteristically national: fervid loyalty to Church and King, and a sense of honor heightened almost to the point of the fantastic. Though his plays are laid in a great variety of scenes and ages, the sentiment and the characters remain essentially the hours that draw the sun from heaven Unite us at the customary board, Each to his several chamber: you to rest; I to contrive with old Clotaldo best The method of a stranger thing than old Time has a yet among his records told. SCENE I--A Throne-room in the Palace. Music within. (Enter King and Clotaldo, meeting a Lord in waiting) KING. You, for a moment beckon'd from your office, Tell me thus far how goes it. In due time The potion left him? LORD. At the very hour To which your Highness temper'd it. Yet not So wholly but some lingering mist still hung About his dawning senses--which to clear, We fill'd and handed him a morning drink With sleep's specific antidote suffused; And while with princely raiment we invested What nature surely modell'd for a Prince-- All but the sword--as you directed-- LORD. If not too loudly, yet emphatically Still with the title of a Prince address'd him. KING. How bore he that? LORD. With all the rest, my liege, I will not say so like one in a dream As one himself misdoubting that he dream'd. KING. So far so well, Clotaldo, either way, And best of all if tow'rd the worse I dread. But yet no violence? LORD. At most, impatience; Wearied perhaps with importunities We yet were bound to offer. KING. Oh, Clotaldo! Though thus far well, yet would myself had drunk The potion he revives from! such suspense Crowds all the pulses of life's residue Into the present moment; and, I think, Whichever way the trembling scale may turn, Will leave the crown of Poland for some one To wait no longer than the setting sun! CLO. Courage, my liege! The curtain is undrawn, And each must play his part out manfully, Leaving I should know That fathers do not use their children so, Or men were loosed from all allegiance To fathers, kings, and heaven that order'd all. But, mad or not, my hour is come, and I Will have my reckoning--Either you lie, Under the skirt of sinless majesty Shrouding your treason; or if _that_ indeed, Guilty itself, take refuge in the stars That cannot hear the charge, or disavow-- You, whether doer or deviser, who Come first to hand, shall pay the penalty By the same hand you owe it to-- (Seizing Clotaldo's sword and about to strike him.) (Enter Rosaura suddenly.) ROSAURA. Fie, my Lord--forbear, What! a young hand raised against silver hair!-- (She retreats through the crowd.) SEG. Stay! stay! What come and vanish'd as before-- I scarce remember how--but-- (Voices within. Room for Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy!) (Enter Astolfo) ASTOLFO. Welcome, thrice welcome, the auspicious day, When from the mountain where he darkling lay, The Polish sun into the firmament Sprung all the brighter for his late ascent, And in meridian glory-- SEG. Where is he? Why must I ask this twice?-- A LORD. The Page, my Lord? I wonder at his boldness-- SEG. But I tell you He came with Angel written in his face As now it is, when all was black as hell About, and none of you who now--he came, And Angel-like flung me a shining sword To cut my way through darkness; and again Angel-like wrests it from me in behalf Of one--whom I will spare for sparing him: But he must come and plead with that same voice That pray'd for me--in vain. CHAMB. He is gone for, And shall attend your pleasure, sir. Meanwhile, Will not your Highness, as in courtesy, Return your royal cousin's greeting? SEG. Whose? CHAMB. Astolfo, quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh The Last Day shall have little left to show Of righted wrong and villainy requited! Nay, Judgment now beginning upon earth, Myself, methinks, in sight of all my wrongs, Appointed heaven's avenging minister, Accuser, judge, and executioner Sword in hand, cite the guilty--First, as worst, The usurper of his son's inheritance; Him and his old accomplice, time and crime Inveterate, and unable to repay The golden years of life they stole away. What, does he yet maintain his state, and keep The throne he should be judged from? Down with him, That I may trample on the false white head So long has worn my crown! Where are my soldiers? Of all my subjects and my vassals here Not one to do my bidding? Hark! A trumpet! The trumpet-- (He pauses as the trumpet sounds as in Act I., and masked Soldiers gradually fill in behind the Throne.) KING (rising before his throne). Ay, indeed, the trumpet blows A memorable note, to summon those Who, if forthwith you fall not at the feet Of him whose head you threaten with the dust, Forthwith shall draw the curtain of the Past About you; and this momentary gleam Of glory that you think to hold life-fast, So coming, so shall vanish, as a dream. SEG. He prophesies; the old man prophesies; And, at his trumpet's summons, from the tower The leash-bound shadows loosen'd after me My rising glory reach and over-lour-- But, reach not I my height, he shall not hold, But with me back to his own darkness! (He dashes toward the throne and is enclosed by the soldiers.) Traitors! Hold off! Unhand me!--Am not I your king? And you would strangle him!-- But I am breaking with an inward Fire Shall scorch you off, and wrap me on the wings | What do Menendez y Pelayo compare the Rosaura subplot to? | A parasitical vine |
chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him--how I know not--whither scarce I understand--dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you--and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly-- However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery-- SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects--Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me--elsewhere?-- CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh Fate has with my father fought, Now the mere mouth-piece of its victory Oh, shall not I, the champions' sword laid down, Be yet more shamed to wear the teacher's gown, And, blushing at the part I had to play, Down where that honour'd head I was to lay By this more just submission of my own, The treason Fate has forced on me atone? KING. Oh, Segismund, in whom I see indeed, Out of the ashes of my self-extinction A better self revive; if not beneath Your feet, beneath your better wisdom bow'd, The Sovereignty of Poland I resign, With this its golden symbol; which if thus Saved with its silver head inviolate, Shall nevermore be subject to decline; But when the head that it alights on now Falls honour'd by the very foe that must, As all things mortal, lay it in the dust, Shall star-like shift to his successor's brow. (Shouts, trumpets, etc. God save King Segismund!) SEG. For what remains-- As for my own, so for my people's peace, Astolfo's and Estrella's plighted hands I disunite, and taking hers to mine, His to one yet more dearly his resign. (Shouts, etc. God save Estrella, Queen of Poland!) SEG (to Clotaldo). You That with unflinching duty to your King, Till countermanded by the mightier Power, Have held your Prince a captive in the tower, Henceforth as strictly guard him on the throne No less my people's keeper than my own. You stare upon me all, amazed to hear The word of civil justice from such lips As never yet seem'd tuned to such discourse. But listen--In that same enchanted tower, Not long ago I learn'd it from a dream Expounded by this ancient prophet here; And which he told me, should it come again, How I should I should know That fathers do not use their children so, Or men were loosed from all allegiance To fathers, kings, and heaven that order'd all. But, mad or not, my hour is come, and I Will have my reckoning--Either you lie, Under the skirt of sinless majesty Shrouding your treason; or if _that_ indeed, Guilty itself, take refuge in the stars That cannot hear the charge, or disavow-- You, whether doer or deviser, who Come first to hand, shall pay the penalty By the same hand you owe it to-- (Seizing Clotaldo's sword and about to strike him.) (Enter Rosaura suddenly.) ROSAURA. Fie, my Lord--forbear, What! a young hand raised against silver hair!-- (She retreats through the crowd.) SEG. Stay! stay! What come and vanish'd as before-- I scarce remember how--but-- (Voices within. Room for Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy!) (Enter Astolfo) ASTOLFO. Welcome, thrice welcome, the auspicious day, When from the mountain where he darkling lay, The Polish sun into the firmament Sprung all the brighter for his late ascent, And in meridian glory-- SEG. Where is he? Why must I ask this twice?-- A LORD. The Page, my Lord? I wonder at his boldness-- SEG. But I tell you He came with Angel written in his face As now it is, when all was black as hell About, and none of you who now--he came, And Angel-like flung me a shining sword To cut my way through darkness; and again Angel-like wrests it from me in behalf Of one--whom I will spare for sparing him: But he must come and plead with that same voice That pray'd for me--in vain. CHAMB. He is gone for, And shall attend your pleasure, sir. Meanwhile, Will not your Highness, as in courtesy, Return your royal cousin's greeting? SEG. Whose? CHAMB. Astolfo, the rest to heaven. KING. Whose written words If I should misinterpret or transgress! But as you say-- (To the Lord, who exit.) You, back to him at once; Clotaldo, you, when he is somewhat used To the new world of which they call him Prince, Where place and face, and all, is strange to him, With your known features and familiar garb Shall then, as chorus to the scene, accost him, And by such earnest of that old and too Familiar world, assure him of the new. Last in the strange procession, I myself Will by one full and last development Complete the plot for that catastrophe That he must put to all; God grant it be The crown of Poland on his brows!--Hark! hark!-- Was that his voice within!--Now louder--Oh, Clotaldo, what! so soon begun to roar!-- Again! above the music--But betide What may, until the moment, we must hide. (Exeunt King and Clotaldo.) (He has seated himself on the throne. Enter Chamberlain, with lords in waiting.) CHAMB. I rejoice That unadvised of any but the voice Of royal instinct in the blood, your Highness Has ta'en the chair that you were born to fill. SEG. The chair? CHAMB. The royal throne of Poland, Sir, Which may your Royal Highness keep as long As he that now rules from it shall have ruled When heaven has call'd him to itself. SEG. When he?-- CHAMB. Your royal father, King Basilio, Sir. SEG. My royal father--King Basilio. You see I answer but as Echo does, Not knowing what she listens or repeats. This is my throne--this is my palace--Oh, But this out of the window?-- CHAMB. Warsaw, Sir, Your capital-- SEG. And all the moving people? CHAMB. Your subjects and your vassals like ourselves. SEG. Ay, ay--my subjects--in my capital-- | What animal does Rosaura fall off during her first appearance? | Horse |
quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh The Last Day shall have little left to show Of righted wrong and villainy requited! Nay, Judgment now beginning upon earth, Myself, methinks, in sight of all my wrongs, Appointed heaven's avenging minister, Accuser, judge, and executioner Sword in hand, cite the guilty--First, as worst, The usurper of his son's inheritance; Him and his old accomplice, time and crime Inveterate, and unable to repay The golden years of life they stole away. What, does he yet maintain his state, and keep The throne he should be judged from? Down with him, That I may trample on the false white head So long has worn my crown! Where are my soldiers? Of all my subjects and my vassals here Not one to do my bidding? Hark! A trumpet! The trumpet-- (He pauses as the trumpet sounds as in Act I., and masked Soldiers gradually fill in behind the Throne.) KING (rising before his throne). Ay, indeed, the trumpet blows A memorable note, to summon those Who, if forthwith you fall not at the feet Of him whose head you threaten with the dust, Forthwith shall draw the curtain of the Past About you; and this momentary gleam Of glory that you think to hold life-fast, So coming, so shall vanish, as a dream. SEG. He prophesies; the old man prophesies; And, at his trumpet's summons, from the tower The leash-bound shadows loosen'd after me My rising glory reach and over-lour-- But, reach not I my height, he shall not hold, But with me back to his own darkness! (He dashes toward the throne and is enclosed by the soldiers.) Traitors! Hold off! Unhand me!--Am not I your king? And you would strangle him!-- But I am breaking with an inward Fire Shall scorch you off, and wrap me on the wings tell me here of--how in spite of them, I was enlarged to all that glory. CLO. Ay, By the false spirits' nice contrivance thus A little truth oft leavens all the false, The better to delude us. SEG. For you know 'Tis nothing but a dream? CLO. Nay, you yourself Know best how lately you awoke from that You know you went to sleep on?-- Why, have you never dreamt the like before? SEG. Never, to such reality. CLO. Such dreams Are oftentimes the sleeping exhalations Of that ambition that lies smouldering Under the ashes of the lowest fortune; By which, when reason slumbers, or has lost The reins of sensible comparison, We fly at something higher than we are-- Scarce ever dive to lower--to be kings, Or conquerors, crown'd with laurel or with gold, Nay, mounting heaven itself on eagle wings. Which, by the way, now that I think of it, May furnish us the key to this high flight That royal Eagle we were watching, and Talking of as you went to sleep last night. SEG. Last night? Last night? CLO. Ay, do you not remember Envying his immunity of flight, As, rising from his throne of rock, he sail'd Above the mountains far into the West, That burn'd about him, while with poising wings He darkled in it as a burning brand Is seen to smoulder in the fire it feeds? SEG. Last night--last night--Oh, what a day was that Between that last night and this sad To-day! CLO. And yet, perhaps, Only some few dark moments, into which Imagination, once lit up within And unconditional of time and space, Can pour infinities. SEG. And I remember How the old man they call'd the King, who wore The crown of gold about his silver hair, And a Fate has with my father fought, Now the mere mouth-piece of its victory Oh, shall not I, the champions' sword laid down, Be yet more shamed to wear the teacher's gown, And, blushing at the part I had to play, Down where that honour'd head I was to lay By this more just submission of my own, The treason Fate has forced on me atone? KING. Oh, Segismund, in whom I see indeed, Out of the ashes of my self-extinction A better self revive; if not beneath Your feet, beneath your better wisdom bow'd, The Sovereignty of Poland I resign, With this its golden symbol; which if thus Saved with its silver head inviolate, Shall nevermore be subject to decline; But when the head that it alights on now Falls honour'd by the very foe that must, As all things mortal, lay it in the dust, Shall star-like shift to his successor's brow. (Shouts, trumpets, etc. God save King Segismund!) SEG. For what remains-- As for my own, so for my people's peace, Astolfo's and Estrella's plighted hands I disunite, and taking hers to mine, His to one yet more dearly his resign. (Shouts, etc. God save Estrella, Queen of Poland!) SEG (to Clotaldo). You That with unflinching duty to your King, Till countermanded by the mightier Power, Have held your Prince a captive in the tower, Henceforth as strictly guard him on the throne No less my people's keeper than my own. You stare upon me all, amazed to hear The word of civil justice from such lips As never yet seem'd tuned to such discourse. But listen--In that same enchanted tower, Not long ago I learn'd it from a dream Expounded by this ancient prophet here; And which he told me, should it come again, How I should I should know That fathers do not use their children so, Or men were loosed from all allegiance To fathers, kings, and heaven that order'd all. But, mad or not, my hour is come, and I Will have my reckoning--Either you lie, Under the skirt of sinless majesty Shrouding your treason; or if _that_ indeed, Guilty itself, take refuge in the stars That cannot hear the charge, or disavow-- You, whether doer or deviser, who Come first to hand, shall pay the penalty By the same hand you owe it to-- (Seizing Clotaldo's sword and about to strike him.) (Enter Rosaura suddenly.) ROSAURA. Fie, my Lord--forbear, What! a young hand raised against silver hair!-- (She retreats through the crowd.) SEG. Stay! stay! What come and vanish'd as before-- I scarce remember how--but-- (Voices within. Room for Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy!) (Enter Astolfo) ASTOLFO. Welcome, thrice welcome, the auspicious day, When from the mountain where he darkling lay, The Polish sun into the firmament Sprung all the brighter for his late ascent, And in meridian glory-- SEG. Where is he? Why must I ask this twice?-- A LORD. The Page, my Lord? I wonder at his boldness-- SEG. But I tell you He came with Angel written in his face As now it is, when all was black as hell About, and none of you who now--he came, And Angel-like flung me a shining sword To cut my way through darkness; and again Angel-like wrests it from me in behalf Of one--whom I will spare for sparing him: But he must come and plead with that same voice That pray'd for me--in vain. CHAMB. He is gone for, And shall attend your pleasure, sir. Meanwhile, Will not your Highness, as in courtesy, Return your royal cousin's greeting? SEG. Whose? CHAMB. Astolfo, | What name does Rosauras take on at court? | Astraea |
That stare on this unnatural sight aghast, Listen to one who, Heaven-inspired to do What in its secret wisdom Heaven forecast, By that same Heaven instructed prophet-wise To justify the present in the past. What in the sapphire volume of the skies Is writ by God's own finger misleads none, But him whose vain and misinstructed eyes, They mock with misinterpretation, Or who, mistaking what he rightly read, Ill commentary makes, or misapplies Thinking to shirk or thwart it. Which has done The wisdom of this venerable head; Who, well provided with the secret key To that gold alphabet, himself made me, Himself, I say, the savage he fore-read Fate somehow should be charged with; nipp'd the growth Of better nature in constraint and sloth, That only bring to bear the seed of wrong And turn'd the stream to fury whose out-burst Had kept his lawful channel uncoerced, And fertilized the land he flow'd along. Then like to some unskilful duellist, Who having over-reached himself pushing too hard His foe, or but a moment off his guard-- What odds, when Fate is one's antagonist!-- Nay, more, this royal father, self-dismay'd At having Fate against himself array'd, Upon himself the very sword he knew Should wound him, down upon his bosom drew, That might well handled, well have wrought; or, kept Undrawn, have harmless in the scabbard slept. But Fate shall not by human force be broke, Nor foil'd by human feint; the Secret learn'd Against the scholar by that master turn'd Who to himself reserves the master-stroke. Witness whereof this venerable Age, Thrice crown'd as Sire, and Sovereign, and Sage, Down to the very dust dishonour'd by The very means he tempted to defy The irresistible. And shall not I, Till now the mere dumb instrument that wrought The battle cloud or dragon-back Over the mountains, over the wide Deep, And set them down to wake in Fairyland. CHAMB. Oh, my good Lord, you laugh at me--and I Right glad to make you laugh at such a price: You know me no enchanter: if I were, I and my wand as much as your Highness', As now your chamberlain-- SEG. My chamberlain?-- And these that follow you?-- CHAMB. On you, my Lord, Your Highness' lords in waiting. SEG. Lords in waiting. Well, I have now learn'd to repeat, I think, If only but by rote--This is my palace, And this my throne--which unadvised--And that Out of the window there my Capital; And all the people moving up and down My subjects and my vassals like yourselves, My chamberlain--and lords in waiting--and Clotaldo--and Clotaldo?-- You are an aged, and seem a reverend man-- You do not--though his fellow-officer-- You do not mean to mock me? CHAMB. Oh, my Lord! SEG. Well then--If no magician, as you say, Yet setting me a riddle, that my brain, With all its senses whirling, cannot solve, Yourself or one of these with you must answer-- How I--that only last night fell asleep Not knowing that the very soil of earth I lay down--chain'd--to sleep upon was Poland-- Awake to find myself the Lord of it, With Lords, and Generals, and Chamberlains, And ev'n my very Gaoler, for my vassals! CLOTALDO. Stand all aside That I may put into his hand the clue To lead him out of this amazement. Sir, Vouchsafe your Highness from my bended knee Receive my homage first. SEG. Clotaldo! What, At last--his old self--undisguised where all Is masquerade--to end it!--You kneeling too! What! have the stars you told me long ago Laid that old work upon you, added this, That, having chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him--how I know not--whither scarce I understand--dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you--and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly-- However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery-- SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects--Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me--elsewhere?-- CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of the rest to heaven. KING. Whose written words If I should misinterpret or transgress! But as you say-- (To the Lord, who exit.) You, back to him at once; Clotaldo, you, when he is somewhat used To the new world of which they call him Prince, Where place and face, and all, is strange to him, With your known features and familiar garb Shall then, as chorus to the scene, accost him, And by such earnest of that old and too Familiar world, assure him of the new. Last in the strange procession, I myself Will by one full and last development Complete the plot for that catastrophe That he must put to all; God grant it be The crown of Poland on his brows!--Hark! hark!-- Was that his voice within!--Now louder--Oh, Clotaldo, what! so soon begun to roar!-- Again! above the music--But betide What may, until the moment, we must hide. (Exeunt King and Clotaldo.) (He has seated himself on the throne. Enter Chamberlain, with lords in waiting.) CHAMB. I rejoice That unadvised of any but the voice Of royal instinct in the blood, your Highness Has ta'en the chair that you were born to fill. SEG. The chair? CHAMB. The royal throne of Poland, Sir, Which may your Royal Highness keep as long As he that now rules from it shall have ruled When heaven has call'd him to itself. SEG. When he?-- CHAMB. Your royal father, King Basilio, Sir. SEG. My royal father--King Basilio. You see I answer but as Echo does, Not knowing what she listens or repeats. This is my throne--this is my palace--Oh, But this out of the window?-- CHAMB. Warsaw, Sir, Your capital-- SEG. And all the moving people? CHAMB. Your subjects and your vassals like ourselves. SEG. Ay, ay--my subjects--in my capital-- those stars, Those stars, that too far up from human blame To clear themselves, or careless of the charge, Still bear upon their shining shoulders all The guilt men shift upon them! KING. Nay, but think: Not only on the common score of kind, But that peculiar count of sovereignty-- If not behind the beast in brain as heart, How should I thus deal with my innocent child, Doubly desired, and doubly dear when come, As that sweet second-self that all desire, And princes more than all, to root themselves By that succession in their people's hearts, Unless at that superior Will, to which Not kings alone, but sovereign nature bows? SEG. And what had those same stars to tell of me That should compel a father and a king So much against that double instinct? KING. That, Which I have brought you hither, at my peril, Against their written warning, to disprove, By justice, mercy, human kindliness. SEG. And therefore made yourself their instrument To make your son the savage and the brute They only prophesied?--Are you not afear'd, Lest, irrespective as such creatures are Of such relationship, the brute you made Revenge the man you marr'd--like sire, like son. To do by you as you by me have done? KING. You never had a savage heart from me; I may appeal to Poland. SEG. Then from whom? If pure in fountain, poison'd by yourself When scarce begun to flow.--To make a man Not, as I see, degraded from the mould I came from, nor compared to those about, And then to throw your own flesh to the dogs!-- Why not at once, I say, if terrified At the prophetic omens of my birth, Have drown'd or stifled me, as they do whelps Too costly or too dangerous to | Who was the last immortal to leave earth with the decline of ages? | Astraea |
That stare on this unnatural sight aghast, Listen to one who, Heaven-inspired to do What in its secret wisdom Heaven forecast, By that same Heaven instructed prophet-wise To justify the present in the past. What in the sapphire volume of the skies Is writ by God's own finger misleads none, But him whose vain and misinstructed eyes, They mock with misinterpretation, Or who, mistaking what he rightly read, Ill commentary makes, or misapplies Thinking to shirk or thwart it. Which has done The wisdom of this venerable head; Who, well provided with the secret key To that gold alphabet, himself made me, Himself, I say, the savage he fore-read Fate somehow should be charged with; nipp'd the growth Of better nature in constraint and sloth, That only bring to bear the seed of wrong And turn'd the stream to fury whose out-burst Had kept his lawful channel uncoerced, And fertilized the land he flow'd along. Then like to some unskilful duellist, Who having over-reached himself pushing too hard His foe, or but a moment off his guard-- What odds, when Fate is one's antagonist!-- Nay, more, this royal father, self-dismay'd At having Fate against himself array'd, Upon himself the very sword he knew Should wound him, down upon his bosom drew, That might well handled, well have wrought; or, kept Undrawn, have harmless in the scabbard slept. But Fate shall not by human force be broke, Nor foil'd by human feint; the Secret learn'd Against the scholar by that master turn'd Who to himself reserves the master-stroke. Witness whereof this venerable Age, Thrice crown'd as Sire, and Sovereign, and Sage, Down to the very dust dishonour'd by The very means he tempted to defy The irresistible. And shall not I, Till now the mere dumb instrument that wrought The battle chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him--how I know not--whither scarce I understand--dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you--and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly-- However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery-- SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects--Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me--elsewhere?-- CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of cloud or dragon-back Over the mountains, over the wide Deep, And set them down to wake in Fairyland. CHAMB. Oh, my good Lord, you laugh at me--and I Right glad to make you laugh at such a price: You know me no enchanter: if I were, I and my wand as much as your Highness', As now your chamberlain-- SEG. My chamberlain?-- And these that follow you?-- CHAMB. On you, my Lord, Your Highness' lords in waiting. SEG. Lords in waiting. Well, I have now learn'd to repeat, I think, If only but by rote--This is my palace, And this my throne--which unadvised--And that Out of the window there my Capital; And all the people moving up and down My subjects and my vassals like yourselves, My chamberlain--and lords in waiting--and Clotaldo--and Clotaldo?-- You are an aged, and seem a reverend man-- You do not--though his fellow-officer-- You do not mean to mock me? CHAMB. Oh, my Lord! SEG. Well then--If no magician, as you say, Yet setting me a riddle, that my brain, With all its senses whirling, cannot solve, Yourself or one of these with you must answer-- How I--that only last night fell asleep Not knowing that the very soil of earth I lay down--chain'd--to sleep upon was Poland-- Awake to find myself the Lord of it, With Lords, and Generals, and Chamberlains, And ev'n my very Gaoler, for my vassals! CLOTALDO. Stand all aside That I may put into his hand the clue To lead him out of this amazement. Sir, Vouchsafe your Highness from my bended knee Receive my homage first. SEG. Clotaldo! What, At last--his old self--undisguised where all Is masquerade--to end it!--You kneeling too! What! have the stars you told me long ago Laid that old work upon you, added this, That, having tell me here of--how in spite of them, I was enlarged to all that glory. CLO. Ay, By the false spirits' nice contrivance thus A little truth oft leavens all the false, The better to delude us. SEG. For you know 'Tis nothing but a dream? CLO. Nay, you yourself Know best how lately you awoke from that You know you went to sleep on?-- Why, have you never dreamt the like before? SEG. Never, to such reality. CLO. Such dreams Are oftentimes the sleeping exhalations Of that ambition that lies smouldering Under the ashes of the lowest fortune; By which, when reason slumbers, or has lost The reins of sensible comparison, We fly at something higher than we are-- Scarce ever dive to lower--to be kings, Or conquerors, crown'd with laurel or with gold, Nay, mounting heaven itself on eagle wings. Which, by the way, now that I think of it, May furnish us the key to this high flight That royal Eagle we were watching, and Talking of as you went to sleep last night. SEG. Last night? Last night? CLO. Ay, do you not remember Envying his immunity of flight, As, rising from his throne of rock, he sail'd Above the mountains far into the West, That burn'd about him, while with poising wings He darkled in it as a burning brand Is seen to smoulder in the fire it feeds? SEG. Last night--last night--Oh, what a day was that Between that last night and this sad To-day! CLO. And yet, perhaps, Only some few dark moments, into which Imagination, once lit up within And unconditional of time and space, Can pour infinities. SEG. And I remember How the old man they call'd the King, who wore The crown of gold about his silver hair, And a mysterious girdle round his waist, Just when my rage was roaring at its height, And after which it all was dark again, Bid me beware lest all should be a dream. CLO. Ay--there another specialty of dreams, That once the dreamer 'gins to dream he dreams, His foot is on the very verge of waking. SEG. Would it had been upon the verge of death That knows no waking-- Lifting me up to glory, to fall back, Stunn'd, crippled--wretcheder than ev'n before. CLO. Yet not so glorious, Segismund, if you Your visionary honour wore so ill As to work murder and revenge on those Who meant you well. SEG. Who meant me!--me! their Prince Chain'd like a felon-- CLO. Stay, stay--Not so fast, You dream'd the Prince, remember. SEG. Then in dream Revenged it only. CLO. True. But as they say Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul Yet uncorrected of the higher Will, So that men sometimes in their dreams confess An unsuspected, or forgotten, self; One must beware to check--ay, if one may, Stifle ere born, such passion in ourselves As makes, we see, such havoc with our sleep, And ill reacts upon the waking day. And, by the bye, for one test, Segismund, Between such swearable realities-- Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin In missing each that salutary rein Of reason, and the guiding will of man: One test, I think, of waking sanity Shall be that conscious power of self-control, To curb all passion, but much most of all That evil and vindictive, that ill squares With human, and with holy canon less, Which bids us pardon ev'n our enemies, And much more those who, out of no ill will, Mistakenly have taken up the rod Which heaven, they think, has put into their hands. | What signals the return of the mythical Golden Age? | The arrival of Astraea |
the rest to heaven. KING. Whose written words If I should misinterpret or transgress! But as you say-- (To the Lord, who exit.) You, back to him at once; Clotaldo, you, when he is somewhat used To the new world of which they call him Prince, Where place and face, and all, is strange to him, With your known features and familiar garb Shall then, as chorus to the scene, accost him, And by such earnest of that old and too Familiar world, assure him of the new. Last in the strange procession, I myself Will by one full and last development Complete the plot for that catastrophe That he must put to all; God grant it be The crown of Poland on his brows!--Hark! hark!-- Was that his voice within!--Now louder--Oh, Clotaldo, what! so soon begun to roar!-- Again! above the music--But betide What may, until the moment, we must hide. (Exeunt King and Clotaldo.) (He has seated himself on the throne. Enter Chamberlain, with lords in waiting.) CHAMB. I rejoice That unadvised of any but the voice Of royal instinct in the blood, your Highness Has ta'en the chair that you were born to fill. SEG. The chair? CHAMB. The royal throne of Poland, Sir, Which may your Royal Highness keep as long As he that now rules from it shall have ruled When heaven has call'd him to itself. SEG. When he?-- CHAMB. Your royal father, King Basilio, Sir. SEG. My royal father--King Basilio. You see I answer but as Echo does, Not knowing what she listens or repeats. This is my throne--this is my palace--Oh, But this out of the window?-- CHAMB. Warsaw, Sir, Your capital-- SEG. And all the moving people? CHAMB. Your subjects and your vassals like ourselves. SEG. Ay, ay--my subjects--in my capital-- quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh I should know That fathers do not use their children so, Or men were loosed from all allegiance To fathers, kings, and heaven that order'd all. But, mad or not, my hour is come, and I Will have my reckoning--Either you lie, Under the skirt of sinless majesty Shrouding your treason; or if _that_ indeed, Guilty itself, take refuge in the stars That cannot hear the charge, or disavow-- You, whether doer or deviser, who Come first to hand, shall pay the penalty By the same hand you owe it to-- (Seizing Clotaldo's sword and about to strike him.) (Enter Rosaura suddenly.) ROSAURA. Fie, my Lord--forbear, What! a young hand raised against silver hair!-- (She retreats through the crowd.) SEG. Stay! stay! What come and vanish'd as before-- I scarce remember how--but-- (Voices within. Room for Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy!) (Enter Astolfo) ASTOLFO. Welcome, thrice welcome, the auspicious day, When from the mountain where he darkling lay, The Polish sun into the firmament Sprung all the brighter for his late ascent, And in meridian glory-- SEG. Where is he? Why must I ask this twice?-- A LORD. The Page, my Lord? I wonder at his boldness-- SEG. But I tell you He came with Angel written in his face As now it is, when all was black as hell About, and none of you who now--he came, And Angel-like flung me a shining sword To cut my way through darkness; and again Angel-like wrests it from me in behalf Of one--whom I will spare for sparing him: But he must come and plead with that same voice That pray'd for me--in vain. CHAMB. He is gone for, And shall attend your pleasure, sir. Meanwhile, Will not your Highness, as in courtesy, Return your royal cousin's greeting? SEG. Whose? CHAMB. Astolfo, the hours that draw the sun from heaven Unite us at the customary board, Each to his several chamber: you to rest; I to contrive with old Clotaldo best The method of a stranger thing than old Time has a yet among his records told. SCENE I--A Throne-room in the Palace. Music within. (Enter King and Clotaldo, meeting a Lord in waiting) KING. You, for a moment beckon'd from your office, Tell me thus far how goes it. In due time The potion left him? LORD. At the very hour To which your Highness temper'd it. Yet not So wholly but some lingering mist still hung About his dawning senses--which to clear, We fill'd and handed him a morning drink With sleep's specific antidote suffused; And while with princely raiment we invested What nature surely modell'd for a Prince-- All but the sword--as you directed-- LORD. If not too loudly, yet emphatically Still with the title of a Prince address'd him. KING. How bore he that? LORD. With all the rest, my liege, I will not say so like one in a dream As one himself misdoubting that he dream'd. KING. So far so well, Clotaldo, either way, And best of all if tow'rd the worse I dread. But yet no violence? LORD. At most, impatience; Wearied perhaps with importunities We yet were bound to offer. KING. Oh, Clotaldo! Though thus far well, yet would myself had drunk The potion he revives from! such suspense Crowds all the pulses of life's residue Into the present moment; and, I think, Whichever way the trembling scale may turn, Will leave the crown of Poland for some one To wait no longer than the setting sun! CLO. Courage, my liege! The curtain is undrawn, And each must play his part out manfully, Leaving royal welcome that arose and blew, Breathed from no lying lips, along with it. For here Clotaldo comes, his own old self, Who, if not Lie and phantom with the rest-- (Aloud) Well, then, all this is thus. For have not these fine people told me so, And you, Clotaldo, sworn it? And the Why And Wherefore are to follow by and bye! And yet--and yet--why wait for that which you Who take your oath on it can answer--and Indeed it presses hard upon my brain-- What I was asking of these gentlemen When you came in upon us; how it is That I--the Segismund you know so long No longer than the sun that rose to-day Rose--and from what you know-- Rose to be Prince of Poland? CLO. So to be Acknowledged and entreated, Sir. SEG. So be Acknowledged and entreated-- Well--But if now by all, by some at least So known--if not entreated--heretofore-- Though not by you--For, now I think again, Of what should be your attestation worth, You that of all my questionable subjects Who knowing what, yet left me where I was, You least of all, Clotaldo, till the dawn Of this first day that told it to myself? CLO. Oh, let your Highness draw the line across Fore-written sorrow, and in this new dawn Bury that long sad night. SEG. Not ev'n the Dead, Call'd to the resurrection of the blest, Shall so directly drop all memory Of woes and wrongs foregone! CLO. But not resent-- Purged by the trial of that sorrow past For full fruition of their present bliss. SEG. But leaving with the Judge what, till this earth Be cancell'd in the burning heavens, He leaves His earthly delegates to execute, Of retribution in reward to them And woe to those who | What character in Ariosto's Orlando furioso is Rosaura compared to? | Astolfo |
mysterious girdle round his waist, Just when my rage was roaring at its height, And after which it all was dark again, Bid me beware lest all should be a dream. CLO. Ay--there another specialty of dreams, That once the dreamer 'gins to dream he dreams, His foot is on the very verge of waking. SEG. Would it had been upon the verge of death That knows no waking-- Lifting me up to glory, to fall back, Stunn'd, crippled--wretcheder than ev'n before. CLO. Yet not so glorious, Segismund, if you Your visionary honour wore so ill As to work murder and revenge on those Who meant you well. SEG. Who meant me!--me! their Prince Chain'd like a felon-- CLO. Stay, stay--Not so fast, You dream'd the Prince, remember. SEG. Then in dream Revenged it only. CLO. True. But as they say Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul Yet uncorrected of the higher Will, So that men sometimes in their dreams confess An unsuspected, or forgotten, self; One must beware to check--ay, if one may, Stifle ere born, such passion in ourselves As makes, we see, such havoc with our sleep, And ill reacts upon the waking day. And, by the bye, for one test, Segismund, Between such swearable realities-- Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin In missing each that salutary rein Of reason, and the guiding will of man: One test, I think, of waking sanity Shall be that conscious power of self-control, To curb all passion, but much most of all That evil and vindictive, that ill squares With human, and with holy canon less, Which bids us pardon ev'n our enemies, And much more those who, out of no ill will, Mistakenly have taken up the rod Which heaven, they think, has put into their hands. quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh the hours that draw the sun from heaven Unite us at the customary board, Each to his several chamber: you to rest; I to contrive with old Clotaldo best The method of a stranger thing than old Time has a yet among his records told. SCENE I--A Throne-room in the Palace. Music within. (Enter King and Clotaldo, meeting a Lord in waiting) KING. You, for a moment beckon'd from your office, Tell me thus far how goes it. In due time The potion left him? LORD. At the very hour To which your Highness temper'd it. Yet not So wholly but some lingering mist still hung About his dawning senses--which to clear, We fill'd and handed him a morning drink With sleep's specific antidote suffused; And while with princely raiment we invested What nature surely modell'd for a Prince-- All but the sword--as you directed-- LORD. If not too loudly, yet emphatically Still with the title of a Prince address'd him. KING. How bore he that? LORD. With all the rest, my liege, I will not say so like one in a dream As one himself misdoubting that he dream'd. KING. So far so well, Clotaldo, either way, And best of all if tow'rd the worse I dread. But yet no violence? LORD. At most, impatience; Wearied perhaps with importunities We yet were bound to offer. KING. Oh, Clotaldo! Though thus far well, yet would myself had drunk The potion he revives from! such suspense Crowds all the pulses of life's residue Into the present moment; and, I think, Whichever way the trembling scale may turn, Will leave the crown of Poland for some one To wait no longer than the setting sun! CLO. Courage, my liege! The curtain is undrawn, And each must play his part out manfully, Leaving Fate has with my father fought, Now the mere mouth-piece of its victory Oh, shall not I, the champions' sword laid down, Be yet more shamed to wear the teacher's gown, And, blushing at the part I had to play, Down where that honour'd head I was to lay By this more just submission of my own, The treason Fate has forced on me atone? KING. Oh, Segismund, in whom I see indeed, Out of the ashes of my self-extinction A better self revive; if not beneath Your feet, beneath your better wisdom bow'd, The Sovereignty of Poland I resign, With this its golden symbol; which if thus Saved with its silver head inviolate, Shall nevermore be subject to decline; But when the head that it alights on now Falls honour'd by the very foe that must, As all things mortal, lay it in the dust, Shall star-like shift to his successor's brow. (Shouts, trumpets, etc. God save King Segismund!) SEG. For what remains-- As for my own, so for my people's peace, Astolfo's and Estrella's plighted hands I disunite, and taking hers to mine, His to one yet more dearly his resign. (Shouts, etc. God save Estrella, Queen of Poland!) SEG (to Clotaldo). You That with unflinching duty to your King, Till countermanded by the mightier Power, Have held your Prince a captive in the tower, Henceforth as strictly guard him on the throne No less my people's keeper than my own. You stare upon me all, amazed to hear The word of civil justice from such lips As never yet seem'd tuned to such discourse. But listen--In that same enchanted tower, Not long ago I learn'd it from a dream Expounded by this ancient prophet here; And which he told me, should it come again, How I should cloud or dragon-back Over the mountains, over the wide Deep, And set them down to wake in Fairyland. CHAMB. Oh, my good Lord, you laugh at me--and I Right glad to make you laugh at such a price: You know me no enchanter: if I were, I and my wand as much as your Highness', As now your chamberlain-- SEG. My chamberlain?-- And these that follow you?-- CHAMB. On you, my Lord, Your Highness' lords in waiting. SEG. Lords in waiting. Well, I have now learn'd to repeat, I think, If only but by rote--This is my palace, And this my throne--which unadvised--And that Out of the window there my Capital; And all the people moving up and down My subjects and my vassals like yourselves, My chamberlain--and lords in waiting--and Clotaldo--and Clotaldo?-- You are an aged, and seem a reverend man-- You do not--though his fellow-officer-- You do not mean to mock me? CHAMB. Oh, my Lord! SEG. Well then--If no magician, as you say, Yet setting me a riddle, that my brain, With all its senses whirling, cannot solve, Yourself or one of these with you must answer-- How I--that only last night fell asleep Not knowing that the very soil of earth I lay down--chain'd--to sleep upon was Poland-- Awake to find myself the Lord of it, With Lords, and Generals, and Chamberlains, And ev'n my very Gaoler, for my vassals! CLOTALDO. Stand all aside That I may put into his hand the clue To lead him out of this amazement. Sir, Vouchsafe your Highness from my bended knee Receive my homage first. SEG. Clotaldo! What, At last--his old self--undisguised where all Is masquerade--to end it!--You kneeling too! What! have the stars you told me long ago Laid that old work upon you, added this, That, having | What character decieves Rosaura? | Astolfo |
That stare on this unnatural sight aghast, Listen to one who, Heaven-inspired to do What in its secret wisdom Heaven forecast, By that same Heaven instructed prophet-wise To justify the present in the past. What in the sapphire volume of the skies Is writ by God's own finger misleads none, But him whose vain and misinstructed eyes, They mock with misinterpretation, Or who, mistaking what he rightly read, Ill commentary makes, or misapplies Thinking to shirk or thwart it. Which has done The wisdom of this venerable head; Who, well provided with the secret key To that gold alphabet, himself made me, Himself, I say, the savage he fore-read Fate somehow should be charged with; nipp'd the growth Of better nature in constraint and sloth, That only bring to bear the seed of wrong And turn'd the stream to fury whose out-burst Had kept his lawful channel uncoerced, And fertilized the land he flow'd along. Then like to some unskilful duellist, Who having over-reached himself pushing too hard His foe, or but a moment off his guard-- What odds, when Fate is one's antagonist!-- Nay, more, this royal father, self-dismay'd At having Fate against himself array'd, Upon himself the very sword he knew Should wound him, down upon his bosom drew, That might well handled, well have wrought; or, kept Undrawn, have harmless in the scabbard slept. But Fate shall not by human force be broke, Nor foil'd by human feint; the Secret learn'd Against the scholar by that master turn'd Who to himself reserves the master-stroke. Witness whereof this venerable Age, Thrice crown'd as Sire, and Sovereign, and Sage, Down to the very dust dishonour'd by The very means he tempted to defy The irresistible. And shall not I, Till now the mere dumb instrument that wrought The battle By Pedro Calderon De La Barca Translated by Edward Fitzgerald Pedro Calderon de la Barca was born in Madrid, January 17, 1600, of good family. He was educated at the Jesuit College in Madrid and at the University of Salamanca; and a doubtful tradition says that he began to write plays at the age of thirteen. His literary activity was interrupted for ten years, 1625-1635, by military service in Italy and the Low Countries, and again for a year or more in Catalonia. In 1637 he became a Knight of the Order of Santiago, and in 1651 he entered the priesthood, rising to the dignity of Superior of the Brotherhood of San Pedro in Madrid. He held various offices in the court of Philip IV, who rewarded his services with pensions, and had his plays produced with great splendor. He died May 5, 1681. At the time when Calderon began to compose for the stage, the Spanish drama was at its height. Lope de Vega, the most prolific and, with Calderon, the greatest, of Spanish dramatists, was still alive; and by his applause gave encouragement to the beginner whose fame was to rival his own. The national type of drama which Lope had established was maintained in its essential characteristics by Calderon, and he produced abundant specimens of all its varieties. Of regular plays he has left a hundred and twenty; of "Autos Sacramentales," the peculiar Spanish allegorical development of the medieval mystery, we have seventy-three; besides a considerable number of farces. The dominant motives in Calderon's dramas are characteristically national: fervid loyalty to Church and King, and a sense of honor heightened almost to the point of the fantastic. Though his plays are laid in a great variety of scenes and ages, the sentiment and the characters remain essentially quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh I should know That fathers do not use their children so, Or men were loosed from all allegiance To fathers, kings, and heaven that order'd all. But, mad or not, my hour is come, and I Will have my reckoning--Either you lie, Under the skirt of sinless majesty Shrouding your treason; or if _that_ indeed, Guilty itself, take refuge in the stars That cannot hear the charge, or disavow-- You, whether doer or deviser, who Come first to hand, shall pay the penalty By the same hand you owe it to-- (Seizing Clotaldo's sword and about to strike him.) (Enter Rosaura suddenly.) ROSAURA. Fie, my Lord--forbear, What! a young hand raised against silver hair!-- (She retreats through the crowd.) SEG. Stay! stay! What come and vanish'd as before-- I scarce remember how--but-- (Voices within. Room for Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy!) (Enter Astolfo) ASTOLFO. Welcome, thrice welcome, the auspicious day, When from the mountain where he darkling lay, The Polish sun into the firmament Sprung all the brighter for his late ascent, And in meridian glory-- SEG. Where is he? Why must I ask this twice?-- A LORD. The Page, my Lord? I wonder at his boldness-- SEG. But I tell you He came with Angel written in his face As now it is, when all was black as hell About, and none of you who now--he came, And Angel-like flung me a shining sword To cut my way through darkness; and again Angel-like wrests it from me in behalf Of one--whom I will spare for sparing him: But he must come and plead with that same voice That pray'd for me--in vain. CHAMB. He is gone for, And shall attend your pleasure, sir. Meanwhile, Will not your Highness, as in courtesy, Return your royal cousin's greeting? SEG. Whose? CHAMB. Astolfo, those stars, Those stars, that too far up from human blame To clear themselves, or careless of the charge, Still bear upon their shining shoulders all The guilt men shift upon them! KING. Nay, but think: Not only on the common score of kind, But that peculiar count of sovereignty-- If not behind the beast in brain as heart, How should I thus deal with my innocent child, Doubly desired, and doubly dear when come, As that sweet second-self that all desire, And princes more than all, to root themselves By that succession in their people's hearts, Unless at that superior Will, to which Not kings alone, but sovereign nature bows? SEG. And what had those same stars to tell of me That should compel a father and a king So much against that double instinct? KING. That, Which I have brought you hither, at my peril, Against their written warning, to disprove, By justice, mercy, human kindliness. SEG. And therefore made yourself their instrument To make your son the savage and the brute They only prophesied?--Are you not afear'd, Lest, irrespective as such creatures are Of such relationship, the brute you made Revenge the man you marr'd--like sire, like son. To do by you as you by me have done? KING. You never had a savage heart from me; I may appeal to Poland. SEG. Then from whom? If pure in fountain, poison'd by yourself When scarce begun to flow.--To make a man Not, as I see, degraded from the mould I came from, nor compared to those about, And then to throw your own flesh to the dogs!-- Why not at once, I say, if terrified At the prophetic omens of my birth, Have drown'd or stifled me, as they do whelps Too costly or too dangerous to | What is Astraea the goddess of? | Chastity and justice |
not how this is--perhaps in brutes That live by kindlier instincts--but I know That looking now upon that head whose crown Pronounces him a sovereign king, I feel No setting of the current in my blood Tow'rd him as sire. How is't with you, old man, Tow'rd him they call your son?-- KING. Alas! Alas! SEG. Your sorrow, then? KING. Beholding what I do. SEG. Ay, but how know this sorrow that has grown And moulded to this present shape of man, As of your own creation? KING. Ev'n from birth. SEG. But from that hour to this, near, as I think, Some twenty such renewals of the year As trace themselves upon the barren rocks, I never saw you, nor you me--unless, Unless, indeed, through one of those dark masks Through which a son might fail to recognize The best of fathers. KING. Be that as you will: But, now we see each other face to face, Know me as you I know; which did I not, By whatsoever signs, assuredly You were not here to prove it at my risk. SEG. You are my father. And is it true then, as Clotaldo swears, 'Twas you that from the dawning birth of one Yourself brought into being,--you, I say, Who stole his very birthright; not alone That secondary and peculiar right Of sovereignty, but even that prime Inheritance that all men share alike, And chain'd him--chain'd him!--like a wild beast's whelp. Among as savage mountains, to this hour? Answer if this be thus. KING. Oh, Segismund, In all that I have done that seems to you, And, without further hearing, fairly seems, Unnatural and cruel--'twas not I, But One who writes His order in the sky I dared not misinterpret nor neglect, Who knows with what reluctance-- SEG. Oh, quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh mysterious girdle round his waist, Just when my rage was roaring at its height, And after which it all was dark again, Bid me beware lest all should be a dream. CLO. Ay--there another specialty of dreams, That once the dreamer 'gins to dream he dreams, His foot is on the very verge of waking. SEG. Would it had been upon the verge of death That knows no waking-- Lifting me up to glory, to fall back, Stunn'd, crippled--wretcheder than ev'n before. CLO. Yet not so glorious, Segismund, if you Your visionary honour wore so ill As to work murder and revenge on those Who meant you well. SEG. Who meant me!--me! their Prince Chain'd like a felon-- CLO. Stay, stay--Not so fast, You dream'd the Prince, remember. SEG. Then in dream Revenged it only. CLO. True. But as they say Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul Yet uncorrected of the higher Will, So that men sometimes in their dreams confess An unsuspected, or forgotten, self; One must beware to check--ay, if one may, Stifle ere born, such passion in ourselves As makes, we see, such havoc with our sleep, And ill reacts upon the waking day. And, by the bye, for one test, Segismund, Between such swearable realities-- Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin In missing each that salutary rein Of reason, and the guiding will of man: One test, I think, of waking sanity Shall be that conscious power of self-control, To curb all passion, but much most of all That evil and vindictive, that ill squares With human, and with holy canon less, Which bids us pardon ev'n our enemies, And much more those who, out of no ill will, Mistakenly have taken up the rod Which heaven, they think, has put into their hands. those stars, Those stars, that too far up from human blame To clear themselves, or careless of the charge, Still bear upon their shining shoulders all The guilt men shift upon them! KING. Nay, but think: Not only on the common score of kind, But that peculiar count of sovereignty-- If not behind the beast in brain as heart, How should I thus deal with my innocent child, Doubly desired, and doubly dear when come, As that sweet second-self that all desire, And princes more than all, to root themselves By that succession in their people's hearts, Unless at that superior Will, to which Not kings alone, but sovereign nature bows? SEG. And what had those same stars to tell of me That should compel a father and a king So much against that double instinct? KING. That, Which I have brought you hither, at my peril, Against their written warning, to disprove, By justice, mercy, human kindliness. SEG. And therefore made yourself their instrument To make your son the savage and the brute They only prophesied?--Are you not afear'd, Lest, irrespective as such creatures are Of such relationship, the brute you made Revenge the man you marr'd--like sire, like son. To do by you as you by me have done? KING. You never had a savage heart from me; I may appeal to Poland. SEG. Then from whom? If pure in fountain, poison'd by yourself When scarce begun to flow.--To make a man Not, as I see, degraded from the mould I came from, nor compared to those about, And then to throw your own flesh to the dogs!-- Why not at once, I say, if terrified At the prophetic omens of my birth, Have drown'd or stifled me, as they do whelps Too costly or too dangerous to I should know That fathers do not use their children so, Or men were loosed from all allegiance To fathers, kings, and heaven that order'd all. But, mad or not, my hour is come, and I Will have my reckoning--Either you lie, Under the skirt of sinless majesty Shrouding your treason; or if _that_ indeed, Guilty itself, take refuge in the stars That cannot hear the charge, or disavow-- You, whether doer or deviser, who Come first to hand, shall pay the penalty By the same hand you owe it to-- (Seizing Clotaldo's sword and about to strike him.) (Enter Rosaura suddenly.) ROSAURA. Fie, my Lord--forbear, What! a young hand raised against silver hair!-- (She retreats through the crowd.) SEG. Stay! stay! What come and vanish'd as before-- I scarce remember how--but-- (Voices within. Room for Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy!) (Enter Astolfo) ASTOLFO. Welcome, thrice welcome, the auspicious day, When from the mountain where he darkling lay, The Polish sun into the firmament Sprung all the brighter for his late ascent, And in meridian glory-- SEG. Where is he? Why must I ask this twice?-- A LORD. The Page, my Lord? I wonder at his boldness-- SEG. But I tell you He came with Angel written in his face As now it is, when all was black as hell About, and none of you who now--he came, And Angel-like flung me a shining sword To cut my way through darkness; and again Angel-like wrests it from me in behalf Of one--whom I will spare for sparing him: But he must come and plead with that same voice That pray'd for me--in vain. CHAMB. He is gone for, And shall attend your pleasure, sir. Meanwhile, Will not your Highness, as in courtesy, Return your royal cousin's greeting? SEG. Whose? CHAMB. Astolfo, | Whose actions is Rosaura said to parallel? | Segismundo |
Of conflagration from a kindled pyre Of lying prophecies and prophet-kings Above the extinguish'd stars--Reach me the sword He flung me--Fill me such a bowl of wine As that you woke the day with-- KING. And shall close,-- But of the vintage that Clotaldo knows. (Exeunt.) SCENE I.--The Tower, etc., as in Act I. Scene I. Segismund, as at first, and Clotaldo. CLOTALDO. Princes and princesses, and counsellors Fluster'd to right and left--my life made at-- But that was nothing Even the white-hair'd, venerable King Seized on--Indeed, you made wild work of it; And so discover'd in your outward action, Flinging your arms about you in your sleep, Grinding your teeth--and, as I now remember, Woke mouthing out judgment and execution, On those about you. SEG. Ay, I did indeed. CLO. Ev'n now your eyes stare wild; your hair stands up-- Your pulses throb and flutter, reeling still Under the storm of such a dream-- SEG. A dream! That seem'd as swearable reality As what I wake in now. CLO. Ay--wondrous how Imagination in a sleeping brain Out of the uncontingent senses draws Sensations strong as from the real touch; That we not only laugh aloud, and drench With tears our pillow; but in the agony Of some imaginary conflict, fight And struggle--ev'n as you did; some, 'tis thought, Under the dreamt-of stroke of death have died. SEG. And what so very strange too--In that world Where place as well as people all was strange, Ev'n I almost as strange unto myself, You only, you, Clotaldo--you, as much And palpably yourself as now you are, Came in this very garb you ever wore, By such a token of the past, you said, To assure me of that seeming present. SEG. Ay; and even told me of the very stars You By Pedro Calderon De La Barca Translated by Edward Fitzgerald Pedro Calderon de la Barca was born in Madrid, January 17, 1600, of good family. He was educated at the Jesuit College in Madrid and at the University of Salamanca; and a doubtful tradition says that he began to write plays at the age of thirteen. His literary activity was interrupted for ten years, 1625-1635, by military service in Italy and the Low Countries, and again for a year or more in Catalonia. In 1637 he became a Knight of the Order of Santiago, and in 1651 he entered the priesthood, rising to the dignity of Superior of the Brotherhood of San Pedro in Madrid. He held various offices in the court of Philip IV, who rewarded his services with pensions, and had his plays produced with great splendor. He died May 5, 1681. At the time when Calderon began to compose for the stage, the Spanish drama was at its height. Lope de Vega, the most prolific and, with Calderon, the greatest, of Spanish dramatists, was still alive; and by his applause gave encouragement to the beginner whose fame was to rival his own. The national type of drama which Lope had established was maintained in its essential characteristics by Calderon, and he produced abundant specimens of all its varieties. Of regular plays he has left a hundred and twenty; of "Autos Sacramentales," the peculiar Spanish allegorical development of the medieval mystery, we have seventy-three; besides a considerable number of farces. The dominant motives in Calderon's dramas are characteristically national: fervid loyalty to Church and King, and a sense of honor heightened almost to the point of the fantastic. Though his plays are laid in a great variety of scenes and ages, the sentiment and the characters remain essentially quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh mysterious girdle round his waist, Just when my rage was roaring at its height, And after which it all was dark again, Bid me beware lest all should be a dream. CLO. Ay--there another specialty of dreams, That once the dreamer 'gins to dream he dreams, His foot is on the very verge of waking. SEG. Would it had been upon the verge of death That knows no waking-- Lifting me up to glory, to fall back, Stunn'd, crippled--wretcheder than ev'n before. CLO. Yet not so glorious, Segismund, if you Your visionary honour wore so ill As to work murder and revenge on those Who meant you well. SEG. Who meant me!--me! their Prince Chain'd like a felon-- CLO. Stay, stay--Not so fast, You dream'd the Prince, remember. SEG. Then in dream Revenged it only. CLO. True. But as they say Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul Yet uncorrected of the higher Will, So that men sometimes in their dreams confess An unsuspected, or forgotten, self; One must beware to check--ay, if one may, Stifle ere born, such passion in ourselves As makes, we see, such havoc with our sleep, And ill reacts upon the waking day. And, by the bye, for one test, Segismund, Between such swearable realities-- Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin In missing each that salutary rein Of reason, and the guiding will of man: One test, I think, of waking sanity Shall be that conscious power of self-control, To curb all passion, but much most of all That evil and vindictive, that ill squares With human, and with holy canon less, Which bids us pardon ev'n our enemies, And much more those who, out of no ill will, Mistakenly have taken up the rod Which heaven, they think, has put into their hands. not how this is--perhaps in brutes That live by kindlier instincts--but I know That looking now upon that head whose crown Pronounces him a sovereign king, I feel No setting of the current in my blood Tow'rd him as sire. How is't with you, old man, Tow'rd him they call your son?-- KING. Alas! Alas! SEG. Your sorrow, then? KING. Beholding what I do. SEG. Ay, but how know this sorrow that has grown And moulded to this present shape of man, As of your own creation? KING. Ev'n from birth. SEG. But from that hour to this, near, as I think, Some twenty such renewals of the year As trace themselves upon the barren rocks, I never saw you, nor you me--unless, Unless, indeed, through one of those dark masks Through which a son might fail to recognize The best of fathers. KING. Be that as you will: But, now we see each other face to face, Know me as you I know; which did I not, By whatsoever signs, assuredly You were not here to prove it at my risk. SEG. You are my father. And is it true then, as Clotaldo swears, 'Twas you that from the dawning birth of one Yourself brought into being,--you, I say, Who stole his very birthright; not alone That secondary and peculiar right Of sovereignty, but even that prime Inheritance that all men share alike, And chain'd him--chain'd him!--like a wild beast's whelp. Among as savage mountains, to this hour? Answer if this be thus. KING. Oh, Segismund, In all that I have done that seems to you, And, without further hearing, fairly seems, Unnatural and cruel--'twas not I, But One who writes His order in the sky I dared not misinterpret nor neglect, Who knows with what reluctance-- SEG. Oh, | What real life person is the character of Segismundo said to represent? | King Philip IV of Spain |
That stare on this unnatural sight aghast, Listen to one who, Heaven-inspired to do What in its secret wisdom Heaven forecast, By that same Heaven instructed prophet-wise To justify the present in the past. What in the sapphire volume of the skies Is writ by God's own finger misleads none, But him whose vain and misinstructed eyes, They mock with misinterpretation, Or who, mistaking what he rightly read, Ill commentary makes, or misapplies Thinking to shirk or thwart it. Which has done The wisdom of this venerable head; Who, well provided with the secret key To that gold alphabet, himself made me, Himself, I say, the savage he fore-read Fate somehow should be charged with; nipp'd the growth Of better nature in constraint and sloth, That only bring to bear the seed of wrong And turn'd the stream to fury whose out-burst Had kept his lawful channel uncoerced, And fertilized the land he flow'd along. Then like to some unskilful duellist, Who having over-reached himself pushing too hard His foe, or but a moment off his guard-- What odds, when Fate is one's antagonist!-- Nay, more, this royal father, self-dismay'd At having Fate against himself array'd, Upon himself the very sword he knew Should wound him, down upon his bosom drew, That might well handled, well have wrought; or, kept Undrawn, have harmless in the scabbard slept. But Fate shall not by human force be broke, Nor foil'd by human feint; the Secret learn'd Against the scholar by that master turn'd Who to himself reserves the master-stroke. Witness whereof this venerable Age, Thrice crown'd as Sire, and Sovereign, and Sage, Down to the very dust dishonour'd by The very means he tempted to defy The irresistible. And shall not I, Till now the mere dumb instrument that wrought The battle chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him--how I know not--whither scarce I understand--dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you--and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly-- However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery-- SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects--Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me--elsewhere?-- CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh tell me here of--how in spite of them, I was enlarged to all that glory. CLO. Ay, By the false spirits' nice contrivance thus A little truth oft leavens all the false, The better to delude us. SEG. For you know 'Tis nothing but a dream? CLO. Nay, you yourself Know best how lately you awoke from that You know you went to sleep on?-- Why, have you never dreamt the like before? SEG. Never, to such reality. CLO. Such dreams Are oftentimes the sleeping exhalations Of that ambition that lies smouldering Under the ashes of the lowest fortune; By which, when reason slumbers, or has lost The reins of sensible comparison, We fly at something higher than we are-- Scarce ever dive to lower--to be kings, Or conquerors, crown'd with laurel or with gold, Nay, mounting heaven itself on eagle wings. Which, by the way, now that I think of it, May furnish us the key to this high flight That royal Eagle we were watching, and Talking of as you went to sleep last night. SEG. Last night? Last night? CLO. Ay, do you not remember Envying his immunity of flight, As, rising from his throne of rock, he sail'd Above the mountains far into the West, That burn'd about him, while with poising wings He darkled in it as a burning brand Is seen to smoulder in the fire it feeds? SEG. Last night--last night--Oh, what a day was that Between that last night and this sad To-day! CLO. And yet, perhaps, Only some few dark moments, into which Imagination, once lit up within And unconditional of time and space, Can pour infinities. SEG. And I remember How the old man they call'd the King, who wore The crown of gold about his silver hair, And a Fate has with my father fought, Now the mere mouth-piece of its victory Oh, shall not I, the champions' sword laid down, Be yet more shamed to wear the teacher's gown, And, blushing at the part I had to play, Down where that honour'd head I was to lay By this more just submission of my own, The treason Fate has forced on me atone? KING. Oh, Segismund, in whom I see indeed, Out of the ashes of my self-extinction A better self revive; if not beneath Your feet, beneath your better wisdom bow'd, The Sovereignty of Poland I resign, With this its golden symbol; which if thus Saved with its silver head inviolate, Shall nevermore be subject to decline; But when the head that it alights on now Falls honour'd by the very foe that must, As all things mortal, lay it in the dust, Shall star-like shift to his successor's brow. (Shouts, trumpets, etc. God save King Segismund!) SEG. For what remains-- As for my own, so for my people's peace, Astolfo's and Estrella's plighted hands I disunite, and taking hers to mine, His to one yet more dearly his resign. (Shouts, etc. God save Estrella, Queen of Poland!) SEG (to Clotaldo). You That with unflinching duty to your King, Till countermanded by the mightier Power, Have held your Prince a captive in the tower, Henceforth as strictly guard him on the throne No less my people's keeper than my own. You stare upon me all, amazed to hear The word of civil justice from such lips As never yet seem'd tuned to such discourse. But listen--In that same enchanted tower, Not long ago I learn'd it from a dream Expounded by this ancient prophet here; And which he told me, should it come again, How I should | When Rosaura first appears she falls from what animal? | Horse/hippogriff |
Of conflagration from a kindled pyre Of lying prophecies and prophet-kings Above the extinguish'd stars--Reach me the sword He flung me--Fill me such a bowl of wine As that you woke the day with-- KING. And shall close,-- But of the vintage that Clotaldo knows. (Exeunt.) SCENE I.--The Tower, etc., as in Act I. Scene I. Segismund, as at first, and Clotaldo. CLOTALDO. Princes and princesses, and counsellors Fluster'd to right and left--my life made at-- But that was nothing Even the white-hair'd, venerable King Seized on--Indeed, you made wild work of it; And so discover'd in your outward action, Flinging your arms about you in your sleep, Grinding your teeth--and, as I now remember, Woke mouthing out judgment and execution, On those about you. SEG. Ay, I did indeed. CLO. Ev'n now your eyes stare wild; your hair stands up-- Your pulses throb and flutter, reeling still Under the storm of such a dream-- SEG. A dream! That seem'd as swearable reality As what I wake in now. CLO. Ay--wondrous how Imagination in a sleeping brain Out of the uncontingent senses draws Sensations strong as from the real touch; That we not only laugh aloud, and drench With tears our pillow; but in the agony Of some imaginary conflict, fight And struggle--ev'n as you did; some, 'tis thought, Under the dreamt-of stroke of death have died. SEG. And what so very strange too--In that world Where place as well as people all was strange, Ev'n I almost as strange unto myself, You only, you, Clotaldo--you, as much And palpably yourself as now you are, Came in this very garb you ever wore, By such a token of the past, you said, To assure me of that seeming present. SEG. Ay; and even told me of the very stars You chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him--how I know not--whither scarce I understand--dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you--and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly-- However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery-- SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects--Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me--elsewhere?-- CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh cloud or dragon-back Over the mountains, over the wide Deep, And set them down to wake in Fairyland. CHAMB. Oh, my good Lord, you laugh at me--and I Right glad to make you laugh at such a price: You know me no enchanter: if I were, I and my wand as much as your Highness', As now your chamberlain-- SEG. My chamberlain?-- And these that follow you?-- CHAMB. On you, my Lord, Your Highness' lords in waiting. SEG. Lords in waiting. Well, I have now learn'd to repeat, I think, If only but by rote--This is my palace, And this my throne--which unadvised--And that Out of the window there my Capital; And all the people moving up and down My subjects and my vassals like yourselves, My chamberlain--and lords in waiting--and Clotaldo--and Clotaldo?-- You are an aged, and seem a reverend man-- You do not--though his fellow-officer-- You do not mean to mock me? CHAMB. Oh, my Lord! SEG. Well then--If no magician, as you say, Yet setting me a riddle, that my brain, With all its senses whirling, cannot solve, Yourself or one of these with you must answer-- How I--that only last night fell asleep Not knowing that the very soil of earth I lay down--chain'd--to sleep upon was Poland-- Awake to find myself the Lord of it, With Lords, and Generals, and Chamberlains, And ev'n my very Gaoler, for my vassals! CLOTALDO. Stand all aside That I may put into his hand the clue To lead him out of this amazement. Sir, Vouchsafe your Highness from my bended knee Receive my homage first. SEG. Clotaldo! What, At last--his old self--undisguised where all Is masquerade--to end it!--You kneeling too! What! have the stars you told me long ago Laid that old work upon you, added this, That, having the hours that draw the sun from heaven Unite us at the customary board, Each to his several chamber: you to rest; I to contrive with old Clotaldo best The method of a stranger thing than old Time has a yet among his records told. SCENE I--A Throne-room in the Palace. Music within. (Enter King and Clotaldo, meeting a Lord in waiting) KING. You, for a moment beckon'd from your office, Tell me thus far how goes it. In due time The potion left him? LORD. At the very hour To which your Highness temper'd it. Yet not So wholly but some lingering mist still hung About his dawning senses--which to clear, We fill'd and handed him a morning drink With sleep's specific antidote suffused; And while with princely raiment we invested What nature surely modell'd for a Prince-- All but the sword--as you directed-- LORD. If not too loudly, yet emphatically Still with the title of a Prince address'd him. KING. How bore he that? LORD. With all the rest, my liege, I will not say so like one in a dream As one himself misdoubting that he dream'd. KING. So far so well, Clotaldo, either way, And best of all if tow'rd the worse I dread. But yet no violence? LORD. At most, impatience; Wearied perhaps with importunities We yet were bound to offer. KING. Oh, Clotaldo! Though thus far well, yet would myself had drunk The potion he revives from! such suspense Crowds all the pulses of life's residue Into the present moment; and, I think, Whichever way the trembling scale may turn, Will leave the crown of Poland for some one To wait no longer than the setting sun! CLO. Courage, my liege! The curtain is undrawn, And each must play his part out manfully, Leaving | Astolfo witnesses a prophecy of what? | The return of the Golden Age. |
The Last Day shall have little left to show Of righted wrong and villainy requited! Nay, Judgment now beginning upon earth, Myself, methinks, in sight of all my wrongs, Appointed heaven's avenging minister, Accuser, judge, and executioner Sword in hand, cite the guilty--First, as worst, The usurper of his son's inheritance; Him and his old accomplice, time and crime Inveterate, and unable to repay The golden years of life they stole away. What, does he yet maintain his state, and keep The throne he should be judged from? Down with him, That I may trample on the false white head So long has worn my crown! Where are my soldiers? Of all my subjects and my vassals here Not one to do my bidding? Hark! A trumpet! The trumpet-- (He pauses as the trumpet sounds as in Act I., and masked Soldiers gradually fill in behind the Throne.) KING (rising before his throne). Ay, indeed, the trumpet blows A memorable note, to summon those Who, if forthwith you fall not at the feet Of him whose head you threaten with the dust, Forthwith shall draw the curtain of the Past About you; and this momentary gleam Of glory that you think to hold life-fast, So coming, so shall vanish, as a dream. SEG. He prophesies; the old man prophesies; And, at his trumpet's summons, from the tower The leash-bound shadows loosen'd after me My rising glory reach and over-lour-- But, reach not I my height, he shall not hold, But with me back to his own darkness! (He dashes toward the throne and is enclosed by the soldiers.) Traitors! Hold off! Unhand me!--Am not I your king? And you would strangle him!-- But I am breaking with an inward Fire Shall scorch you off, and wrap me on the wings quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh Fate has with my father fought, Now the mere mouth-piece of its victory Oh, shall not I, the champions' sword laid down, Be yet more shamed to wear the teacher's gown, And, blushing at the part I had to play, Down where that honour'd head I was to lay By this more just submission of my own, The treason Fate has forced on me atone? KING. Oh, Segismund, in whom I see indeed, Out of the ashes of my self-extinction A better self revive; if not beneath Your feet, beneath your better wisdom bow'd, The Sovereignty of Poland I resign, With this its golden symbol; which if thus Saved with its silver head inviolate, Shall nevermore be subject to decline; But when the head that it alights on now Falls honour'd by the very foe that must, As all things mortal, lay it in the dust, Shall star-like shift to his successor's brow. (Shouts, trumpets, etc. God save King Segismund!) SEG. For what remains-- As for my own, so for my people's peace, Astolfo's and Estrella's plighted hands I disunite, and taking hers to mine, His to one yet more dearly his resign. (Shouts, etc. God save Estrella, Queen of Poland!) SEG (to Clotaldo). You That with unflinching duty to your King, Till countermanded by the mightier Power, Have held your Prince a captive in the tower, Henceforth as strictly guard him on the throne No less my people's keeper than my own. You stare upon me all, amazed to hear The word of civil justice from such lips As never yet seem'd tuned to such discourse. But listen--In that same enchanted tower, Not long ago I learn'd it from a dream Expounded by this ancient prophet here; And which he told me, should it come again, How I should the rest to heaven. KING. Whose written words If I should misinterpret or transgress! But as you say-- (To the Lord, who exit.) You, back to him at once; Clotaldo, you, when he is somewhat used To the new world of which they call him Prince, Where place and face, and all, is strange to him, With your known features and familiar garb Shall then, as chorus to the scene, accost him, And by such earnest of that old and too Familiar world, assure him of the new. Last in the strange procession, I myself Will by one full and last development Complete the plot for that catastrophe That he must put to all; God grant it be The crown of Poland on his brows!--Hark! hark!-- Was that his voice within!--Now louder--Oh, Clotaldo, what! so soon begun to roar!-- Again! above the music--But betide What may, until the moment, we must hide. (Exeunt King and Clotaldo.) (He has seated himself on the throne. Enter Chamberlain, with lords in waiting.) CHAMB. I rejoice That unadvised of any but the voice Of royal instinct in the blood, your Highness Has ta'en the chair that you were born to fill. SEG. The chair? CHAMB. The royal throne of Poland, Sir, Which may your Royal Highness keep as long As he that now rules from it shall have ruled When heaven has call'd him to itself. SEG. When he?-- CHAMB. Your royal father, King Basilio, Sir. SEG. My royal father--King Basilio. You see I answer but as Echo does, Not knowing what she listens or repeats. This is my throne--this is my palace--Oh, But this out of the window?-- CHAMB. Warsaw, Sir, Your capital-- SEG. And all the moving people? CHAMB. Your subjects and your vassals like ourselves. SEG. Ay, ay--my subjects--in my capital-- in that heavenly face, That now I know for having over-ruled Those evil ones that darken'd all my past And brought me forth from that captivity To be the slave of her who set me free. EST. Indeed, my Lord, these eyes have no such power Over the past or present: but perhaps They brighten at your welcome to supply The little that a lady's speech commends; And in the hope that, let whichever be The other's subject, we may both be friends. SEG. Your hand to that--But why does this warm hand Shoot a cold shudder through me? EST. In revenge For likening me to that cold moon, perhaps. SEG. Oh, but the lip whose music tells me so Breathes of a warmer planet, and that lip Shall remedy the treason of the hand! (He catches to embrace her.) EST. Release me, sir! CHAMB. And pardon me, my Lord. This lady is a Princess absolute, As Prince he is who just saluted you, And claims her by affiance. SEG. Hence, old fool, For ever thrusting that white stick of yours Between me and my pleasure! AST. This cause is mine. Forbear, sir-- SEG. What, sir mouth-piece, you again? AST. My Lord, I waive your insult to myself In recognition of the dignity You yet are new to, and that greater still You look in time to wear. But for this lady-- Whom, if my cousin now, I hope to claim Henceforth by yet a nearer, dearer name-- SEG. And what care I? She is my cousin too: And if you be a Prince--well, am not I Lord of the very soil you stand upon? By that, and by that right beside of blood That like a fiery fountain hitherto Pent in the rock leaps toward her at her touch, | What alias does Rosaura assume when she goes to court? | Astraea |
That stare on this unnatural sight aghast, Listen to one who, Heaven-inspired to do What in its secret wisdom Heaven forecast, By that same Heaven instructed prophet-wise To justify the present in the past. What in the sapphire volume of the skies Is writ by God's own finger misleads none, But him whose vain and misinstructed eyes, They mock with misinterpretation, Or who, mistaking what he rightly read, Ill commentary makes, or misapplies Thinking to shirk or thwart it. Which has done The wisdom of this venerable head; Who, well provided with the secret key To that gold alphabet, himself made me, Himself, I say, the savage he fore-read Fate somehow should be charged with; nipp'd the growth Of better nature in constraint and sloth, That only bring to bear the seed of wrong And turn'd the stream to fury whose out-burst Had kept his lawful channel uncoerced, And fertilized the land he flow'd along. Then like to some unskilful duellist, Who having over-reached himself pushing too hard His foe, or but a moment off his guard-- What odds, when Fate is one's antagonist!-- Nay, more, this royal father, self-dismay'd At having Fate against himself array'd, Upon himself the very sword he knew Should wound him, down upon his bosom drew, That might well handled, well have wrought; or, kept Undrawn, have harmless in the scabbard slept. But Fate shall not by human force be broke, Nor foil'd by human feint; the Secret learn'd Against the scholar by that master turn'd Who to himself reserves the master-stroke. Witness whereof this venerable Age, Thrice crown'd as Sire, and Sovereign, and Sage, Down to the very dust dishonour'd by The very means he tempted to defy The irresistible. And shall not I, Till now the mere dumb instrument that wrought The battle By Pedro Calderon De La Barca Translated by Edward Fitzgerald Pedro Calderon de la Barca was born in Madrid, January 17, 1600, of good family. He was educated at the Jesuit College in Madrid and at the University of Salamanca; and a doubtful tradition says that he began to write plays at the age of thirteen. His literary activity was interrupted for ten years, 1625-1635, by military service in Italy and the Low Countries, and again for a year or more in Catalonia. In 1637 he became a Knight of the Order of Santiago, and in 1651 he entered the priesthood, rising to the dignity of Superior of the Brotherhood of San Pedro in Madrid. He held various offices in the court of Philip IV, who rewarded his services with pensions, and had his plays produced with great splendor. He died May 5, 1681. At the time when Calderon began to compose for the stage, the Spanish drama was at its height. Lope de Vega, the most prolific and, with Calderon, the greatest, of Spanish dramatists, was still alive; and by his applause gave encouragement to the beginner whose fame was to rival his own. The national type of drama which Lope had established was maintained in its essential characteristics by Calderon, and he produced abundant specimens of all its varieties. Of regular plays he has left a hundred and twenty; of "Autos Sacramentales," the peculiar Spanish allegorical development of the medieval mystery, we have seventy-three; besides a considerable number of farces. The dominant motives in Calderon's dramas are characteristically national: fervid loyalty to Church and King, and a sense of honor heightened almost to the point of the fantastic. Though his plays are laid in a great variety of scenes and ages, the sentiment and the characters remain essentially I should know That fathers do not use their children so, Or men were loosed from all allegiance To fathers, kings, and heaven that order'd all. But, mad or not, my hour is come, and I Will have my reckoning--Either you lie, Under the skirt of sinless majesty Shrouding your treason; or if _that_ indeed, Guilty itself, take refuge in the stars That cannot hear the charge, or disavow-- You, whether doer or deviser, who Come first to hand, shall pay the penalty By the same hand you owe it to-- (Seizing Clotaldo's sword and about to strike him.) (Enter Rosaura suddenly.) ROSAURA. Fie, my Lord--forbear, What! a young hand raised against silver hair!-- (She retreats through the crowd.) SEG. Stay! stay! What come and vanish'd as before-- I scarce remember how--but-- (Voices within. Room for Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy!) (Enter Astolfo) ASTOLFO. Welcome, thrice welcome, the auspicious day, When from the mountain where he darkling lay, The Polish sun into the firmament Sprung all the brighter for his late ascent, And in meridian glory-- SEG. Where is he? Why must I ask this twice?-- A LORD. The Page, my Lord? I wonder at his boldness-- SEG. But I tell you He came with Angel written in his face As now it is, when all was black as hell About, and none of you who now--he came, And Angel-like flung me a shining sword To cut my way through darkness; and again Angel-like wrests it from me in behalf Of one--whom I will spare for sparing him: But he must come and plead with that same voice That pray'd for me--in vain. CHAMB. He is gone for, And shall attend your pleasure, sir. Meanwhile, Will not your Highness, as in courtesy, Return your royal cousin's greeting? SEG. Whose? CHAMB. Astolfo, quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh blood and rapine; nay, Charter'd with larger liberty to slay Their guiltless kind, the tyrants of the air Soar zenith-upward with their screaming prey, Making pure heaven drop blood upon the stage Of under earth, where lion, wolf, and bear, And they that on their treacherous velvet wear Figure and constellation like your own, With their still living slaughter bound away Over the barriers of the mountain cage, Against which one, blood-guiltless, and endued With aspiration and with aptitude Transcending other creatures, day by day Beats himself mad with unavailing rage! FIFE. Why, that must be the meaning of my mule's Rebellion-- ROS. Hush! SEG. But then if murder be The law by which not only conscience-blind Creatures, but man too prospers with his kind; Who leaving all his guilty fellows free, Under your fatal auspice and divine Compulsion, leagued in some mysterious ban Against one innocent and helpless man, Abuse their liberty to murder mine: And sworn to silence, like their masters mute In heaven, and like them twirling through the mask Of darkness, answering to all I ask, Point up to them whose work they execute! ROS. Ev'n as I thought, some poor unhappy wretch, By man wrong'd, wretched, unrevenged, as I! Nay, so much worse than I, as by those chains Clipt of the means of self-revenge on those Who lay on him what they deserve. And I, Who taunted Heaven a little while ago With pouring all its wrath upon my head-- Alas! like him who caught the cast-off husk Of what another bragg'd of feeding on, Here's one that from the refuse of my sorrows Could gather all the banquet he desires! Poor soul, poor soul! FIFE. Speak lower--he will hear you. ROS. And if he should, what then? Why, if he would, He could | Astraea is the goddess of what? | Chastity and justice |
That stare on this unnatural sight aghast, Listen to one who, Heaven-inspired to do What in its secret wisdom Heaven forecast, By that same Heaven instructed prophet-wise To justify the present in the past. What in the sapphire volume of the skies Is writ by God's own finger misleads none, But him whose vain and misinstructed eyes, They mock with misinterpretation, Or who, mistaking what he rightly read, Ill commentary makes, or misapplies Thinking to shirk or thwart it. Which has done The wisdom of this venerable head; Who, well provided with the secret key To that gold alphabet, himself made me, Himself, I say, the savage he fore-read Fate somehow should be charged with; nipp'd the growth Of better nature in constraint and sloth, That only bring to bear the seed of wrong And turn'd the stream to fury whose out-burst Had kept his lawful channel uncoerced, And fertilized the land he flow'd along. Then like to some unskilful duellist, Who having over-reached himself pushing too hard His foe, or but a moment off his guard-- What odds, when Fate is one's antagonist!-- Nay, more, this royal father, self-dismay'd At having Fate against himself array'd, Upon himself the very sword he knew Should wound him, down upon his bosom drew, That might well handled, well have wrought; or, kept Undrawn, have harmless in the scabbard slept. But Fate shall not by human force be broke, Nor foil'd by human feint; the Secret learn'd Against the scholar by that master turn'd Who to himself reserves the master-stroke. Witness whereof this venerable Age, Thrice crown'd as Sire, and Sovereign, and Sage, Down to the very dust dishonour'd by The very means he tempted to defy The irresistible. And shall not I, Till now the mere dumb instrument that wrought The battle chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him--how I know not--whither scarce I understand--dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you--and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly-- However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery-- SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects--Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me--elsewhere?-- CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh tell me here of--how in spite of them, I was enlarged to all that glory. CLO. Ay, By the false spirits' nice contrivance thus A little truth oft leavens all the false, The better to delude us. SEG. For you know 'Tis nothing but a dream? CLO. Nay, you yourself Know best how lately you awoke from that You know you went to sleep on?-- Why, have you never dreamt the like before? SEG. Never, to such reality. CLO. Such dreams Are oftentimes the sleeping exhalations Of that ambition that lies smouldering Under the ashes of the lowest fortune; By which, when reason slumbers, or has lost The reins of sensible comparison, We fly at something higher than we are-- Scarce ever dive to lower--to be kings, Or conquerors, crown'd with laurel or with gold, Nay, mounting heaven itself on eagle wings. Which, by the way, now that I think of it, May furnish us the key to this high flight That royal Eagle we were watching, and Talking of as you went to sleep last night. SEG. Last night? Last night? CLO. Ay, do you not remember Envying his immunity of flight, As, rising from his throne of rock, he sail'd Above the mountains far into the West, That burn'd about him, while with poising wings He darkled in it as a burning brand Is seen to smoulder in the fire it feeds? SEG. Last night--last night--Oh, what a day was that Between that last night and this sad To-day! CLO. And yet, perhaps, Only some few dark moments, into which Imagination, once lit up within And unconditional of time and space, Can pour infinities. SEG. And I remember How the old man they call'd the King, who wore The crown of gold about his silver hair, And a Fate has with my father fought, Now the mere mouth-piece of its victory Oh, shall not I, the champions' sword laid down, Be yet more shamed to wear the teacher's gown, And, blushing at the part I had to play, Down where that honour'd head I was to lay By this more just submission of my own, The treason Fate has forced on me atone? KING. Oh, Segismund, in whom I see indeed, Out of the ashes of my self-extinction A better self revive; if not beneath Your feet, beneath your better wisdom bow'd, The Sovereignty of Poland I resign, With this its golden symbol; which if thus Saved with its silver head inviolate, Shall nevermore be subject to decline; But when the head that it alights on now Falls honour'd by the very foe that must, As all things mortal, lay it in the dust, Shall star-like shift to his successor's brow. (Shouts, trumpets, etc. God save King Segismund!) SEG. For what remains-- As for my own, so for my people's peace, Astolfo's and Estrella's plighted hands I disunite, and taking hers to mine, His to one yet more dearly his resign. (Shouts, etc. God save Estrella, Queen of Poland!) SEG (to Clotaldo). You That with unflinching duty to your King, Till countermanded by the mightier Power, Have held your Prince a captive in the tower, Henceforth as strictly guard him on the throne No less my people's keeper than my own. You stare upon me all, amazed to hear The word of civil justice from such lips As never yet seem'd tuned to such discourse. But listen--In that same enchanted tower, Not long ago I learn'd it from a dream Expounded by this ancient prophet here; And which he told me, should it come again, How I should | Which immortal was the last to leave earth? | Astraea |
chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him--how I know not--whither scarce I understand--dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you--and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly-- However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery-- SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects--Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me--elsewhere?-- CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh I should know That fathers do not use their children so, Or men were loosed from all allegiance To fathers, kings, and heaven that order'd all. But, mad or not, my hour is come, and I Will have my reckoning--Either you lie, Under the skirt of sinless majesty Shrouding your treason; or if _that_ indeed, Guilty itself, take refuge in the stars That cannot hear the charge, or disavow-- You, whether doer or deviser, who Come first to hand, shall pay the penalty By the same hand you owe it to-- (Seizing Clotaldo's sword and about to strike him.) (Enter Rosaura suddenly.) ROSAURA. Fie, my Lord--forbear, What! a young hand raised against silver hair!-- (She retreats through the crowd.) SEG. Stay! stay! What come and vanish'd as before-- I scarce remember how--but-- (Voices within. Room for Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy!) (Enter Astolfo) ASTOLFO. Welcome, thrice welcome, the auspicious day, When from the mountain where he darkling lay, The Polish sun into the firmament Sprung all the brighter for his late ascent, And in meridian glory-- SEG. Where is he? Why must I ask this twice?-- A LORD. The Page, my Lord? I wonder at his boldness-- SEG. But I tell you He came with Angel written in his face As now it is, when all was black as hell About, and none of you who now--he came, And Angel-like flung me a shining sword To cut my way through darkness; and again Angel-like wrests it from me in behalf Of one--whom I will spare for sparing him: But he must come and plead with that same voice That pray'd for me--in vain. CHAMB. He is gone for, And shall attend your pleasure, sir. Meanwhile, Will not your Highness, as in courtesy, Return your royal cousin's greeting? SEG. Whose? CHAMB. Astolfo, wrong'd them--Not as you, Not you, Clotaldo, knowing not--And yet Ev'n to the guiltiest wretch in all the realm, Of any treason guilty short of that, Stern usage--but assuredly not knowing, Not knowing 'twas your sovereign lord, Clotaldo, You used so sternly. CLO. Ay, sir; with the same Devotion and fidelity that now Does homage to him for my sovereign. SEG. Fidelity that held his Prince in chains! CLO. Fidelity more fast than had it loosed him-- SEG. Ev'n from the very dawn of consciousness Down at the bottom of the barren rocks, Where scarce a ray of sunshine found him out, In which the poorest beggar of my realm At least to human-full proportion grows-- Me! Me--whose station was the kingdom's top To flourish in, reaching my head to heaven, And with my branches overshadowing The meaner growth below! CLO. Still with the same Fidelity-- CLO. Ay, sir, to you, Through that divine allegiance upon which All Order and Authority is based; Which to revolt against-- SEG. Were to revolt Against the stars, belike! CLO. And him who reads them; And by that right, and by the sovereignty He wears as you shall wear it after him; Ay, one to whom yourself-- Yourself, ev'n more than any subject here, Are bound by yet another and more strong Allegiance--King Basilio--your Father-- SEG. Basilio--King--my father!-- CLO. Oh, my Lord, Let me beseech you on my bended knee, For your own sake--for Poland's--and for his, Who, looking up for counsel to the skies, Did what he did under authority To which the kings of earth themselves are subject, And whose behest not only he that suffers, But he that executes, not comprehends, But only He that orders it-- SEG. The King-- My father!--Either I am mad already, Or that way driving fast--or tell me here of--how in spite of them, I was enlarged to all that glory. CLO. Ay, By the false spirits' nice contrivance thus A little truth oft leavens all the false, The better to delude us. SEG. For you know 'Tis nothing but a dream? CLO. Nay, you yourself Know best how lately you awoke from that You know you went to sleep on?-- Why, have you never dreamt the like before? SEG. Never, to such reality. CLO. Such dreams Are oftentimes the sleeping exhalations Of that ambition that lies smouldering Under the ashes of the lowest fortune; By which, when reason slumbers, or has lost The reins of sensible comparison, We fly at something higher than we are-- Scarce ever dive to lower--to be kings, Or conquerors, crown'd with laurel or with gold, Nay, mounting heaven itself on eagle wings. Which, by the way, now that I think of it, May furnish us the key to this high flight That royal Eagle we were watching, and Talking of as you went to sleep last night. SEG. Last night? Last night? CLO. Ay, do you not remember Envying his immunity of flight, As, rising from his throne of rock, he sail'd Above the mountains far into the West, That burn'd about him, while with poising wings He darkled in it as a burning brand Is seen to smoulder in the fire it feeds? SEG. Last night--last night--Oh, what a day was that Between that last night and this sad To-day! CLO. And yet, perhaps, Only some few dark moments, into which Imagination, once lit up within And unconditional of time and space, Can pour infinities. SEG. And I remember How the old man they call'd the King, who wore The crown of gold about his silver hair, And a | Rosaura guides who to the final conversion? | Segismudo |
quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh the hours that draw the sun from heaven Unite us at the customary board, Each to his several chamber: you to rest; I to contrive with old Clotaldo best The method of a stranger thing than old Time has a yet among his records told. SCENE I--A Throne-room in the Palace. Music within. (Enter King and Clotaldo, meeting a Lord in waiting) KING. You, for a moment beckon'd from your office, Tell me thus far how goes it. In due time The potion left him? LORD. At the very hour To which your Highness temper'd it. Yet not So wholly but some lingering mist still hung About his dawning senses--which to clear, We fill'd and handed him a morning drink With sleep's specific antidote suffused; And while with princely raiment we invested What nature surely modell'd for a Prince-- All but the sword--as you directed-- LORD. If not too loudly, yet emphatically Still with the title of a Prince address'd him. KING. How bore he that? LORD. With all the rest, my liege, I will not say so like one in a dream As one himself misdoubting that he dream'd. KING. So far so well, Clotaldo, either way, And best of all if tow'rd the worse I dread. But yet no violence? LORD. At most, impatience; Wearied perhaps with importunities We yet were bound to offer. KING. Oh, Clotaldo! Though thus far well, yet would myself had drunk The potion he revives from! such suspense Crowds all the pulses of life's residue Into the present moment; and, I think, Whichever way the trembling scale may turn, Will leave the crown of Poland for some one To wait no longer than the setting sun! CLO. Courage, my liege! The curtain is undrawn, And each must play his part out manfully, Leaving mysterious girdle round his waist, Just when my rage was roaring at its height, And after which it all was dark again, Bid me beware lest all should be a dream. CLO. Ay--there another specialty of dreams, That once the dreamer 'gins to dream he dreams, His foot is on the very verge of waking. SEG. Would it had been upon the verge of death That knows no waking-- Lifting me up to glory, to fall back, Stunn'd, crippled--wretcheder than ev'n before. CLO. Yet not so glorious, Segismund, if you Your visionary honour wore so ill As to work murder and revenge on those Who meant you well. SEG. Who meant me!--me! their Prince Chain'd like a felon-- CLO. Stay, stay--Not so fast, You dream'd the Prince, remember. SEG. Then in dream Revenged it only. CLO. True. But as they say Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul Yet uncorrected of the higher Will, So that men sometimes in their dreams confess An unsuspected, or forgotten, self; One must beware to check--ay, if one may, Stifle ere born, such passion in ourselves As makes, we see, such havoc with our sleep, And ill reacts upon the waking day. And, by the bye, for one test, Segismund, Between such swearable realities-- Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin In missing each that salutary rein Of reason, and the guiding will of man: One test, I think, of waking sanity Shall be that conscious power of self-control, To curb all passion, but much most of all That evil and vindictive, that ill squares With human, and with holy canon less, Which bids us pardon ev'n our enemies, And much more those who, out of no ill will, Mistakenly have taken up the rod Which heaven, they think, has put into their hands. Fate has with my father fought, Now the mere mouth-piece of its victory Oh, shall not I, the champions' sword laid down, Be yet more shamed to wear the teacher's gown, And, blushing at the part I had to play, Down where that honour'd head I was to lay By this more just submission of my own, The treason Fate has forced on me atone? KING. Oh, Segismund, in whom I see indeed, Out of the ashes of my self-extinction A better self revive; if not beneath Your feet, beneath your better wisdom bow'd, The Sovereignty of Poland I resign, With this its golden symbol; which if thus Saved with its silver head inviolate, Shall nevermore be subject to decline; But when the head that it alights on now Falls honour'd by the very foe that must, As all things mortal, lay it in the dust, Shall star-like shift to his successor's brow. (Shouts, trumpets, etc. God save King Segismund!) SEG. For what remains-- As for my own, so for my people's peace, Astolfo's and Estrella's plighted hands I disunite, and taking hers to mine, His to one yet more dearly his resign. (Shouts, etc. God save Estrella, Queen of Poland!) SEG (to Clotaldo). You That with unflinching duty to your King, Till countermanded by the mightier Power, Have held your Prince a captive in the tower, Henceforth as strictly guard him on the throne No less my people's keeper than my own. You stare upon me all, amazed to hear The word of civil justice from such lips As never yet seem'd tuned to such discourse. But listen--In that same enchanted tower, Not long ago I learn'd it from a dream Expounded by this ancient prophet here; And which he told me, should it come again, How I should cloud or dragon-back Over the mountains, over the wide Deep, And set them down to wake in Fairyland. CHAMB. Oh, my good Lord, you laugh at me--and I Right glad to make you laugh at such a price: You know me no enchanter: if I were, I and my wand as much as your Highness', As now your chamberlain-- SEG. My chamberlain?-- And these that follow you?-- CHAMB. On you, my Lord, Your Highness' lords in waiting. SEG. Lords in waiting. Well, I have now learn'd to repeat, I think, If only but by rote--This is my palace, And this my throne--which unadvised--And that Out of the window there my Capital; And all the people moving up and down My subjects and my vassals like yourselves, My chamberlain--and lords in waiting--and Clotaldo--and Clotaldo?-- You are an aged, and seem a reverend man-- You do not--though his fellow-officer-- You do not mean to mock me? CHAMB. Oh, my Lord! SEG. Well then--If no magician, as you say, Yet setting me a riddle, that my brain, With all its senses whirling, cannot solve, Yourself or one of these with you must answer-- How I--that only last night fell asleep Not knowing that the very soil of earth I lay down--chain'd--to sleep upon was Poland-- Awake to find myself the Lord of it, With Lords, and Generals, and Chamberlains, And ev'n my very Gaoler, for my vassals! CLOTALDO. Stand all aside That I may put into his hand the clue To lead him out of this amazement. Sir, Vouchsafe your Highness from my bended knee Receive my homage first. SEG. Clotaldo! What, At last--his old self--undisguised where all Is masquerade--to end it!--You kneeling too! What! have the stars you told me long ago Laid that old work upon you, added this, That, having | What character deceives Rosaura? | Astolfo |
That stare on this unnatural sight aghast, Listen to one who, Heaven-inspired to do What in its secret wisdom Heaven forecast, By that same Heaven instructed prophet-wise To justify the present in the past. What in the sapphire volume of the skies Is writ by God's own finger misleads none, But him whose vain and misinstructed eyes, They mock with misinterpretation, Or who, mistaking what he rightly read, Ill commentary makes, or misapplies Thinking to shirk or thwart it. Which has done The wisdom of this venerable head; Who, well provided with the secret key To that gold alphabet, himself made me, Himself, I say, the savage he fore-read Fate somehow should be charged with; nipp'd the growth Of better nature in constraint and sloth, That only bring to bear the seed of wrong And turn'd the stream to fury whose out-burst Had kept his lawful channel uncoerced, And fertilized the land he flow'd along. Then like to some unskilful duellist, Who having over-reached himself pushing too hard His foe, or but a moment off his guard-- What odds, when Fate is one's antagonist!-- Nay, more, this royal father, self-dismay'd At having Fate against himself array'd, Upon himself the very sword he knew Should wound him, down upon his bosom drew, That might well handled, well have wrought; or, kept Undrawn, have harmless in the scabbard slept. But Fate shall not by human force be broke, Nor foil'd by human feint; the Secret learn'd Against the scholar by that master turn'd Who to himself reserves the master-stroke. Witness whereof this venerable Age, Thrice crown'd as Sire, and Sovereign, and Sage, Down to the very dust dishonour'd by The very means he tempted to defy The irresistible. And shall not I, Till now the mere dumb instrument that wrought The battle those stars, Those stars, that too far up from human blame To clear themselves, or careless of the charge, Still bear upon their shining shoulders all The guilt men shift upon them! KING. Nay, but think: Not only on the common score of kind, But that peculiar count of sovereignty-- If not behind the beast in brain as heart, How should I thus deal with my innocent child, Doubly desired, and doubly dear when come, As that sweet second-self that all desire, And princes more than all, to root themselves By that succession in their people's hearts, Unless at that superior Will, to which Not kings alone, but sovereign nature bows? SEG. And what had those same stars to tell of me That should compel a father and a king So much against that double instinct? KING. That, Which I have brought you hither, at my peril, Against their written warning, to disprove, By justice, mercy, human kindliness. SEG. And therefore made yourself their instrument To make your son the savage and the brute They only prophesied?--Are you not afear'd, Lest, irrespective as such creatures are Of such relationship, the brute you made Revenge the man you marr'd--like sire, like son. To do by you as you by me have done? KING. You never had a savage heart from me; I may appeal to Poland. SEG. Then from whom? If pure in fountain, poison'd by yourself When scarce begun to flow.--To make a man Not, as I see, degraded from the mould I came from, nor compared to those about, And then to throw your own flesh to the dogs!-- Why not at once, I say, if terrified At the prophetic omens of my birth, Have drown'd or stifled me, as they do whelps Too costly or too dangerous to not how this is--perhaps in brutes That live by kindlier instincts--but I know That looking now upon that head whose crown Pronounces him a sovereign king, I feel No setting of the current in my blood Tow'rd him as sire. How is't with you, old man, Tow'rd him they call your son?-- KING. Alas! Alas! SEG. Your sorrow, then? KING. Beholding what I do. SEG. Ay, but how know this sorrow that has grown And moulded to this present shape of man, As of your own creation? KING. Ev'n from birth. SEG. But from that hour to this, near, as I think, Some twenty such renewals of the year As trace themselves upon the barren rocks, I never saw you, nor you me--unless, Unless, indeed, through one of those dark masks Through which a son might fail to recognize The best of fathers. KING. Be that as you will: But, now we see each other face to face, Know me as you I know; which did I not, By whatsoever signs, assuredly You were not here to prove it at my risk. SEG. You are my father. And is it true then, as Clotaldo swears, 'Twas you that from the dawning birth of one Yourself brought into being,--you, I say, Who stole his very birthright; not alone That secondary and peculiar right Of sovereignty, but even that prime Inheritance that all men share alike, And chain'd him--chain'd him!--like a wild beast's whelp. Among as savage mountains, to this hour? Answer if this be thus. KING. Oh, Segismund, In all that I have done that seems to you, And, without further hearing, fairly seems, Unnatural and cruel--'twas not I, But One who writes His order in the sky I dared not misinterpret nor neglect, Who knows with what reluctance-- SEG. Oh, quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh the hours that draw the sun from heaven Unite us at the customary board, Each to his several chamber: you to rest; I to contrive with old Clotaldo best The method of a stranger thing than old Time has a yet among his records told. SCENE I--A Throne-room in the Palace. Music within. (Enter King and Clotaldo, meeting a Lord in waiting) KING. You, for a moment beckon'd from your office, Tell me thus far how goes it. In due time The potion left him? LORD. At the very hour To which your Highness temper'd it. Yet not So wholly but some lingering mist still hung About his dawning senses--which to clear, We fill'd and handed him a morning drink With sleep's specific antidote suffused; And while with princely raiment we invested What nature surely modell'd for a Prince-- All but the sword--as you directed-- LORD. If not too loudly, yet emphatically Still with the title of a Prince address'd him. KING. How bore he that? LORD. With all the rest, my liege, I will not say so like one in a dream As one himself misdoubting that he dream'd. KING. So far so well, Clotaldo, either way, And best of all if tow'rd the worse I dread. But yet no violence? LORD. At most, impatience; Wearied perhaps with importunities We yet were bound to offer. KING. Oh, Clotaldo! Though thus far well, yet would myself had drunk The potion he revives from! such suspense Crowds all the pulses of life's residue Into the present moment; and, I think, Whichever way the trembling scale may turn, Will leave the crown of Poland for some one To wait no longer than the setting sun! CLO. Courage, my liege! The curtain is undrawn, And each must play his part out manfully, Leaving | The return of what god signals the return of the Golden Age? | Astraea |
cloud or dragon-back Over the mountains, over the wide Deep, And set them down to wake in Fairyland. CHAMB. Oh, my good Lord, you laugh at me--and I Right glad to make you laugh at such a price: You know me no enchanter: if I were, I and my wand as much as your Highness', As now your chamberlain-- SEG. My chamberlain?-- And these that follow you?-- CHAMB. On you, my Lord, Your Highness' lords in waiting. SEG. Lords in waiting. Well, I have now learn'd to repeat, I think, If only but by rote--This is my palace, And this my throne--which unadvised--And that Out of the window there my Capital; And all the people moving up and down My subjects and my vassals like yourselves, My chamberlain--and lords in waiting--and Clotaldo--and Clotaldo?-- You are an aged, and seem a reverend man-- You do not--though his fellow-officer-- You do not mean to mock me? CHAMB. Oh, my Lord! SEG. Well then--If no magician, as you say, Yet setting me a riddle, that my brain, With all its senses whirling, cannot solve, Yourself or one of these with you must answer-- How I--that only last night fell asleep Not knowing that the very soil of earth I lay down--chain'd--to sleep upon was Poland-- Awake to find myself the Lord of it, With Lords, and Generals, and Chamberlains, And ev'n my very Gaoler, for my vassals! CLOTALDO. Stand all aside That I may put into his hand the clue To lead him out of this amazement. Sir, Vouchsafe your Highness from my bended knee Receive my homage first. SEG. Clotaldo! What, At last--his old self--undisguised where all Is masquerade--to end it!--You kneeling too! What! have the stars you told me long ago Laid that old work upon you, added this, That, having chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him--how I know not--whither scarce I understand--dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you--and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly-- However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery-- SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects--Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me--elsewhere?-- CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh tell me here of--how in spite of them, I was enlarged to all that glory. CLO. Ay, By the false spirits' nice contrivance thus A little truth oft leavens all the false, The better to delude us. SEG. For you know 'Tis nothing but a dream? CLO. Nay, you yourself Know best how lately you awoke from that You know you went to sleep on?-- Why, have you never dreamt the like before? SEG. Never, to such reality. CLO. Such dreams Are oftentimes the sleeping exhalations Of that ambition that lies smouldering Under the ashes of the lowest fortune; By which, when reason slumbers, or has lost The reins of sensible comparison, We fly at something higher than we are-- Scarce ever dive to lower--to be kings, Or conquerors, crown'd with laurel or with gold, Nay, mounting heaven itself on eagle wings. Which, by the way, now that I think of it, May furnish us the key to this high flight That royal Eagle we were watching, and Talking of as you went to sleep last night. SEG. Last night? Last night? CLO. Ay, do you not remember Envying his immunity of flight, As, rising from his throne of rock, he sail'd Above the mountains far into the West, That burn'd about him, while with poising wings He darkled in it as a burning brand Is seen to smoulder in the fire it feeds? SEG. Last night--last night--Oh, what a day was that Between that last night and this sad To-day! CLO. And yet, perhaps, Only some few dark moments, into which Imagination, once lit up within And unconditional of time and space, Can pour infinities. SEG. And I remember How the old man they call'd the King, who wore The crown of gold about his silver hair, And a wrong'd them--Not as you, Not you, Clotaldo, knowing not--And yet Ev'n to the guiltiest wretch in all the realm, Of any treason guilty short of that, Stern usage--but assuredly not knowing, Not knowing 'twas your sovereign lord, Clotaldo, You used so sternly. CLO. Ay, sir; with the same Devotion and fidelity that now Does homage to him for my sovereign. SEG. Fidelity that held his Prince in chains! CLO. Fidelity more fast than had it loosed him-- SEG. Ev'n from the very dawn of consciousness Down at the bottom of the barren rocks, Where scarce a ray of sunshine found him out, In which the poorest beggar of my realm At least to human-full proportion grows-- Me! Me--whose station was the kingdom's top To flourish in, reaching my head to heaven, And with my branches overshadowing The meaner growth below! CLO. Still with the same Fidelity-- CLO. Ay, sir, to you, Through that divine allegiance upon which All Order and Authority is based; Which to revolt against-- SEG. Were to revolt Against the stars, belike! CLO. And him who reads them; And by that right, and by the sovereignty He wears as you shall wear it after him; Ay, one to whom yourself-- Yourself, ev'n more than any subject here, Are bound by yet another and more strong Allegiance--King Basilio--your Father-- SEG. Basilio--King--my father!-- CLO. Oh, my Lord, Let me beseech you on my bended knee, For your own sake--for Poland's--and for his, Who, looking up for counsel to the skies, Did what he did under authority To which the kings of earth themselves are subject, And whose behest not only he that suffers, But he that executes, not comprehends, But only He that orders it-- SEG. The King-- My father!--Either I am mad already, Or that way driving fast--or | This story takes place in the reign of what? | Reign of Segismundo |
mysterious girdle round his waist, Just when my rage was roaring at its height, And after which it all was dark again, Bid me beware lest all should be a dream. CLO. Ay--there another specialty of dreams, That once the dreamer 'gins to dream he dreams, His foot is on the very verge of waking. SEG. Would it had been upon the verge of death That knows no waking-- Lifting me up to glory, to fall back, Stunn'd, crippled--wretcheder than ev'n before. CLO. Yet not so glorious, Segismund, if you Your visionary honour wore so ill As to work murder and revenge on those Who meant you well. SEG. Who meant me!--me! their Prince Chain'd like a felon-- CLO. Stay, stay--Not so fast, You dream'd the Prince, remember. SEG. Then in dream Revenged it only. CLO. True. But as they say Dreams are rough copies of the waking soul Yet uncorrected of the higher Will, So that men sometimes in their dreams confess An unsuspected, or forgotten, self; One must beware to check--ay, if one may, Stifle ere born, such passion in ourselves As makes, we see, such havoc with our sleep, And ill reacts upon the waking day. And, by the bye, for one test, Segismund, Between such swearable realities-- Since Dreaming, Madness, Passion, are akin In missing each that salutary rein Of reason, and the guiding will of man: One test, I think, of waking sanity Shall be that conscious power of self-control, To curb all passion, but much most of all That evil and vindictive, that ill squares With human, and with holy canon less, Which bids us pardon ev'n our enemies, And much more those who, out of no ill will, Mistakenly have taken up the rod Which heaven, they think, has put into their hands. not how this is--perhaps in brutes That live by kindlier instincts--but I know That looking now upon that head whose crown Pronounces him a sovereign king, I feel No setting of the current in my blood Tow'rd him as sire. How is't with you, old man, Tow'rd him they call your son?-- KING. Alas! Alas! SEG. Your sorrow, then? KING. Beholding what I do. SEG. Ay, but how know this sorrow that has grown And moulded to this present shape of man, As of your own creation? KING. Ev'n from birth. SEG. But from that hour to this, near, as I think, Some twenty such renewals of the year As trace themselves upon the barren rocks, I never saw you, nor you me--unless, Unless, indeed, through one of those dark masks Through which a son might fail to recognize The best of fathers. KING. Be that as you will: But, now we see each other face to face, Know me as you I know; which did I not, By whatsoever signs, assuredly You were not here to prove it at my risk. SEG. You are my father. And is it true then, as Clotaldo swears, 'Twas you that from the dawning birth of one Yourself brought into being,--you, I say, Who stole his very birthright; not alone That secondary and peculiar right Of sovereignty, but even that prime Inheritance that all men share alike, And chain'd him--chain'd him!--like a wild beast's whelp. Among as savage mountains, to this hour? Answer if this be thus. KING. Oh, Segismund, In all that I have done that seems to you, And, without further hearing, fairly seems, Unnatural and cruel--'twas not I, But One who writes His order in the sky I dared not misinterpret nor neglect, Who knows with what reluctance-- SEG. Oh, quick, so thick-- The very figure and the circumstance Of sense-confess'd reality foregone In so-call'd dream so palpably repeated, The copy so like the original, We know not which is which; and dream so-call'd Itself inweaving so inextricably Into the tissue of acknowledged truth; The very figures that empeople it Returning to assert themselves no phantoms In something so much like meridian day, And in the very place that not my worst And veriest disenchanter shall deny For the too well-remember'd theatre Of my long tragedy--Strike up the drums! If this be Truth, and all of us awake, Indeed a famous quarrel is at stake: If but a Vision I will see it out, And, drive the Dream, I can but join the rout. CAPT. And in good time, sir, for a palpable Touchstone of truth and rightful vengeance too, Here is Clotaldo taken. SOLDIERS. In with him! In with the traitor! (Clotaldo brought in.) SEG. Ay, Clotaldo, indeed-- Himself--in his old habit--his old self-- What! back again, Clotaldo, for a while To swear me this for truth, and afterwards All for a dreaming lie? CLO. Awake or dreaming, Down with that sword, and down these traitors theirs, Drawn in rebellion 'gainst their Sovereign. SEG. (about to strike). Traitor! Traitor yourself!-- But soft--soft--soft!-- You told me, not so very long ago, Awake or dreaming--I forget--my brain Is not so clear about it--but I know One test you gave me to discern between, Which mad and dreaming people cannot master; Or if the dreamer could, so best secure A comfortable waking--Was't not so? (To Rosaura). Needs not your intercession now, you see, As in the dream before-- Clotaldo, rough old nurse and tutor too That only traitor wert, to me if true-- Give him his sword; set him on a fresh chain'd your prisoner so long, You loose his body now to slay his wits, Dragging him--how I know not--whither scarce I understand--dressing him up in all This frippery, with your dumb familiars Disvizor'd, and their lips unlock'd to lie, Calling him Prince and King, and, madman-like, Setting a crown of straw upon his head? CLO. Would but your Highness, as indeed I now Must call you--and upon his bended knee Never bent Subject more devotedly-- However all about you, and perhaps You to yourself incomprehensiblest, But rest in the assurance of your own Sane waking senses, by these witnesses Attested, till the story of it all, Of which I bring a chapter, be reveal'd, Assured of all you see and hear as neither Madness nor mockery-- SEG. What then? CLO. All it seems: This palace with its royal garniture; This capital of which it is the eye, With all its temples, marts, and arsenals; This realm of which this city is the head, With all its cities, villages, and tilth, Its armies, fleets, and commerce; all your own; And all the living souls that make them up, From those who now, and those who shall, salute you, Down to the poorest peasant of the realm, Your subjects--Who, though now their mighty voice Sleeps in the general body unapprized, Wait but a word from those about you now To hail you Prince of Poland, Segismund. SEG. All this is so? CLO. As sure as anything Is, or can be. SEG. You swear it on the faith You taught me--elsewhere?-- CLO (kissing the hilt of his sword). Swear it upon this Symbol, and champion of the holy faith I wear it to defend. SEG (to himself). My eyes have not deceived me, nor my ears, With this transfiguration, nor the strain Of I should know That fathers do not use their children so, Or men were loosed from all allegiance To fathers, kings, and heaven that order'd all. But, mad or not, my hour is come, and I Will have my reckoning--Either you lie, Under the skirt of sinless majesty Shrouding your treason; or if _that_ indeed, Guilty itself, take refuge in the stars That cannot hear the charge, or disavow-- You, whether doer or deviser, who Come first to hand, shall pay the penalty By the same hand you owe it to-- (Seizing Clotaldo's sword and about to strike him.) (Enter Rosaura suddenly.) ROSAURA. Fie, my Lord--forbear, What! a young hand raised against silver hair!-- (She retreats through the crowd.) SEG. Stay! stay! What come and vanish'd as before-- I scarce remember how--but-- (Voices within. Room for Astolfo, Duke of Muscovy!) (Enter Astolfo) ASTOLFO. Welcome, thrice welcome, the auspicious day, When from the mountain where he darkling lay, The Polish sun into the firmament Sprung all the brighter for his late ascent, And in meridian glory-- SEG. Where is he? Why must I ask this twice?-- A LORD. The Page, my Lord? I wonder at his boldness-- SEG. But I tell you He came with Angel written in his face As now it is, when all was black as hell About, and none of you who now--he came, And Angel-like flung me a shining sword To cut my way through darkness; and again Angel-like wrests it from me in behalf Of one--whom I will spare for sparing him: But he must come and plead with that same voice That pray'd for me--in vain. CHAMB. He is gone for, And shall attend your pleasure, sir. Meanwhile, Will not your Highness, as in courtesy, Return your royal cousin's greeting? SEG. Whose? CHAMB. Astolfo, | Who is Segismundo a representation of? | King Philip IV of Spain. |
motorcycle helmet, to leave, she's hit with a wave of regret. There's a KNOCK at the door, and Ed enters. George looks at him. Not interested in her apologies. And Erin watches George leave the room, then turns to Ed. But his mind's made up. He stands to leave. She climbs up on an old wagon for a better view. Agreeing MURMURS ripple through the crowd. Potter turns around and looks at Ed seated behind him. The GRUMBLE of discontent has overtaken the room. More whispering, more movement. Ted Daniels gets up from his seat. He drops his agreement form, unsigned, then takes Rita's hand and heads for the door. She thinks for a moment, then gets an idea. She picks up a release form, and leaves the firehouse. As the kids wander toward the bathroom, Erin picks up the phone and dials. RING, RING. He takes it, glances toward the motel room. She hands him a wad of cash. He nods. She gets into her car. Before closing the door, she turns back to him. She sees how mad she's made him. Takes a beat. George softens, shifts. He steps toward the truck and gently closes her door, so he's standing close to her. He thinks about this. Finally: He smiles back at her, nods, then tenderly brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. He nods, understanding. Then he taps the side of her truck and turns toward the motel room. She puts the truck in gear and pulls out. Erin forces herself awake. He picks up Beth, takes Katie's hand, and calls across the room to Matthew. Erin turns to see Matthew holding one of her release forms. But he's reading it. huge smile of appreciation slowly spreads across Ed's face. Erin hands Ed a manila envelope. He opens it. Potter and Theresa reel. Ed shakes his head in disbelief. And she struts out of the room, leaving everyone slack-jawed. The CLIP CLIP CLIP of her heels carry her away. Erin puts her hand in the door, keeping it from closing. He stares at her, in awe. He looks down the hall at her, standing so tall and proud in the elevator. He walks toward her, stops right outside the elevator. Of course she will. She releases her hand so he won't see her smiling. Ed watches the doors close. Erin's Chevy moves up the PCH. DISCO music emanates from it. Donna turns, sees her. Smiles. Erin sits down on a rock. Donna sits down next to her. Tears of vindication spring to Donna's eyes. She reels. After a breathless beat: Donna wipes the tears off her face, then watches the light flickering off her girls playing in the surf. Donna is overwhelmed. Erin pulls her close. She lost them. Her reaction indicates this isn't the first time. The front doors open and Erin enters. Erin heads on down a hall to: He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a check. Hands it to her. Erin does. Looks at it. Her eyes bug out. She stares at it, speechless. He goes back to unpacking George reaches in his pocket, finds her pacifier. As he's leaning down to give it to her, he hears a RUMBLE coming down the street behind him. The roar grows. He stands, looks. A GROUP OF ABOUT TEN BIKERS has pulled up next to him. He looks at them. They look at him, then at the stroller. George feels ridiculous. When the light changes, the bikers REV LOUDLY and pull out. George just stands there and watches them go. Erin is up at the map, eating Chinese food. She bites into a forkful of food, keeps talking. She reaches for a document, reads from it. In response to the insinuation, Erin gives him a glare. Suddenly, her eyes pop out of her head -- Tears spring to her eyes. She fans furiously at her mouth. Ed finds the tequila from the client and hands it to her. She takes a swig. There's a nanosecond of relief ... until the tequila hits. Her eyes redden. She spews and gasps. He gets up, grabs his trash can, and moves around the room with it, cleaning up all the Chinese food cartons. She doesn't have one. Beat. Ed smiles. He gives her a long look. They both smile a little awkwardly. Take a beat. Then: She flicks on the lights. Brenda's desk is decorated and as a present on it. Erin's is empty. Erin shakes her head. She's surprised by how hurt she is. George looks over at her, sees her eyes glisten a little. He goes over to her, wraps his arms around her. He kisses her. She leans into him. He kisses her some more. She kisses back. She's gonna let and puts his head in his hands. He sits like that for a moment, GROANS to himself. Then he pushes himself up and heads over to his door. When he opens it, he finds Erin still standing there, exactly where he left her, arms crossed. She hasn't budged. Ed pauses, groans again, realizing what decision he's making. She smiles victoriously. He heads back to his desk. Erin follows him into his office. He gives her a look. Knows what's coming. Matthew and Katie fan out into the store. Erin keeps messing with the phone. Erin looks over at him, weary. And she walks away from him. As Erin labels the containers, her heels slide down the side of the ditch, and she lands smack in it, knee-deep in gunk. She adds them to a growing collection of containers in the trunk of her car. Erin spots a few dead frogs in the water. She picks one up by the leg, and seals it in a plastic bag as well. ON THE REPORTS: We catch a few words: "water sample A ...", "soil sample D ...", "frog sample A ...", "... traces of hexavalent ..." Brenda looks at Erin and sees her hem rising in the back. Erin turns to Brenda, relishing the chance to irritate her. Ed, in his office, laughs. He's starting to like this gal. His voice is flat, creepy. Not friendly. CLICK. Erin stares at the phone, freaked. She goes to the living room, double-checks the window locks in there. George follows. She heads into the bedrooms. George reacts, a little stung. He follows her into: She gives him a glare, then leaves the room. Ross is speechless. He just stands there. Erin drags room. Not a whole lot of options here. He looks back at Erin. Erin shakes her head, no. Great, thinks Anna. He turns, sees her. Ed looks at her a moment, sees that it's far from okay. He takes out his wallet, looks in. He slaps a hundred in her hand and leaves. When he's gone, she looks at the bill -- her life raft -- and gives it a great big kiss. But of course he can't hear her. She walks over to him, stands right in his line of vision. The guys on the porch chuckle. Erin turns and starts back to her house. George hops off his bike and follows her. Erin shakes her head in disbelief and keeps walking. She stops at her porch, turns to him. She turns and heads inside. He calls out after her: The women go back to stirring their coffees. Erin walks on. Ed appears in the door, carrying the box of files. He plunks the box of files on her desk. She stares at it, with no idea of how to go about that. He sees her staring at the box. Ed heads out, but pauses before leaving. As she wipes the bug guts off the bottom of her shoe: She spots George on his stoop, with a six-pack beside him. He gets up and follows her to her house. Erin turns to him. The kids are waiting at the door. George reaches out and grabs the box from under her arm. He's got a point there. After a beat: Erin comes in from the kitchen. They get up ... ... and head into bed. George starts cleaning up the cards. Erin bends down to help him. She | How many children does Erin have? | 3 |
huge smile of appreciation slowly spreads across Ed's face. Erin hands Ed a manila envelope. He opens it. Potter and Theresa reel. Ed shakes his head in disbelief. And she struts out of the room, leaving everyone slack-jawed. The CLIP CLIP CLIP of her heels carry her away. Erin puts her hand in the door, keeping it from closing. He stares at her, in awe. He looks down the hall at her, standing so tall and proud in the elevator. He walks toward her, stops right outside the elevator. Of course she will. She releases her hand so he won't see her smiling. Ed watches the doors close. Erin's Chevy moves up the PCH. DISCO music emanates from it. Donna turns, sees her. Smiles. Erin sits down on a rock. Donna sits down next to her. Tears of vindication spring to Donna's eyes. She reels. After a breathless beat: Donna wipes the tears off her face, then watches the light flickering off her girls playing in the surf. Donna is overwhelmed. Erin pulls her close. She lost them. Her reaction indicates this isn't the first time. The front doors open and Erin enters. Erin heads on down a hall to: He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a check. Hands it to her. Erin does. Looks at it. Her eyes bug out. She stares at it, speechless. He goes back to unpacking and puts his head in his hands. He sits like that for a moment, GROANS to himself. Then he pushes himself up and heads over to his door. When he opens it, he finds Erin still standing there, exactly where he left her, arms crossed. She hasn't budged. Ed pauses, groans again, realizing what decision he's making. She smiles victoriously. He heads back to his desk. Erin follows him into his office. He gives her a look. Knows what's coming. Matthew and Katie fan out into the store. Erin keeps messing with the phone. Erin looks over at him, weary. And she walks away from him. As Erin labels the containers, her heels slide down the side of the ditch, and she lands smack in it, knee-deep in gunk. She adds them to a growing collection of containers in the trunk of her car. Erin spots a few dead frogs in the water. She picks one up by the leg, and seals it in a plastic bag as well. ON THE REPORTS: We catch a few words: "water sample A ...", "soil sample D ...", "frog sample A ...", "... traces of hexavalent ..." Brenda looks at Erin and sees her hem rising in the back. Erin turns to Brenda, relishing the chance to irritate her. Ed, in his office, laughs. He's starting to like this gal. His voice is flat, creepy. Not friendly. CLICK. Erin stares at the phone, freaked. She goes to the living room, double-checks the window locks in there. George follows. She heads into the bedrooms. George reacts, a little stung. He follows her into: She gives him a glare, then leaves the room. Ross is speechless. He just stands there. Erin drags George reaches in his pocket, finds her pacifier. As he's leaning down to give it to her, he hears a RUMBLE coming down the street behind him. The roar grows. He stands, looks. A GROUP OF ABOUT TEN BIKERS has pulled up next to him. He looks at them. They look at him, then at the stroller. George feels ridiculous. When the light changes, the bikers REV LOUDLY and pull out. George just stands there and watches them go. Erin is up at the map, eating Chinese food. She bites into a forkful of food, keeps talking. She reaches for a document, reads from it. In response to the insinuation, Erin gives him a glare. Suddenly, her eyes pop out of her head -- Tears spring to her eyes. She fans furiously at her mouth. Ed finds the tequila from the client and hands it to her. She takes a swig. There's a nanosecond of relief ... until the tequila hits. Her eyes redden. She spews and gasps. He gets up, grabs his trash can, and moves around the room with it, cleaning up all the Chinese food cartons. She doesn't have one. Beat. Ed smiles. He gives her a long look. They both smile a little awkwardly. Take a beat. Then: She flicks on the lights. Brenda's desk is decorated and as a present on it. Erin's is empty. Erin shakes her head. She's surprised by how hurt she is. George looks over at her, sees her eyes glisten a little. He goes over to her, wraps his arms around her. He kisses her. She leans into him. He kisses her some more. She kisses back. She's gonna let in, still carrying the box of stuff. She turns to Jane, takes her box, and heads out. And she leaves. As she walks around the car and toward the house, she runs into the MAILMAN. He hands her a packet of mail. Erin looks at the top of the stack. It's the electric bill. She heads into the kitchen, weary and irritated. Erin gets down on her knees and starts putting things away. Before he can finish, a huge WATER BUG runs onto Erin's hand. She jumps and brushes it off. She takes off her shoe and smacks at the bug, missing it. The bug skitters away from her, along the floorboard. Erin chases it, smacking at it repeatedly, missing it every time. But Erin keeps after it, corralling all her frustrations into killing that one bug. The bug crawls up onto the table, zipping behind the salt, the pepper, the napkin holder. Erin keeps after it, BANGING the table harder and harder with each SMACK of her shoe. The DOORBELL rings. Erin swoops in and picks up Beth. She glances at them, frowns a little. By now they're all smiling. Funky Town plays on. She wanders up the drive, onto PG&E property, moving around the plant, taking pictures of it from every possible angle. As she wanders over a big, flat, dry field to the side of the plant, she glances over her shoulder to check on her kids and notices the trail she made in the dirt has a greenish hue. She looks at the dirt right her feet. Kicks the ground. Below the surface, the dirt turns from brown to green. Erin notes this, then looks back at her kids playing in the dirt. Worry comes over her face. checks the piece of paper with Donna's address, she drives by the PG&E COMPRESSOR STATION, a massive gray structure of pipes, chimneys and ladders, set way back from the road. Erin passes it without noticing it. She stops at an intersection. The house on the corner has been boarded up with plywood. Erin notices it -- depressing -- then turns the corner onto Donna's street. The Hyundai pulls into the driveway and stops. Erin gets out. As she heads up to the door, her spike heels sink into the dirt. She rings the bell. It has a melody chime. DONNA IRVING opens the door. She's 35, petite, with a scrappy, high-strung manner. She's wearing tight jeans, and her dark curls are piled on top of her head. She comes out from the kitchen with a tray of iced tea. Donna corrects the positioning on a couple of pillows. This would be the perfect opportunity for many to get self- pitying. But not Donna. Life's handed her a shitload of lemons, and darned if she hasn't made a shitload of lemonade. Donna tops off their iced teas. WIDEN to see Donna pulling the box down into the room. She rifles through the box. She hands Erin a printed fact sheet. Erin scans it. She gets to an intersection and looks across the street at the massive COMPRESSOR STATION. Six stories high, lit up like a Christmas tree, with all sizes of PIPES criss-crossing the outside and GIANT COOLING TOWERS sticking up out of it. Far more massive than anything else in town, it looms over the horizon like the Capitol in D.C. or St. Peter's in Rome. Erin takes a long look at the compressor station, then turns | What kind of mother is Erin? | single mother |
motorcycle helmet, to leave, she's hit with a wave of regret. There's a KNOCK at the door, and Ed enters. George looks at him. Not interested in her apologies. And Erin watches George leave the room, then turns to Ed. But his mind's made up. He stands to leave. She climbs up on an old wagon for a better view. Agreeing MURMURS ripple through the crowd. Potter turns around and looks at Ed seated behind him. The GRUMBLE of discontent has overtaken the room. More whispering, more movement. Ted Daniels gets up from his seat. He drops his agreement form, unsigned, then takes Rita's hand and heads for the door. She thinks for a moment, then gets an idea. She picks up a release form, and leaves the firehouse. As the kids wander toward the bathroom, Erin picks up the phone and dials. RING, RING. He takes it, glances toward the motel room. She hands him a wad of cash. He nods. She gets into her car. Before closing the door, she turns back to him. She sees how mad she's made him. Takes a beat. George softens, shifts. He steps toward the truck and gently closes her door, so he's standing close to her. He thinks about this. Finally: He smiles back at her, nods, then tenderly brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. He nods, understanding. Then he taps the side of her truck and turns toward the motel room. She puts the truck in gear and pulls out. Erin forces herself awake. He picks up Beth, takes Katie's hand, and calls across the room to Matthew. Erin turns to see Matthew holding one of her release forms. But he's reading it. huge smile of appreciation slowly spreads across Ed's face. Erin hands Ed a manila envelope. He opens it. Potter and Theresa reel. Ed shakes his head in disbelief. And she struts out of the room, leaving everyone slack-jawed. The CLIP CLIP CLIP of her heels carry her away. Erin puts her hand in the door, keeping it from closing. He stares at her, in awe. He looks down the hall at her, standing so tall and proud in the elevator. He walks toward her, stops right outside the elevator. Of course she will. She releases her hand so he won't see her smiling. Ed watches the doors close. Erin's Chevy moves up the PCH. DISCO music emanates from it. Donna turns, sees her. Smiles. Erin sits down on a rock. Donna sits down next to her. Tears of vindication spring to Donna's eyes. She reels. After a breathless beat: Donna wipes the tears off her face, then watches the light flickering off her girls playing in the surf. Donna is overwhelmed. Erin pulls her close. She lost them. Her reaction indicates this isn't the first time. The front doors open and Erin enters. Erin heads on down a hall to: He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a check. Hands it to her. Erin does. Looks at it. Her eyes bug out. She stares at it, speechless. He goes back to unpacking George reaches in his pocket, finds her pacifier. As he's leaning down to give it to her, he hears a RUMBLE coming down the street behind him. The roar grows. He stands, looks. A GROUP OF ABOUT TEN BIKERS has pulled up next to him. He looks at them. They look at him, then at the stroller. George feels ridiculous. When the light changes, the bikers REV LOUDLY and pull out. George just stands there and watches them go. Erin is up at the map, eating Chinese food. She bites into a forkful of food, keeps talking. She reaches for a document, reads from it. In response to the insinuation, Erin gives him a glare. Suddenly, her eyes pop out of her head -- Tears spring to her eyes. She fans furiously at her mouth. Ed finds the tequila from the client and hands it to her. She takes a swig. There's a nanosecond of relief ... until the tequila hits. Her eyes redden. She spews and gasps. He gets up, grabs his trash can, and moves around the room with it, cleaning up all the Chinese food cartons. She doesn't have one. Beat. Ed smiles. He gives her a long look. They both smile a little awkwardly. Take a beat. Then: She flicks on the lights. Brenda's desk is decorated and as a present on it. Erin's is empty. Erin shakes her head. She's surprised by how hurt she is. George looks over at her, sees her eyes glisten a little. He goes over to her, wraps his arms around her. He kisses her. She leans into him. He kisses her some more. She kisses back. She's gonna let and puts his head in his hands. He sits like that for a moment, GROANS to himself. Then he pushes himself up and heads over to his door. When he opens it, he finds Erin still standing there, exactly where he left her, arms crossed. She hasn't budged. Ed pauses, groans again, realizing what decision he's making. She smiles victoriously. He heads back to his desk. Erin follows him into his office. He gives her a look. Knows what's coming. Matthew and Katie fan out into the store. Erin keeps messing with the phone. Erin looks over at him, weary. And she walks away from him. As Erin labels the containers, her heels slide down the side of the ditch, and she lands smack in it, knee-deep in gunk. She adds them to a growing collection of containers in the trunk of her car. Erin spots a few dead frogs in the water. She picks one up by the leg, and seals it in a plastic bag as well. ON THE REPORTS: We catch a few words: "water sample A ...", "soil sample D ...", "frog sample A ...", "... traces of hexavalent ..." Brenda looks at Erin and sees her hem rising in the back. Erin turns to Brenda, relishing the chance to irritate her. Ed, in his office, laughs. He's starting to like this gal. His voice is flat, creepy. Not friendly. CLICK. Erin stares at the phone, freaked. She goes to the living room, double-checks the window locks in there. George follows. She heads into the bedrooms. George reacts, a little stung. He follows her into: She gives him a glare, then leaves the room. Ross is speechless. He just stands there. Erin drags checks the piece of paper with Donna's address, she drives by the PG&E COMPRESSOR STATION, a massive gray structure of pipes, chimneys and ladders, set way back from the road. Erin passes it without noticing it. She stops at an intersection. The house on the corner has been boarded up with plywood. Erin notices it -- depressing -- then turns the corner onto Donna's street. The Hyundai pulls into the driveway and stops. Erin gets out. As she heads up to the door, her spike heels sink into the dirt. She rings the bell. It has a melody chime. DONNA IRVING opens the door. She's 35, petite, with a scrappy, high-strung manner. She's wearing tight jeans, and her dark curls are piled on top of her head. She comes out from the kitchen with a tray of iced tea. Donna corrects the positioning on a couple of pillows. This would be the perfect opportunity for many to get self- pitying. But not Donna. Life's handed her a shitload of lemons, and darned if she hasn't made a shitload of lemonade. Donna tops off their iced teas. WIDEN to see Donna pulling the box down into the room. She rifles through the box. She hands Erin a printed fact sheet. Erin scans it. She gets to an intersection and looks across the street at the massive COMPRESSOR STATION. Six stories high, lit up like a Christmas tree, with all sizes of PIPES criss-crossing the outside and GIANT COOLING TOWERS sticking up out of it. Far more massive than anything else in town, it looms over the horizon like the Capitol in D.C. or St. Peter's in Rome. Erin takes a long look at the compressor station, then turns | Who is Erin suing? | her doctor |
motorcycle helmet, to leave, she's hit with a wave of regret. There's a KNOCK at the door, and Ed enters. George looks at him. Not interested in her apologies. And Erin watches George leave the room, then turns to Ed. But his mind's made up. He stands to leave. She climbs up on an old wagon for a better view. Agreeing MURMURS ripple through the crowd. Potter turns around and looks at Ed seated behind him. The GRUMBLE of discontent has overtaken the room. More whispering, more movement. Ted Daniels gets up from his seat. He drops his agreement form, unsigned, then takes Rita's hand and heads for the door. She thinks for a moment, then gets an idea. She picks up a release form, and leaves the firehouse. As the kids wander toward the bathroom, Erin picks up the phone and dials. RING, RING. He takes it, glances toward the motel room. She hands him a wad of cash. He nods. She gets into her car. Before closing the door, she turns back to him. She sees how mad she's made him. Takes a beat. George softens, shifts. He steps toward the truck and gently closes her door, so he's standing close to her. He thinks about this. Finally: He smiles back at her, nods, then tenderly brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. He nods, understanding. Then he taps the side of her truck and turns toward the motel room. She puts the truck in gear and pulls out. Erin forces herself awake. He picks up Beth, takes Katie's hand, and calls across the room to Matthew. Erin turns to see Matthew holding one of her release forms. But he's reading it. and puts his head in his hands. He sits like that for a moment, GROANS to himself. Then he pushes himself up and heads over to his door. When he opens it, he finds Erin still standing there, exactly where he left her, arms crossed. She hasn't budged. Ed pauses, groans again, realizing what decision he's making. She smiles victoriously. He heads back to his desk. Erin follows him into his office. He gives her a look. Knows what's coming. Matthew and Katie fan out into the store. Erin keeps messing with the phone. Erin looks over at him, weary. And she walks away from him. As Erin labels the containers, her heels slide down the side of the ditch, and she lands smack in it, knee-deep in gunk. She adds them to a growing collection of containers in the trunk of her car. Erin spots a few dead frogs in the water. She picks one up by the leg, and seals it in a plastic bag as well. ON THE REPORTS: We catch a few words: "water sample A ...", "soil sample D ...", "frog sample A ...", "... traces of hexavalent ..." Brenda looks at Erin and sees her hem rising in the back. Erin turns to Brenda, relishing the chance to irritate her. Ed, in his office, laughs. He's starting to like this gal. His voice is flat, creepy. Not friendly. CLICK. Erin stares at the phone, freaked. She goes to the living room, double-checks the window locks in there. George follows. She heads into the bedrooms. George reacts, a little stung. He follows her into: She gives him a glare, then leaves the room. Ross is speechless. He just stands there. Erin drags George reaches in his pocket, finds her pacifier. As he's leaning down to give it to her, he hears a RUMBLE coming down the street behind him. The roar grows. He stands, looks. A GROUP OF ABOUT TEN BIKERS has pulled up next to him. He looks at them. They look at him, then at the stroller. George feels ridiculous. When the light changes, the bikers REV LOUDLY and pull out. George just stands there and watches them go. Erin is up at the map, eating Chinese food. She bites into a forkful of food, keeps talking. She reaches for a document, reads from it. In response to the insinuation, Erin gives him a glare. Suddenly, her eyes pop out of her head -- Tears spring to her eyes. She fans furiously at her mouth. Ed finds the tequila from the client and hands it to her. She takes a swig. There's a nanosecond of relief ... until the tequila hits. Her eyes redden. She spews and gasps. He gets up, grabs his trash can, and moves around the room with it, cleaning up all the Chinese food cartons. She doesn't have one. Beat. Ed smiles. He gives her a long look. They both smile a little awkwardly. Take a beat. Then: She flicks on the lights. Brenda's desk is decorated and as a present on it. Erin's is empty. Erin shakes her head. She's surprised by how hurt she is. George looks over at her, sees her eyes glisten a little. He goes over to her, wraps his arms around her. He kisses her. She leans into him. He kisses her some more. She kisses back. She's gonna let checks the piece of paper with Donna's address, she drives by the PG&E COMPRESSOR STATION, a massive gray structure of pipes, chimneys and ladders, set way back from the road. Erin passes it without noticing it. She stops at an intersection. The house on the corner has been boarded up with plywood. Erin notices it -- depressing -- then turns the corner onto Donna's street. The Hyundai pulls into the driveway and stops. Erin gets out. As she heads up to the door, her spike heels sink into the dirt. She rings the bell. It has a melody chime. DONNA IRVING opens the door. She's 35, petite, with a scrappy, high-strung manner. She's wearing tight jeans, and her dark curls are piled on top of her head. She comes out from the kitchen with a tray of iced tea. Donna corrects the positioning on a couple of pillows. This would be the perfect opportunity for many to get self- pitying. But not Donna. Life's handed her a shitload of lemons, and darned if she hasn't made a shitload of lemonade. Donna tops off their iced teas. WIDEN to see Donna pulling the box down into the room. She rifles through the box. She hands Erin a printed fact sheet. Erin scans it. She gets to an intersection and looks across the street at the massive COMPRESSOR STATION. Six stories high, lit up like a Christmas tree, with all sizes of PIPES criss-crossing the outside and GIANT COOLING TOWERS sticking up out of it. Far more massive than anything else in town, it looms over the horizon like the Capitol in D.C. or St. Peter's in Rome. Erin takes a long look at the compressor station, then turns room. Not a whole lot of options here. He looks back at Erin. Erin shakes her head, no. Great, thinks Anna. He turns, sees her. Ed looks at her a moment, sees that it's far from okay. He takes out his wallet, looks in. He slaps a hundred in her hand and leaves. When he's gone, she looks at the bill -- her life raft -- and gives it a great big kiss. But of course he can't hear her. She walks over to him, stands right in his line of vision. The guys on the porch chuckle. Erin turns and starts back to her house. George hops off his bike and follows her. Erin shakes her head in disbelief and keeps walking. She stops at her porch, turns to him. She turns and heads inside. He calls out after her: The women go back to stirring their coffees. Erin walks on. Ed appears in the door, carrying the box of files. He plunks the box of files on her desk. She stares at it, with no idea of how to go about that. He sees her staring at the box. Ed heads out, but pauses before leaving. As she wipes the bug guts off the bottom of her shoe: She spots George on his stoop, with a six-pack beside him. He gets up and follows her to her house. Erin turns to him. The kids are waiting at the door. George reaches out and grabs the box from under her arm. He's got a point there. After a beat: Erin comes in from the kitchen. They get up ... ... and head into bed. George starts cleaning up the cards. Erin bends down to help him. She | Who is Erin's lawyer? | Ed Masry |
motorcycle helmet, to leave, she's hit with a wave of regret. There's a KNOCK at the door, and Ed enters. George looks at him. Not interested in her apologies. And Erin watches George leave the room, then turns to Ed. But his mind's made up. He stands to leave. She climbs up on an old wagon for a better view. Agreeing MURMURS ripple through the crowd. Potter turns around and looks at Ed seated behind him. The GRUMBLE of discontent has overtaken the room. More whispering, more movement. Ted Daniels gets up from his seat. He drops his agreement form, unsigned, then takes Rita's hand and heads for the door. She thinks for a moment, then gets an idea. She picks up a release form, and leaves the firehouse. As the kids wander toward the bathroom, Erin picks up the phone and dials. RING, RING. He takes it, glances toward the motel room. She hands him a wad of cash. He nods. She gets into her car. Before closing the door, she turns back to him. She sees how mad she's made him. Takes a beat. George softens, shifts. He steps toward the truck and gently closes her door, so he's standing close to her. He thinks about this. Finally: He smiles back at her, nods, then tenderly brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. He nods, understanding. Then he taps the side of her truck and turns toward the motel room. She puts the truck in gear and pulls out. Erin forces herself awake. He picks up Beth, takes Katie's hand, and calls across the room to Matthew. Erin turns to see Matthew holding one of her release forms. But he's reading it. and puts his head in his hands. He sits like that for a moment, GROANS to himself. Then he pushes himself up and heads over to his door. When he opens it, he finds Erin still standing there, exactly where he left her, arms crossed. She hasn't budged. Ed pauses, groans again, realizing what decision he's making. She smiles victoriously. He heads back to his desk. Erin follows him into his office. He gives her a look. Knows what's coming. Matthew and Katie fan out into the store. Erin keeps messing with the phone. Erin looks over at him, weary. And she walks away from him. As Erin labels the containers, her heels slide down the side of the ditch, and she lands smack in it, knee-deep in gunk. She adds them to a growing collection of containers in the trunk of her car. Erin spots a few dead frogs in the water. She picks one up by the leg, and seals it in a plastic bag as well. ON THE REPORTS: We catch a few words: "water sample A ...", "soil sample D ...", "frog sample A ...", "... traces of hexavalent ..." Brenda looks at Erin and sees her hem rising in the back. Erin turns to Brenda, relishing the chance to irritate her. Ed, in his office, laughs. He's starting to like this gal. His voice is flat, creepy. Not friendly. CLICK. Erin stares at the phone, freaked. She goes to the living room, double-checks the window locks in there. George follows. She heads into the bedrooms. George reacts, a little stung. He follows her into: She gives him a glare, then leaves the room. Ross is speechless. He just stands there. Erin drags huge smile of appreciation slowly spreads across Ed's face. Erin hands Ed a manila envelope. He opens it. Potter and Theresa reel. Ed shakes his head in disbelief. And she struts out of the room, leaving everyone slack-jawed. The CLIP CLIP CLIP of her heels carry her away. Erin puts her hand in the door, keeping it from closing. He stares at her, in awe. He looks down the hall at her, standing so tall and proud in the elevator. He walks toward her, stops right outside the elevator. Of course she will. She releases her hand so he won't see her smiling. Ed watches the doors close. Erin's Chevy moves up the PCH. DISCO music emanates from it. Donna turns, sees her. Smiles. Erin sits down on a rock. Donna sits down next to her. Tears of vindication spring to Donna's eyes. She reels. After a breathless beat: Donna wipes the tears off her face, then watches the light flickering off her girls playing in the surf. Donna is overwhelmed. Erin pulls her close. She lost them. Her reaction indicates this isn't the first time. The front doors open and Erin enters. Erin heads on down a hall to: He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a check. Hands it to her. Erin does. Looks at it. Her eyes bug out. She stares at it, speechless. He goes back to unpacking George reaches in his pocket, finds her pacifier. As he's leaning down to give it to her, he hears a RUMBLE coming down the street behind him. The roar grows. He stands, looks. A GROUP OF ABOUT TEN BIKERS has pulled up next to him. He looks at them. They look at him, then at the stroller. George feels ridiculous. When the light changes, the bikers REV LOUDLY and pull out. George just stands there and watches them go. Erin is up at the map, eating Chinese food. She bites into a forkful of food, keeps talking. She reaches for a document, reads from it. In response to the insinuation, Erin gives him a glare. Suddenly, her eyes pop out of her head -- Tears spring to her eyes. She fans furiously at her mouth. Ed finds the tequila from the client and hands it to her. She takes a swig. There's a nanosecond of relief ... until the tequila hits. Her eyes redden. She spews and gasps. He gets up, grabs his trash can, and moves around the room with it, cleaning up all the Chinese food cartons. She doesn't have one. Beat. Ed smiles. He gives her a long look. They both smile a little awkwardly. Take a beat. Then: She flicks on the lights. Brenda's desk is decorated and as a present on it. Erin's is empty. Erin shakes her head. She's surprised by how hurt she is. George looks over at her, sees her eyes glisten a little. He goes over to her, wraps his arms around her. He kisses her. She leans into him. He kisses her some more. She kisses back. She's gonna let as she opens her car door and gets in. ED MASRY, senior partner, slumps by ROSALIND, his chipper receptionist, with a cup of coffee in his hand. He's in his mid-50's, compact and -- even though it's only 9 AM -- already rumpled. Whatever passion he once had for the personal injury law that is his career has long since dissipated. He trundles off toward his office. He grabs a gift-wrapped bottle off her desk, reads the card. Ed peers into his office. It's a mess -- papers everywhere, unopened mail. Standing in the middle of the room is Erin, in a teensy, leopard-print mini-dress. As she jiggles a spike-heeled foot, everything about her shimmies gloriously. Except her head, which is held in place by a neck brace. As Ed heads into his office, Brenda picks up the phone. He clears a stack of papers off a chair. Ed gives her a look of pro-forma sympathy. He takes out a pad and paper, gets ready to write. She glances at the defendant's table, where a DOCTOR sits nobly in surgical scrubs. His WIFE and two beautiful KIDS are behind him. A frigging Norman Rockwell painting. Erin looks over at the jury. The personification of conservative family values. Oh, shit. Erin sees a juror staring judgmentally at her short hem. Erin gives it a tug, pulling it down a stitch. Erin sees a few jurors share dubious glances. Great. Ed shakes his head slightly to her -- don't get mad. Erin sees jurors nodding almost imperceptibly in agreement. She's on a sinking ship. Ed notices her ranting is starting to draw attention. Erin turns away from him and heads for the stairway. Erin gets out, takes the mail from her mailbox, | What loses Erin the case? | her explosive courtroom behavior |
motorcycle helmet, to leave, she's hit with a wave of regret. There's a KNOCK at the door, and Ed enters. George looks at him. Not interested in her apologies. And Erin watches George leave the room, then turns to Ed. But his mind's made up. He stands to leave. She climbs up on an old wagon for a better view. Agreeing MURMURS ripple through the crowd. Potter turns around and looks at Ed seated behind him. The GRUMBLE of discontent has overtaken the room. More whispering, more movement. Ted Daniels gets up from his seat. He drops his agreement form, unsigned, then takes Rita's hand and heads for the door. She thinks for a moment, then gets an idea. She picks up a release form, and leaves the firehouse. As the kids wander toward the bathroom, Erin picks up the phone and dials. RING, RING. He takes it, glances toward the motel room. She hands him a wad of cash. He nods. She gets into her car. Before closing the door, she turns back to him. She sees how mad she's made him. Takes a beat. George softens, shifts. He steps toward the truck and gently closes her door, so he's standing close to her. He thinks about this. Finally: He smiles back at her, nods, then tenderly brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. He nods, understanding. Then he taps the side of her truck and turns toward the motel room. She puts the truck in gear and pulls out. Erin forces herself awake. He picks up Beth, takes Katie's hand, and calls across the room to Matthew. Erin turns to see Matthew holding one of her release forms. But he's reading it. huge smile of appreciation slowly spreads across Ed's face. Erin hands Ed a manila envelope. He opens it. Potter and Theresa reel. Ed shakes his head in disbelief. And she struts out of the room, leaving everyone slack-jawed. The CLIP CLIP CLIP of her heels carry her away. Erin puts her hand in the door, keeping it from closing. He stares at her, in awe. He looks down the hall at her, standing so tall and proud in the elevator. He walks toward her, stops right outside the elevator. Of course she will. She releases her hand so he won't see her smiling. Ed watches the doors close. Erin's Chevy moves up the PCH. DISCO music emanates from it. Donna turns, sees her. Smiles. Erin sits down on a rock. Donna sits down next to her. Tears of vindication spring to Donna's eyes. She reels. After a breathless beat: Donna wipes the tears off her face, then watches the light flickering off her girls playing in the surf. Donna is overwhelmed. Erin pulls her close. She lost them. Her reaction indicates this isn't the first time. The front doors open and Erin enters. Erin heads on down a hall to: He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a check. Hands it to her. Erin does. Looks at it. Her eyes bug out. She stares at it, speechless. He goes back to unpacking and puts his head in his hands. He sits like that for a moment, GROANS to himself. Then he pushes himself up and heads over to his door. When he opens it, he finds Erin still standing there, exactly where he left her, arms crossed. She hasn't budged. Ed pauses, groans again, realizing what decision he's making. She smiles victoriously. He heads back to his desk. Erin follows him into his office. He gives her a look. Knows what's coming. Matthew and Katie fan out into the store. Erin keeps messing with the phone. Erin looks over at him, weary. And she walks away from him. As Erin labels the containers, her heels slide down the side of the ditch, and she lands smack in it, knee-deep in gunk. She adds them to a growing collection of containers in the trunk of her car. Erin spots a few dead frogs in the water. She picks one up by the leg, and seals it in a plastic bag as well. ON THE REPORTS: We catch a few words: "water sample A ...", "soil sample D ...", "frog sample A ...", "... traces of hexavalent ..." Brenda looks at Erin and sees her hem rising in the back. Erin turns to Brenda, relishing the chance to irritate her. Ed, in his office, laughs. He's starting to like this gal. His voice is flat, creepy. Not friendly. CLICK. Erin stares at the phone, freaked. She goes to the living room, double-checks the window locks in there. George follows. She heads into the bedrooms. George reacts, a little stung. He follows her into: She gives him a glare, then leaves the room. Ross is speechless. He just stands there. Erin drags so irritated. Erin hangs up. Then, with a groan, she pulls her weary body out of bed. She heads toward Ed's office, but stops when she sees a meeting in progress in the conference room. Ed is on the side of the table facing her, flanked by Potter and Theresa. On the other side of the table, are FOUR SUITED BACKS. Erin feels this like a sock in the gut. She stares at the meeting, stunned. Ed and Potter hear this and think about it. As Ed mulls this, he sees, beyond Mr. Corbin, He gets up and goes out into: He resists being dragged into an knock-down, drag-out fight. She starts to COUGH and CRUMBLE, but fights it. By now the entire office is watching. As are the lawyers in the conference room. Erin reaches into her bag, pulls out her cel phone. She throws it at him and storms away. The phone hits the glass wall of the conference room, CRACKING it. Ed just stands there, with the lawyers staring at him through the splintered glass wall. She looks over her shoulder, but the sidewalk is too dark. She pulls a U-turn in the middle of the street. A CAR HONKS. Erin scans the sidewalk, finally sees him again. Holy shit, is right. It's Matthew, wandering the streets at night. She pulls ahead of Matthew and bumps up onto the sidewalk, blocking his path. When he sees her car, he turns and runs the other way. Erin leaps out and follows him. She catches up and collars him. She lays her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off and inches away from her. A moment of thick silence. As she watches him reach for his George reaches in his pocket, finds her pacifier. As he's leaning down to give it to her, he hears a RUMBLE coming down the street behind him. The roar grows. He stands, looks. A GROUP OF ABOUT TEN BIKERS has pulled up next to him. He looks at them. They look at him, then at the stroller. George feels ridiculous. When the light changes, the bikers REV LOUDLY and pull out. George just stands there and watches them go. Erin is up at the map, eating Chinese food. She bites into a forkful of food, keeps talking. She reaches for a document, reads from it. In response to the insinuation, Erin gives him a glare. Suddenly, her eyes pop out of her head -- Tears spring to her eyes. She fans furiously at her mouth. Ed finds the tequila from the client and hands it to her. She takes a swig. There's a nanosecond of relief ... until the tequila hits. Her eyes redden. She spews and gasps. He gets up, grabs his trash can, and moves around the room with it, cleaning up all the Chinese food cartons. She doesn't have one. Beat. Ed smiles. He gives her a long look. They both smile a little awkwardly. Take a beat. Then: She flicks on the lights. Brenda's desk is decorated and as a present on it. Erin's is empty. Erin shakes her head. She's surprised by how hurt she is. George looks over at her, sees her eyes glisten a little. He goes over to her, wraps his arms around her. He kisses her. She leans into him. He kisses her some more. She kisses back. She's gonna let | Where does Erin get a job? | at Ed's office |
motorcycle helmet, to leave, she's hit with a wave of regret. There's a KNOCK at the door, and Ed enters. George looks at him. Not interested in her apologies. And Erin watches George leave the room, then turns to Ed. But his mind's made up. He stands to leave. She climbs up on an old wagon for a better view. Agreeing MURMURS ripple through the crowd. Potter turns around and looks at Ed seated behind him. The GRUMBLE of discontent has overtaken the room. More whispering, more movement. Ted Daniels gets up from his seat. He drops his agreement form, unsigned, then takes Rita's hand and heads for the door. She thinks for a moment, then gets an idea. She picks up a release form, and leaves the firehouse. As the kids wander toward the bathroom, Erin picks up the phone and dials. RING, RING. He takes it, glances toward the motel room. She hands him a wad of cash. He nods. She gets into her car. Before closing the door, she turns back to him. She sees how mad she's made him. Takes a beat. George softens, shifts. He steps toward the truck and gently closes her door, so he's standing close to her. He thinks about this. Finally: He smiles back at her, nods, then tenderly brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. He nods, understanding. Then he taps the side of her truck and turns toward the motel room. She puts the truck in gear and pulls out. Erin forces herself awake. He picks up Beth, takes Katie's hand, and calls across the room to Matthew. Erin turns to see Matthew holding one of her release forms. But he's reading it. huge smile of appreciation slowly spreads across Ed's face. Erin hands Ed a manila envelope. He opens it. Potter and Theresa reel. Ed shakes his head in disbelief. And she struts out of the room, leaving everyone slack-jawed. The CLIP CLIP CLIP of her heels carry her away. Erin puts her hand in the door, keeping it from closing. He stares at her, in awe. He looks down the hall at her, standing so tall and proud in the elevator. He walks toward her, stops right outside the elevator. Of course she will. She releases her hand so he won't see her smiling. Ed watches the doors close. Erin's Chevy moves up the PCH. DISCO music emanates from it. Donna turns, sees her. Smiles. Erin sits down on a rock. Donna sits down next to her. Tears of vindication spring to Donna's eyes. She reels. After a breathless beat: Donna wipes the tears off her face, then watches the light flickering off her girls playing in the surf. Donna is overwhelmed. Erin pulls her close. She lost them. Her reaction indicates this isn't the first time. The front doors open and Erin enters. Erin heads on down a hall to: He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a check. Hands it to her. Erin does. Looks at it. Her eyes bug out. She stares at it, speechless. He goes back to unpacking George reaches in his pocket, finds her pacifier. As he's leaning down to give it to her, he hears a RUMBLE coming down the street behind him. The roar grows. He stands, looks. A GROUP OF ABOUT TEN BIKERS has pulled up next to him. He looks at them. They look at him, then at the stroller. George feels ridiculous. When the light changes, the bikers REV LOUDLY and pull out. George just stands there and watches them go. Erin is up at the map, eating Chinese food. She bites into a forkful of food, keeps talking. She reaches for a document, reads from it. In response to the insinuation, Erin gives him a glare. Suddenly, her eyes pop out of her head -- Tears spring to her eyes. She fans furiously at her mouth. Ed finds the tequila from the client and hands it to her. She takes a swig. There's a nanosecond of relief ... until the tequila hits. Her eyes redden. She spews and gasps. He gets up, grabs his trash can, and moves around the room with it, cleaning up all the Chinese food cartons. She doesn't have one. Beat. Ed smiles. He gives her a long look. They both smile a little awkwardly. Take a beat. Then: She flicks on the lights. Brenda's desk is decorated and as a present on it. Erin's is empty. Erin shakes her head. She's surprised by how hurt she is. George looks over at her, sees her eyes glisten a little. He goes over to her, wraps his arms around her. He kisses her. She leans into him. He kisses her some more. She kisses back. She's gonna let and puts his head in his hands. He sits like that for a moment, GROANS to himself. Then he pushes himself up and heads over to his door. When he opens it, he finds Erin still standing there, exactly where he left her, arms crossed. She hasn't budged. Ed pauses, groans again, realizing what decision he's making. She smiles victoriously. He heads back to his desk. Erin follows him into his office. He gives her a look. Knows what's coming. Matthew and Katie fan out into the store. Erin keeps messing with the phone. Erin looks over at him, weary. And she walks away from him. As Erin labels the containers, her heels slide down the side of the ditch, and she lands smack in it, knee-deep in gunk. She adds them to a growing collection of containers in the trunk of her car. Erin spots a few dead frogs in the water. She picks one up by the leg, and seals it in a plastic bag as well. ON THE REPORTS: We catch a few words: "water sample A ...", "soil sample D ...", "frog sample A ...", "... traces of hexavalent ..." Brenda looks at Erin and sees her hem rising in the back. Erin turns to Brenda, relishing the chance to irritate her. Ed, in his office, laughs. He's starting to like this gal. His voice is flat, creepy. Not friendly. CLICK. Erin stares at the phone, freaked. She goes to the living room, double-checks the window locks in there. George follows. She heads into the bedrooms. George reacts, a little stung. He follows her into: She gives him a glare, then leaves the room. Ross is speechless. He just stands there. Erin drags checks the piece of paper with Donna's address, she drives by the PG&E COMPRESSOR STATION, a massive gray structure of pipes, chimneys and ladders, set way back from the road. Erin passes it without noticing it. She stops at an intersection. The house on the corner has been boarded up with plywood. Erin notices it -- depressing -- then turns the corner onto Donna's street. The Hyundai pulls into the driveway and stops. Erin gets out. As she heads up to the door, her spike heels sink into the dirt. She rings the bell. It has a melody chime. DONNA IRVING opens the door. She's 35, petite, with a scrappy, high-strung manner. She's wearing tight jeans, and her dark curls are piled on top of her head. She comes out from the kitchen with a tray of iced tea. Donna corrects the positioning on a couple of pillows. This would be the perfect opportunity for many to get self- pitying. But not Donna. Life's handed her a shitload of lemons, and darned if she hasn't made a shitload of lemonade. Donna tops off their iced teas. WIDEN to see Donna pulling the box down into the room. She rifles through the box. She hands Erin a printed fact sheet. Erin scans it. She gets to an intersection and looks across the street at the massive COMPRESSOR STATION. Six stories high, lit up like a Christmas tree, with all sizes of PIPES criss-crossing the outside and GIANT COOLING TOWERS sticking up out of it. Far more massive than anything else in town, it looms over the horizon like the Capitol in D.C. or St. Peter's in Rome. Erin takes a long look at the compressor station, then turns | Whose home is PG&E offering to buy? | Donna Jensen |
motorcycle helmet, to leave, she's hit with a wave of regret. There's a KNOCK at the door, and Ed enters. George looks at him. Not interested in her apologies. And Erin watches George leave the room, then turns to Ed. But his mind's made up. He stands to leave. She climbs up on an old wagon for a better view. Agreeing MURMURS ripple through the crowd. Potter turns around and looks at Ed seated behind him. The GRUMBLE of discontent has overtaken the room. More whispering, more movement. Ted Daniels gets up from his seat. He drops his agreement form, unsigned, then takes Rita's hand and heads for the door. She thinks for a moment, then gets an idea. She picks up a release form, and leaves the firehouse. As the kids wander toward the bathroom, Erin picks up the phone and dials. RING, RING. He takes it, glances toward the motel room. She hands him a wad of cash. He nods. She gets into her car. Before closing the door, she turns back to him. She sees how mad she's made him. Takes a beat. George softens, shifts. He steps toward the truck and gently closes her door, so he's standing close to her. He thinks about this. Finally: He smiles back at her, nods, then tenderly brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. He nods, understanding. Then he taps the side of her truck and turns toward the motel room. She puts the truck in gear and pulls out. Erin forces herself awake. He picks up Beth, takes Katie's hand, and calls across the room to Matthew. Erin turns to see Matthew holding one of her release forms. But he's reading it. huge smile of appreciation slowly spreads across Ed's face. Erin hands Ed a manila envelope. He opens it. Potter and Theresa reel. Ed shakes his head in disbelief. And she struts out of the room, leaving everyone slack-jawed. The CLIP CLIP CLIP of her heels carry her away. Erin puts her hand in the door, keeping it from closing. He stares at her, in awe. He looks down the hall at her, standing so tall and proud in the elevator. He walks toward her, stops right outside the elevator. Of course she will. She releases her hand so he won't see her smiling. Ed watches the doors close. Erin's Chevy moves up the PCH. DISCO music emanates from it. Donna turns, sees her. Smiles. Erin sits down on a rock. Donna sits down next to her. Tears of vindication spring to Donna's eyes. She reels. After a breathless beat: Donna wipes the tears off her face, then watches the light flickering off her girls playing in the surf. Donna is overwhelmed. Erin pulls her close. She lost them. Her reaction indicates this isn't the first time. The front doors open and Erin enters. Erin heads on down a hall to: He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a check. Hands it to her. Erin does. Looks at it. Her eyes bug out. She stares at it, speechless. He goes back to unpacking checks the piece of paper with Donna's address, she drives by the PG&E COMPRESSOR STATION, a massive gray structure of pipes, chimneys and ladders, set way back from the road. Erin passes it without noticing it. She stops at an intersection. The house on the corner has been boarded up with plywood. Erin notices it -- depressing -- then turns the corner onto Donna's street. The Hyundai pulls into the driveway and stops. Erin gets out. As she heads up to the door, her spike heels sink into the dirt. She rings the bell. It has a melody chime. DONNA IRVING opens the door. She's 35, petite, with a scrappy, high-strung manner. She's wearing tight jeans, and her dark curls are piled on top of her head. She comes out from the kitchen with a tray of iced tea. Donna corrects the positioning on a couple of pillows. This would be the perfect opportunity for many to get self- pitying. But not Donna. Life's handed her a shitload of lemons, and darned if she hasn't made a shitload of lemonade. Donna tops off their iced teas. WIDEN to see Donna pulling the box down into the room. She rifles through the box. She hands Erin a printed fact sheet. Erin scans it. She gets to an intersection and looks across the street at the massive COMPRESSOR STATION. Six stories high, lit up like a Christmas tree, with all sizes of PIPES criss-crossing the outside and GIANT COOLING TOWERS sticking up out of it. Far more massive than anything else in town, it looms over the horizon like the Capitol in D.C. or St. Peter's in Rome. Erin takes a long look at the compressor station, then turns as she opens her car door and gets in. ED MASRY, senior partner, slumps by ROSALIND, his chipper receptionist, with a cup of coffee in his hand. He's in his mid-50's, compact and -- even though it's only 9 AM -- already rumpled. Whatever passion he once had for the personal injury law that is his career has long since dissipated. He trundles off toward his office. He grabs a gift-wrapped bottle off her desk, reads the card. Ed peers into his office. It's a mess -- papers everywhere, unopened mail. Standing in the middle of the room is Erin, in a teensy, leopard-print mini-dress. As she jiggles a spike-heeled foot, everything about her shimmies gloriously. Except her head, which is held in place by a neck brace. As Ed heads into his office, Brenda picks up the phone. He clears a stack of papers off a chair. Ed gives her a look of pro-forma sympathy. He takes out a pad and paper, gets ready to write. She glances at the defendant's table, where a DOCTOR sits nobly in surgical scrubs. His WIFE and two beautiful KIDS are behind him. A frigging Norman Rockwell painting. Erin looks over at the jury. The personification of conservative family values. Oh, shit. Erin sees a juror staring judgmentally at her short hem. Erin gives it a tug, pulling it down a stitch. Erin sees a few jurors share dubious glances. Great. Ed shakes his head slightly to her -- don't get mad. Erin sees jurors nodding almost imperceptibly in agreement. She's on a sinking ship. Ed notices her ranting is starting to draw attention. Erin turns away from him and heads for the stairway. Erin gets out, takes the mail from her mailbox, and puts his head in his hands. He sits like that for a moment, GROANS to himself. Then he pushes himself up and heads over to his door. When he opens it, he finds Erin still standing there, exactly where he left her, arms crossed. She hasn't budged. Ed pauses, groans again, realizing what decision he's making. She smiles victoriously. He heads back to his desk. Erin follows him into his office. He gives her a look. Knows what's coming. Matthew and Katie fan out into the store. Erin keeps messing with the phone. Erin looks over at him, weary. And she walks away from him. As Erin labels the containers, her heels slide down the side of the ditch, and she lands smack in it, knee-deep in gunk. She adds them to a growing collection of containers in the trunk of her car. Erin spots a few dead frogs in the water. She picks one up by the leg, and seals it in a plastic bag as well. ON THE REPORTS: We catch a few words: "water sample A ...", "soil sample D ...", "frog sample A ...", "... traces of hexavalent ..." Brenda looks at Erin and sees her hem rising in the back. Erin turns to Brenda, relishing the chance to irritate her. Ed, in his office, laughs. He's starting to like this gal. His voice is flat, creepy. Not friendly. CLICK. Erin stares at the phone, freaked. She goes to the living room, double-checks the window locks in there. George follows. She heads into the bedrooms. George reacts, a little stung. He follows her into: She gives him a glare, then leaves the room. Ross is speechless. He just stands there. Erin drags | What city does Donna live in? | Hinkley |
motorcycle helmet, to leave, she's hit with a wave of regret. There's a KNOCK at the door, and Ed enters. George looks at him. Not interested in her apologies. And Erin watches George leave the room, then turns to Ed. But his mind's made up. He stands to leave. She climbs up on an old wagon for a better view. Agreeing MURMURS ripple through the crowd. Potter turns around and looks at Ed seated behind him. The GRUMBLE of discontent has overtaken the room. More whispering, more movement. Ted Daniels gets up from his seat. He drops his agreement form, unsigned, then takes Rita's hand and heads for the door. She thinks for a moment, then gets an idea. She picks up a release form, and leaves the firehouse. As the kids wander toward the bathroom, Erin picks up the phone and dials. RING, RING. He takes it, glances toward the motel room. She hands him a wad of cash. He nods. She gets into her car. Before closing the door, she turns back to him. She sees how mad she's made him. Takes a beat. George softens, shifts. He steps toward the truck and gently closes her door, so he's standing close to her. He thinks about this. Finally: He smiles back at her, nods, then tenderly brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. He nods, understanding. Then he taps the side of her truck and turns toward the motel room. She puts the truck in gear and pulls out. Erin forces herself awake. He picks up Beth, takes Katie's hand, and calls across the room to Matthew. Erin turns to see Matthew holding one of her release forms. But he's reading it. huge smile of appreciation slowly spreads across Ed's face. Erin hands Ed a manila envelope. He opens it. Potter and Theresa reel. Ed shakes his head in disbelief. And she struts out of the room, leaving everyone slack-jawed. The CLIP CLIP CLIP of her heels carry her away. Erin puts her hand in the door, keeping it from closing. He stares at her, in awe. He looks down the hall at her, standing so tall and proud in the elevator. He walks toward her, stops right outside the elevator. Of course she will. She releases her hand so he won't see her smiling. Ed watches the doors close. Erin's Chevy moves up the PCH. DISCO music emanates from it. Donna turns, sees her. Smiles. Erin sits down on a rock. Donna sits down next to her. Tears of vindication spring to Donna's eyes. She reels. After a breathless beat: Donna wipes the tears off her face, then watches the light flickering off her girls playing in the surf. Donna is overwhelmed. Erin pulls her close. She lost them. Her reaction indicates this isn't the first time. The front doors open and Erin enters. Erin heads on down a hall to: He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a check. Hands it to her. Erin does. Looks at it. Her eyes bug out. She stares at it, speechless. He goes back to unpacking George reaches in his pocket, finds her pacifier. As he's leaning down to give it to her, he hears a RUMBLE coming down the street behind him. The roar grows. He stands, looks. A GROUP OF ABOUT TEN BIKERS has pulled up next to him. He looks at them. They look at him, then at the stroller. George feels ridiculous. When the light changes, the bikers REV LOUDLY and pull out. George just stands there and watches them go. Erin is up at the map, eating Chinese food. She bites into a forkful of food, keeps talking. She reaches for a document, reads from it. In response to the insinuation, Erin gives him a glare. Suddenly, her eyes pop out of her head -- Tears spring to her eyes. She fans furiously at her mouth. Ed finds the tequila from the client and hands it to her. She takes a swig. There's a nanosecond of relief ... until the tequila hits. Her eyes redden. She spews and gasps. He gets up, grabs his trash can, and moves around the room with it, cleaning up all the Chinese food cartons. She doesn't have one. Beat. Ed smiles. He gives her a long look. They both smile a little awkwardly. Take a beat. Then: She flicks on the lights. Brenda's desk is decorated and as a present on it. Erin's is empty. Erin shakes her head. She's surprised by how hurt she is. George looks over at her, sees her eyes glisten a little. He goes over to her, wraps his arms around her. He kisses her. She leans into him. He kisses her some more. She kisses back. She's gonna let checks the piece of paper with Donna's address, she drives by the PG&E COMPRESSOR STATION, a massive gray structure of pipes, chimneys and ladders, set way back from the road. Erin passes it without noticing it. She stops at an intersection. The house on the corner has been boarded up with plywood. Erin notices it -- depressing -- then turns the corner onto Donna's street. The Hyundai pulls into the driveway and stops. Erin gets out. As she heads up to the door, her spike heels sink into the dirt. She rings the bell. It has a melody chime. DONNA IRVING opens the door. She's 35, petite, with a scrappy, high-strung manner. She's wearing tight jeans, and her dark curls are piled on top of her head. She comes out from the kitchen with a tray of iced tea. Donna corrects the positioning on a couple of pillows. This would be the perfect opportunity for many to get self- pitying. But not Donna. Life's handed her a shitload of lemons, and darned if she hasn't made a shitload of lemonade. Donna tops off their iced teas. WIDEN to see Donna pulling the box down into the room. She rifles through the box. She hands Erin a printed fact sheet. Erin scans it. She gets to an intersection and looks across the street at the massive COMPRESSOR STATION. Six stories high, lit up like a Christmas tree, with all sizes of PIPES criss-crossing the outside and GIANT COOLING TOWERS sticking up out of it. Far more massive than anything else in town, it looms over the horizon like the Capitol in D.C. or St. Peter's in Rome. Erin takes a long look at the compressor station, then turns and puts his head in his hands. He sits like that for a moment, GROANS to himself. Then he pushes himself up and heads over to his door. When he opens it, he finds Erin still standing there, exactly where he left her, arms crossed. She hasn't budged. Ed pauses, groans again, realizing what decision he's making. She smiles victoriously. He heads back to his desk. Erin follows him into his office. He gives her a look. Knows what's coming. Matthew and Katie fan out into the store. Erin keeps messing with the phone. Erin looks over at him, weary. And she walks away from him. As Erin labels the containers, her heels slide down the side of the ditch, and she lands smack in it, knee-deep in gunk. She adds them to a growing collection of containers in the trunk of her car. Erin spots a few dead frogs in the water. She picks one up by the leg, and seals it in a plastic bag as well. ON THE REPORTS: We catch a few words: "water sample A ...", "soil sample D ...", "frog sample A ...", "... traces of hexavalent ..." Brenda looks at Erin and sees her hem rising in the back. Erin turns to Brenda, relishing the chance to irritate her. Ed, in his office, laughs. He's starting to like this gal. His voice is flat, creepy. Not friendly. CLICK. Erin stares at the phone, freaked. She goes to the living room, double-checks the window locks in there. George follows. She heads into the bedrooms. George reacts, a little stung. He follows her into: She gives him a glare, then leaves the room. Ross is speechless. He just stands there. Erin drags | What state is Hinkley in? | California |
motorcycle helmet, to leave, she's hit with a wave of regret. There's a KNOCK at the door, and Ed enters. George looks at him. Not interested in her apologies. And Erin watches George leave the room, then turns to Ed. But his mind's made up. He stands to leave. She climbs up on an old wagon for a better view. Agreeing MURMURS ripple through the crowd. Potter turns around and looks at Ed seated behind him. The GRUMBLE of discontent has overtaken the room. More whispering, more movement. Ted Daniels gets up from his seat. He drops his agreement form, unsigned, then takes Rita's hand and heads for the door. She thinks for a moment, then gets an idea. She picks up a release form, and leaves the firehouse. As the kids wander toward the bathroom, Erin picks up the phone and dials. RING, RING. He takes it, glances toward the motel room. She hands him a wad of cash. He nods. She gets into her car. Before closing the door, she turns back to him. She sees how mad she's made him. Takes a beat. George softens, shifts. He steps toward the truck and gently closes her door, so he's standing close to her. He thinks about this. Finally: He smiles back at her, nods, then tenderly brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. He nods, understanding. Then he taps the side of her truck and turns toward the motel room. She puts the truck in gear and pulls out. Erin forces herself awake. He picks up Beth, takes Katie's hand, and calls across the room to Matthew. Erin turns to see Matthew holding one of her release forms. But he's reading it. huge smile of appreciation slowly spreads across Ed's face. Erin hands Ed a manila envelope. He opens it. Potter and Theresa reel. Ed shakes his head in disbelief. And she struts out of the room, leaving everyone slack-jawed. The CLIP CLIP CLIP of her heels carry her away. Erin puts her hand in the door, keeping it from closing. He stares at her, in awe. He looks down the hall at her, standing so tall and proud in the elevator. He walks toward her, stops right outside the elevator. Of course she will. She releases her hand so he won't see her smiling. Ed watches the doors close. Erin's Chevy moves up the PCH. DISCO music emanates from it. Donna turns, sees her. Smiles. Erin sits down on a rock. Donna sits down next to her. Tears of vindication spring to Donna's eyes. She reels. After a breathless beat: Donna wipes the tears off her face, then watches the light flickering off her girls playing in the surf. Donna is overwhelmed. Erin pulls her close. She lost them. Her reaction indicates this isn't the first time. The front doors open and Erin enters. Erin heads on down a hall to: He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a check. Hands it to her. Erin does. Looks at it. Her eyes bug out. She stares at it, speechless. He goes back to unpacking George reaches in his pocket, finds her pacifier. As he's leaning down to give it to her, he hears a RUMBLE coming down the street behind him. The roar grows. He stands, looks. A GROUP OF ABOUT TEN BIKERS has pulled up next to him. He looks at them. They look at him, then at the stroller. George feels ridiculous. When the light changes, the bikers REV LOUDLY and pull out. George just stands there and watches them go. Erin is up at the map, eating Chinese food. She bites into a forkful of food, keeps talking. She reaches for a document, reads from it. In response to the insinuation, Erin gives him a glare. Suddenly, her eyes pop out of her head -- Tears spring to her eyes. She fans furiously at her mouth. Ed finds the tequila from the client and hands it to her. She takes a swig. There's a nanosecond of relief ... until the tequila hits. Her eyes redden. She spews and gasps. He gets up, grabs his trash can, and moves around the room with it, cleaning up all the Chinese food cartons. She doesn't have one. Beat. Ed smiles. He gives her a long look. They both smile a little awkwardly. Take a beat. Then: She flicks on the lights. Brenda's desk is decorated and as a present on it. Erin's is empty. Erin shakes her head. She's surprised by how hurt she is. George looks over at her, sees her eyes glisten a little. He goes over to her, wraps his arms around her. He kisses her. She leans into him. He kisses her some more. She kisses back. She's gonna let room. Not a whole lot of options here. He looks back at Erin. Erin shakes her head, no. Great, thinks Anna. He turns, sees her. Ed looks at her a moment, sees that it's far from okay. He takes out his wallet, looks in. He slaps a hundred in her hand and leaves. When he's gone, she looks at the bill -- her life raft -- and gives it a great big kiss. But of course he can't hear her. She walks over to him, stands right in his line of vision. The guys on the porch chuckle. Erin turns and starts back to her house. George hops off his bike and follows her. Erin shakes her head in disbelief and keeps walking. She stops at her porch, turns to him. She turns and heads inside. He calls out after her: The women go back to stirring their coffees. Erin walks on. Ed appears in the door, carrying the box of files. He plunks the box of files on her desk. She stares at it, with no idea of how to go about that. He sees her staring at the box. Ed heads out, but pauses before leaving. As she wipes the bug guts off the bottom of her shoe: She spots George on his stoop, with a six-pack beside him. He gets up and follows her to her house. Erin turns to him. The kids are waiting at the door. George reaches out and grabs the box from under her arm. He's got a point there. After a beat: Erin comes in from the kitchen. They get up ... ... and head into bed. George starts cleaning up the cards. Erin bends down to help him. She and puts his head in his hands. He sits like that for a moment, GROANS to himself. Then he pushes himself up and heads over to his door. When he opens it, he finds Erin still standing there, exactly where he left her, arms crossed. She hasn't budged. Ed pauses, groans again, realizing what decision he's making. She smiles victoriously. He heads back to his desk. Erin follows him into his office. He gives her a look. Knows what's coming. Matthew and Katie fan out into the store. Erin keeps messing with the phone. Erin looks over at him, weary. And she walks away from him. As Erin labels the containers, her heels slide down the side of the ditch, and she lands smack in it, knee-deep in gunk. She adds them to a growing collection of containers in the trunk of her car. Erin spots a few dead frogs in the water. She picks one up by the leg, and seals it in a plastic bag as well. ON THE REPORTS: We catch a few words: "water sample A ...", "soil sample D ...", "frog sample A ...", "... traces of hexavalent ..." Brenda looks at Erin and sees her hem rising in the back. Erin turns to Brenda, relishing the chance to irritate her. Ed, in his office, laughs. He's starting to like this gal. His voice is flat, creepy. Not friendly. CLICK. Erin stares at the phone, freaked. She goes to the living room, double-checks the window locks in there. George follows. She heads into the bedrooms. George reacts, a little stung. He follows her into: She gives him a glare, then leaves the room. Ross is speechless. He just stands there. Erin drags | How many plaintiffs are there? | 634 |
motorcycle helmet, to leave, she's hit with a wave of regret. There's a KNOCK at the door, and Ed enters. George looks at him. Not interested in her apologies. And Erin watches George leave the room, then turns to Ed. But his mind's made up. He stands to leave. She climbs up on an old wagon for a better view. Agreeing MURMURS ripple through the crowd. Potter turns around and looks at Ed seated behind him. The GRUMBLE of discontent has overtaken the room. More whispering, more movement. Ted Daniels gets up from his seat. He drops his agreement form, unsigned, then takes Rita's hand and heads for the door. She thinks for a moment, then gets an idea. She picks up a release form, and leaves the firehouse. As the kids wander toward the bathroom, Erin picks up the phone and dials. RING, RING. He takes it, glances toward the motel room. She hands him a wad of cash. He nods. She gets into her car. Before closing the door, she turns back to him. She sees how mad she's made him. Takes a beat. George softens, shifts. He steps toward the truck and gently closes her door, so he's standing close to her. He thinks about this. Finally: He smiles back at her, nods, then tenderly brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. He nods, understanding. Then he taps the side of her truck and turns toward the motel room. She puts the truck in gear and pulls out. Erin forces herself awake. He picks up Beth, takes Katie's hand, and calls across the room to Matthew. Erin turns to see Matthew holding one of her release forms. But he's reading it. and puts his head in his hands. He sits like that for a moment, GROANS to himself. Then he pushes himself up and heads over to his door. When he opens it, he finds Erin still standing there, exactly where he left her, arms crossed. She hasn't budged. Ed pauses, groans again, realizing what decision he's making. She smiles victoriously. He heads back to his desk. Erin follows him into his office. He gives her a look. Knows what's coming. Matthew and Katie fan out into the store. Erin keeps messing with the phone. Erin looks over at him, weary. And she walks away from him. As Erin labels the containers, her heels slide down the side of the ditch, and she lands smack in it, knee-deep in gunk. She adds them to a growing collection of containers in the trunk of her car. Erin spots a few dead frogs in the water. She picks one up by the leg, and seals it in a plastic bag as well. ON THE REPORTS: We catch a few words: "water sample A ...", "soil sample D ...", "frog sample A ...", "... traces of hexavalent ..." Brenda looks at Erin and sees her hem rising in the back. Erin turns to Brenda, relishing the chance to irritate her. Ed, in his office, laughs. He's starting to like this gal. His voice is flat, creepy. Not friendly. CLICK. Erin stares at the phone, freaked. She goes to the living room, double-checks the window locks in there. George follows. She heads into the bedrooms. George reacts, a little stung. He follows her into: She gives him a glare, then leaves the room. Ross is speechless. He just stands there. Erin drags George reaches in his pocket, finds her pacifier. As he's leaning down to give it to her, he hears a RUMBLE coming down the street behind him. The roar grows. He stands, looks. A GROUP OF ABOUT TEN BIKERS has pulled up next to him. He looks at them. They look at him, then at the stroller. George feels ridiculous. When the light changes, the bikers REV LOUDLY and pull out. George just stands there and watches them go. Erin is up at the map, eating Chinese food. She bites into a forkful of food, keeps talking. She reaches for a document, reads from it. In response to the insinuation, Erin gives him a glare. Suddenly, her eyes pop out of her head -- Tears spring to her eyes. She fans furiously at her mouth. Ed finds the tequila from the client and hands it to her. She takes a swig. There's a nanosecond of relief ... until the tequila hits. Her eyes redden. She spews and gasps. He gets up, grabs his trash can, and moves around the room with it, cleaning up all the Chinese food cartons. She doesn't have one. Beat. Ed smiles. He gives her a long look. They both smile a little awkwardly. Take a beat. Then: She flicks on the lights. Brenda's desk is decorated and as a present on it. Erin's is empty. Erin shakes her head. She's surprised by how hurt she is. George looks over at her, sees her eyes glisten a little. He goes over to her, wraps his arms around her. He kisses her. She leans into him. He kisses her some more. She kisses back. She's gonna let checks the piece of paper with Donna's address, she drives by the PG&E COMPRESSOR STATION, a massive gray structure of pipes, chimneys and ladders, set way back from the road. Erin passes it without noticing it. She stops at an intersection. The house on the corner has been boarded up with plywood. Erin notices it -- depressing -- then turns the corner onto Donna's street. The Hyundai pulls into the driveway and stops. Erin gets out. As she heads up to the door, her spike heels sink into the dirt. She rings the bell. It has a melody chime. DONNA IRVING opens the door. She's 35, petite, with a scrappy, high-strung manner. She's wearing tight jeans, and her dark curls are piled on top of her head. She comes out from the kitchen with a tray of iced tea. Donna corrects the positioning on a couple of pillows. This would be the perfect opportunity for many to get self- pitying. But not Donna. Life's handed her a shitload of lemons, and darned if she hasn't made a shitload of lemonade. Donna tops off their iced teas. WIDEN to see Donna pulling the box down into the room. She rifles through the box. She hands Erin a printed fact sheet. Erin scans it. She gets to an intersection and looks across the street at the massive COMPRESSOR STATION. Six stories high, lit up like a Christmas tree, with all sizes of PIPES criss-crossing the outside and GIANT COOLING TOWERS sticking up out of it. Far more massive than anything else in town, it looms over the horizon like the Capitol in D.C. or St. Peter's in Rome. Erin takes a long look at the compressor station, then turns so irritated. Erin hangs up. Then, with a groan, she pulls her weary body out of bed. She heads toward Ed's office, but stops when she sees a meeting in progress in the conference room. Ed is on the side of the table facing her, flanked by Potter and Theresa. On the other side of the table, are FOUR SUITED BACKS. Erin feels this like a sock in the gut. She stares at the meeting, stunned. Ed and Potter hear this and think about it. As Ed mulls this, he sees, beyond Mr. Corbin, He gets up and goes out into: He resists being dragged into an knock-down, drag-out fight. She starts to COUGH and CRUMBLE, but fights it. By now the entire office is watching. As are the lawyers in the conference room. Erin reaches into her bag, pulls out her cel phone. She throws it at him and storms away. The phone hits the glass wall of the conference room, CRACKING it. Ed just stands there, with the lawyers staring at him through the splintered glass wall. She looks over her shoulder, but the sidewalk is too dark. She pulls a U-turn in the middle of the street. A CAR HONKS. Erin scans the sidewalk, finally sees him again. Holy shit, is right. It's Matthew, wandering the streets at night. She pulls ahead of Matthew and bumps up onto the sidewalk, blocking his path. When he sees her car, he turns and runs the other way. Erin leaps out and follows him. She catches up and collars him. She lays her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off and inches away from her. A moment of thick silence. As she watches him reach for his | Who was Erin's lawyer? | Ed Masry |
motorcycle helmet, to leave, she's hit with a wave of regret. There's a KNOCK at the door, and Ed enters. George looks at him. Not interested in her apologies. And Erin watches George leave the room, then turns to Ed. But his mind's made up. He stands to leave. She climbs up on an old wagon for a better view. Agreeing MURMURS ripple through the crowd. Potter turns around and looks at Ed seated behind him. The GRUMBLE of discontent has overtaken the room. More whispering, more movement. Ted Daniels gets up from his seat. He drops his agreement form, unsigned, then takes Rita's hand and heads for the door. She thinks for a moment, then gets an idea. She picks up a release form, and leaves the firehouse. As the kids wander toward the bathroom, Erin picks up the phone and dials. RING, RING. He takes it, glances toward the motel room. She hands him a wad of cash. He nods. She gets into her car. Before closing the door, she turns back to him. She sees how mad she's made him. Takes a beat. George softens, shifts. He steps toward the truck and gently closes her door, so he's standing close to her. He thinks about this. Finally: He smiles back at her, nods, then tenderly brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. He nods, understanding. Then he taps the side of her truck and turns toward the motel room. She puts the truck in gear and pulls out. Erin forces herself awake. He picks up Beth, takes Katie's hand, and calls across the room to Matthew. Erin turns to see Matthew holding one of her release forms. But he's reading it. huge smile of appreciation slowly spreads across Ed's face. Erin hands Ed a manila envelope. He opens it. Potter and Theresa reel. Ed shakes his head in disbelief. And she struts out of the room, leaving everyone slack-jawed. The CLIP CLIP CLIP of her heels carry her away. Erin puts her hand in the door, keeping it from closing. He stares at her, in awe. He looks down the hall at her, standing so tall and proud in the elevator. He walks toward her, stops right outside the elevator. Of course she will. She releases her hand so he won't see her smiling. Ed watches the doors close. Erin's Chevy moves up the PCH. DISCO music emanates from it. Donna turns, sees her. Smiles. Erin sits down on a rock. Donna sits down next to her. Tears of vindication spring to Donna's eyes. She reels. After a breathless beat: Donna wipes the tears off her face, then watches the light flickering off her girls playing in the surf. Donna is overwhelmed. Erin pulls her close. She lost them. Her reaction indicates this isn't the first time. The front doors open and Erin enters. Erin heads on down a hall to: He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a check. Hands it to her. Erin does. Looks at it. Her eyes bug out. She stares at it, speechless. He goes back to unpacking so irritated. Erin hangs up. Then, with a groan, she pulls her weary body out of bed. She heads toward Ed's office, but stops when she sees a meeting in progress in the conference room. Ed is on the side of the table facing her, flanked by Potter and Theresa. On the other side of the table, are FOUR SUITED BACKS. Erin feels this like a sock in the gut. She stares at the meeting, stunned. Ed and Potter hear this and think about it. As Ed mulls this, he sees, beyond Mr. Corbin, He gets up and goes out into: He resists being dragged into an knock-down, drag-out fight. She starts to COUGH and CRUMBLE, but fights it. By now the entire office is watching. As are the lawyers in the conference room. Erin reaches into her bag, pulls out her cel phone. She throws it at him and storms away. The phone hits the glass wall of the conference room, CRACKING it. Ed just stands there, with the lawyers staring at him through the splintered glass wall. She looks over her shoulder, but the sidewalk is too dark. She pulls a U-turn in the middle of the street. A CAR HONKS. Erin scans the sidewalk, finally sees him again. Holy shit, is right. It's Matthew, wandering the streets at night. She pulls ahead of Matthew and bumps up onto the sidewalk, blocking his path. When he sees her car, he turns and runs the other way. Erin leaps out and follows him. She catches up and collars him. She lays her hand on his shoulder, but he shrugs it off and inches away from her. A moment of thick silence. As she watches him reach for his checks the piece of paper with Donna's address, she drives by the PG&E COMPRESSOR STATION, a massive gray structure of pipes, chimneys and ladders, set way back from the road. Erin passes it without noticing it. She stops at an intersection. The house on the corner has been boarded up with plywood. Erin notices it -- depressing -- then turns the corner onto Donna's street. The Hyundai pulls into the driveway and stops. Erin gets out. As she heads up to the door, her spike heels sink into the dirt. She rings the bell. It has a melody chime. DONNA IRVING opens the door. She's 35, petite, with a scrappy, high-strung manner. She's wearing tight jeans, and her dark curls are piled on top of her head. She comes out from the kitchen with a tray of iced tea. Donna corrects the positioning on a couple of pillows. This would be the perfect opportunity for many to get self- pitying. But not Donna. Life's handed her a shitload of lemons, and darned if she hasn't made a shitload of lemonade. Donna tops off their iced teas. WIDEN to see Donna pulling the box down into the room. She rifles through the box. She hands Erin a printed fact sheet. Erin scans it. She gets to an intersection and looks across the street at the massive COMPRESSOR STATION. Six stories high, lit up like a Christmas tree, with all sizes of PIPES criss-crossing the outside and GIANT COOLING TOWERS sticking up out of it. Far more massive than anything else in town, it looms over the horizon like the Capitol in D.C. or St. Peter's in Rome. Erin takes a long look at the compressor station, then turns George reaches in his pocket, finds her pacifier. As he's leaning down to give it to her, he hears a RUMBLE coming down the street behind him. The roar grows. He stands, looks. A GROUP OF ABOUT TEN BIKERS has pulled up next to him. He looks at them. They look at him, then at the stroller. George feels ridiculous. When the light changes, the bikers REV LOUDLY and pull out. George just stands there and watches them go. Erin is up at the map, eating Chinese food. She bites into a forkful of food, keeps talking. She reaches for a document, reads from it. In response to the insinuation, Erin gives him a glare. Suddenly, her eyes pop out of her head -- Tears spring to her eyes. She fans furiously at her mouth. Ed finds the tequila from the client and hands it to her. She takes a swig. There's a nanosecond of relief ... until the tequila hits. Her eyes redden. She spews and gasps. He gets up, grabs his trash can, and moves around the room with it, cleaning up all the Chinese food cartons. She doesn't have one. Beat. Ed smiles. He gives her a long look. They both smile a little awkwardly. Take a beat. Then: She flicks on the lights. Brenda's desk is decorated and as a present on it. Erin's is empty. Erin shakes her head. She's surprised by how hurt she is. George looks over at her, sees her eyes glisten a little. He goes over to her, wraps his arms around her. He kisses her. She leans into him. He kisses her some more. She kisses back. She's gonna let | What is the Hinkley groundwater contaminated with? | Carcinogenic hexavalent chromium |
motorcycle helmet, to leave, she's hit with a wave of regret. There's a KNOCK at the door, and Ed enters. George looks at him. Not interested in her apologies. And Erin watches George leave the room, then turns to Ed. But his mind's made up. He stands to leave. She climbs up on an old wagon for a better view. Agreeing MURMURS ripple through the crowd. Potter turns around and looks at Ed seated behind him. The GRUMBLE of discontent has overtaken the room. More whispering, more movement. Ted Daniels gets up from his seat. He drops his agreement form, unsigned, then takes Rita's hand and heads for the door. She thinks for a moment, then gets an idea. She picks up a release form, and leaves the firehouse. As the kids wander toward the bathroom, Erin picks up the phone and dials. RING, RING. He takes it, glances toward the motel room. She hands him a wad of cash. He nods. She gets into her car. Before closing the door, she turns back to him. She sees how mad she's made him. Takes a beat. George softens, shifts. He steps toward the truck and gently closes her door, so he's standing close to her. He thinks about this. Finally: He smiles back at her, nods, then tenderly brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. He nods, understanding. Then he taps the side of her truck and turns toward the motel room. She puts the truck in gear and pulls out. Erin forces herself awake. He picks up Beth, takes Katie's hand, and calls across the room to Matthew. Erin turns to see Matthew holding one of her release forms. But he's reading it. huge smile of appreciation slowly spreads across Ed's face. Erin hands Ed a manila envelope. He opens it. Potter and Theresa reel. Ed shakes his head in disbelief. And she struts out of the room, leaving everyone slack-jawed. The CLIP CLIP CLIP of her heels carry her away. Erin puts her hand in the door, keeping it from closing. He stares at her, in awe. He looks down the hall at her, standing so tall and proud in the elevator. He walks toward her, stops right outside the elevator. Of course she will. She releases her hand so he won't see her smiling. Ed watches the doors close. Erin's Chevy moves up the PCH. DISCO music emanates from it. Donna turns, sees her. Smiles. Erin sits down on a rock. Donna sits down next to her. Tears of vindication spring to Donna's eyes. She reels. After a breathless beat: Donna wipes the tears off her face, then watches the light flickering off her girls playing in the surf. Donna is overwhelmed. Erin pulls her close. She lost them. Her reaction indicates this isn't the first time. The front doors open and Erin enters. Erin heads on down a hall to: He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a check. Hands it to her. Erin does. Looks at it. Her eyes bug out. She stares at it, speechless. He goes back to unpacking and puts his head in his hands. He sits like that for a moment, GROANS to himself. Then he pushes himself up and heads over to his door. When he opens it, he finds Erin still standing there, exactly where he left her, arms crossed. She hasn't budged. Ed pauses, groans again, realizing what decision he's making. She smiles victoriously. He heads back to his desk. Erin follows him into his office. He gives her a look. Knows what's coming. Matthew and Katie fan out into the store. Erin keeps messing with the phone. Erin looks over at him, weary. And she walks away from him. As Erin labels the containers, her heels slide down the side of the ditch, and she lands smack in it, knee-deep in gunk. She adds them to a growing collection of containers in the trunk of her car. Erin spots a few dead frogs in the water. She picks one up by the leg, and seals it in a plastic bag as well. ON THE REPORTS: We catch a few words: "water sample A ...", "soil sample D ...", "frog sample A ...", "... traces of hexavalent ..." Brenda looks at Erin and sees her hem rising in the back. Erin turns to Brenda, relishing the chance to irritate her. Ed, in his office, laughs. He's starting to like this gal. His voice is flat, creepy. Not friendly. CLICK. Erin stares at the phone, freaked. She goes to the living room, double-checks the window locks in there. George follows. She heads into the bedrooms. George reacts, a little stung. He follows her into: She gives him a glare, then leaves the room. Ross is speechless. He just stands there. Erin drags George reaches in his pocket, finds her pacifier. As he's leaning down to give it to her, he hears a RUMBLE coming down the street behind him. The roar grows. He stands, looks. A GROUP OF ABOUT TEN BIKERS has pulled up next to him. He looks at them. They look at him, then at the stroller. George feels ridiculous. When the light changes, the bikers REV LOUDLY and pull out. George just stands there and watches them go. Erin is up at the map, eating Chinese food. She bites into a forkful of food, keeps talking. She reaches for a document, reads from it. In response to the insinuation, Erin gives him a glare. Suddenly, her eyes pop out of her head -- Tears spring to her eyes. She fans furiously at her mouth. Ed finds the tequila from the client and hands it to her. She takes a swig. There's a nanosecond of relief ... until the tequila hits. Her eyes redden. She spews and gasps. He gets up, grabs his trash can, and moves around the room with it, cleaning up all the Chinese food cartons. She doesn't have one. Beat. Ed smiles. He gives her a long look. They both smile a little awkwardly. Take a beat. Then: She flicks on the lights. Brenda's desk is decorated and as a present on it. Erin's is empty. Erin shakes her head. She's surprised by how hurt she is. George looks over at her, sees her eyes glisten a little. He goes over to her, wraps his arms around her. He kisses her. She leans into him. He kisses her some more. She kisses back. She's gonna let room. Not a whole lot of options here. He looks back at Erin. Erin shakes her head, no. Great, thinks Anna. He turns, sees her. Ed looks at her a moment, sees that it's far from okay. He takes out his wallet, looks in. He slaps a hundred in her hand and leaves. When he's gone, she looks at the bill -- her life raft -- and gives it a great big kiss. But of course he can't hear her. She walks over to him, stands right in his line of vision. The guys on the porch chuckle. Erin turns and starts back to her house. George hops off his bike and follows her. Erin shakes her head in disbelief and keeps walking. She stops at her porch, turns to him. She turns and heads inside. He calls out after her: The women go back to stirring their coffees. Erin walks on. Ed appears in the door, carrying the box of files. He plunks the box of files on her desk. She stares at it, with no idea of how to go about that. He sees her staring at the box. Ed heads out, but pauses before leaving. As she wipes the bug guts off the bottom of her shoe: She spots George on his stoop, with a six-pack beside him. He gets up and follows her to her house. Erin turns to him. The kids are waiting at the door. George reaches out and grabs the box from under her arm. He's got a point there. After a beat: Erin comes in from the kitchen. They get up ... ... and head into bed. George starts cleaning up the cards. Erin bends down to help him. She | What doctors treated the hinkley residents? | PG&E dictors |
motorcycle helmet, to leave, she's hit with a wave of regret. There's a KNOCK at the door, and Ed enters. George looks at him. Not interested in her apologies. And Erin watches George leave the room, then turns to Ed. But his mind's made up. He stands to leave. She climbs up on an old wagon for a better view. Agreeing MURMURS ripple through the crowd. Potter turns around and looks at Ed seated behind him. The GRUMBLE of discontent has overtaken the room. More whispering, more movement. Ted Daniels gets up from his seat. He drops his agreement form, unsigned, then takes Rita's hand and heads for the door. She thinks for a moment, then gets an idea. She picks up a release form, and leaves the firehouse. As the kids wander toward the bathroom, Erin picks up the phone and dials. RING, RING. He takes it, glances toward the motel room. She hands him a wad of cash. He nods. She gets into her car. Before closing the door, she turns back to him. She sees how mad she's made him. Takes a beat. George softens, shifts. He steps toward the truck and gently closes her door, so he's standing close to her. He thinks about this. Finally: He smiles back at her, nods, then tenderly brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. He nods, understanding. Then he taps the side of her truck and turns toward the motel room. She puts the truck in gear and pulls out. Erin forces herself awake. He picks up Beth, takes Katie's hand, and calls across the room to Matthew. Erin turns to see Matthew holding one of her release forms. But he's reading it. huge smile of appreciation slowly spreads across Ed's face. Erin hands Ed a manila envelope. He opens it. Potter and Theresa reel. Ed shakes his head in disbelief. And she struts out of the room, leaving everyone slack-jawed. The CLIP CLIP CLIP of her heels carry her away. Erin puts her hand in the door, keeping it from closing. He stares at her, in awe. He looks down the hall at her, standing so tall and proud in the elevator. He walks toward her, stops right outside the elevator. Of course she will. She releases her hand so he won't see her smiling. Ed watches the doors close. Erin's Chevy moves up the PCH. DISCO music emanates from it. Donna turns, sees her. Smiles. Erin sits down on a rock. Donna sits down next to her. Tears of vindication spring to Donna's eyes. She reels. After a breathless beat: Donna wipes the tears off her face, then watches the light flickering off her girls playing in the surf. Donna is overwhelmed. Erin pulls her close. She lost them. Her reaction indicates this isn't the first time. The front doors open and Erin enters. Erin heads on down a hall to: He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a check. Hands it to her. Erin does. Looks at it. Her eyes bug out. She stares at it, speechless. He goes back to unpacking and puts his head in his hands. He sits like that for a moment, GROANS to himself. Then he pushes himself up and heads over to his door. When he opens it, he finds Erin still standing there, exactly where he left her, arms crossed. She hasn't budged. Ed pauses, groans again, realizing what decision he's making. She smiles victoriously. He heads back to his desk. Erin follows him into his office. He gives her a look. Knows what's coming. Matthew and Katie fan out into the store. Erin keeps messing with the phone. Erin looks over at him, weary. And she walks away from him. As Erin labels the containers, her heels slide down the side of the ditch, and she lands smack in it, knee-deep in gunk. She adds them to a growing collection of containers in the trunk of her car. Erin spots a few dead frogs in the water. She picks one up by the leg, and seals it in a plastic bag as well. ON THE REPORTS: We catch a few words: "water sample A ...", "soil sample D ...", "frog sample A ...", "... traces of hexavalent ..." Brenda looks at Erin and sees her hem rising in the back. Erin turns to Brenda, relishing the chance to irritate her. Ed, in his office, laughs. He's starting to like this gal. His voice is flat, creepy. Not friendly. CLICK. Erin stares at the phone, freaked. She goes to the living room, double-checks the window locks in there. George follows. She heads into the bedrooms. George reacts, a little stung. He follows her into: She gives him a glare, then leaves the room. Ross is speechless. He just stands there. Erin drags Ed doesn't notice. Erin's getting nervous. He kisses into the phone. Swerves. A car barely misses them. Erin's eyes widen. Not fun at all. He finally hangs up, smiling to himself. Erin clears her throat. He moves over. She gets in, turns off the Sinatra. They pull back out onto the freeway in silence. Roy looks up from his retainer agreement. Erin watches them look around at each other, stunned by the figure. Erin's enjoying Ed's discomfort almost too much to stop. But just almost. She shifts gears. They look at Ed. Well? When they hear this, and realize he's in it with them, they all reach for their pens and sign. They hand the agreements over to Erin, who takes them across the room to Ed. He stuffs them in his briefcase and closes it up. That's that. Boy. Cold as ice. Erin stares at him, stunned by his brusque manner, then leans in to him, close. She picks up a tray of iced tea and cookies and heads to the kitchen. Donna and Mandy follow, leaving Ed alone with Pete and Roy. He stands there, awkwardly. Then, finally: Erin listens, interested. He sees Erin picking her way toward him in her high-heels. She steps in a cow patty. Laughs at herself good-naturedly. Annabelle smiles a little. Erin is holding Beth, watching Matt and Katie sleep. Erin hears the floor creak as George steps into the doorway. They go into their office building. The doors open. Ed gets off. Erin follows. He gets to the Masry & Vititoe doors. Opens them. He shuts his office door on her. He shoves the messages aside George reaches in his pocket, finds her pacifier. As he's leaning down to give it to her, he hears a RUMBLE coming down the street behind him. The roar grows. He stands, looks. A GROUP OF ABOUT TEN BIKERS has pulled up next to him. He looks at them. They look at him, then at the stroller. George feels ridiculous. When the light changes, the bikers REV LOUDLY and pull out. George just stands there and watches them go. Erin is up at the map, eating Chinese food. She bites into a forkful of food, keeps talking. She reaches for a document, reads from it. In response to the insinuation, Erin gives him a glare. Suddenly, her eyes pop out of her head -- Tears spring to her eyes. She fans furiously at her mouth. Ed finds the tequila from the client and hands it to her. She takes a swig. There's a nanosecond of relief ... until the tequila hits. Her eyes redden. She spews and gasps. He gets up, grabs his trash can, and moves around the room with it, cleaning up all the Chinese food cartons. She doesn't have one. Beat. Ed smiles. He gives her a long look. They both smile a little awkwardly. Take a beat. Then: She flicks on the lights. Brenda's desk is decorated and as a present on it. Erin's is empty. Erin shakes her head. She's surprised by how hurt she is. George looks over at her, sees her eyes glisten a little. He goes over to her, wraps his arms around her. He kisses her. She leans into him. He kisses her some more. She kisses back. She's gonna let | What does the Jensens' claim grow into? | a class action lawsuit |
motorcycle helmet, to leave, she's hit with a wave of regret. There's a KNOCK at the door, and Ed enters. George looks at him. Not interested in her apologies. And Erin watches George leave the room, then turns to Ed. But his mind's made up. He stands to leave. She climbs up on an old wagon for a better view. Agreeing MURMURS ripple through the crowd. Potter turns around and looks at Ed seated behind him. The GRUMBLE of discontent has overtaken the room. More whispering, more movement. Ted Daniels gets up from his seat. He drops his agreement form, unsigned, then takes Rita's hand and heads for the door. She thinks for a moment, then gets an idea. She picks up a release form, and leaves the firehouse. As the kids wander toward the bathroom, Erin picks up the phone and dials. RING, RING. He takes it, glances toward the motel room. She hands him a wad of cash. He nods. She gets into her car. Before closing the door, she turns back to him. She sees how mad she's made him. Takes a beat. George softens, shifts. He steps toward the truck and gently closes her door, so he's standing close to her. He thinks about this. Finally: He smiles back at her, nods, then tenderly brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. He nods, understanding. Then he taps the side of her truck and turns toward the motel room. She puts the truck in gear and pulls out. Erin forces herself awake. He picks up Beth, takes Katie's hand, and calls across the room to Matthew. Erin turns to see Matthew holding one of her release forms. But he's reading it. huge smile of appreciation slowly spreads across Ed's face. Erin hands Ed a manila envelope. He opens it. Potter and Theresa reel. Ed shakes his head in disbelief. And she struts out of the room, leaving everyone slack-jawed. The CLIP CLIP CLIP of her heels carry her away. Erin puts her hand in the door, keeping it from closing. He stares at her, in awe. He looks down the hall at her, standing so tall and proud in the elevator. He walks toward her, stops right outside the elevator. Of course she will. She releases her hand so he won't see her smiling. Ed watches the doors close. Erin's Chevy moves up the PCH. DISCO music emanates from it. Donna turns, sees her. Smiles. Erin sits down on a rock. Donna sits down next to her. Tears of vindication spring to Donna's eyes. She reels. After a breathless beat: Donna wipes the tears off her face, then watches the light flickering off her girls playing in the surf. Donna is overwhelmed. Erin pulls her close. She lost them. Her reaction indicates this isn't the first time. The front doors open and Erin enters. Erin heads on down a hall to: He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a check. Hands it to her. Erin does. Looks at it. Her eyes bug out. She stares at it, speechless. He goes back to unpacking Ed doesn't notice. Erin's getting nervous. He kisses into the phone. Swerves. A car barely misses them. Erin's eyes widen. Not fun at all. He finally hangs up, smiling to himself. Erin clears her throat. He moves over. She gets in, turns off the Sinatra. They pull back out onto the freeway in silence. Roy looks up from his retainer agreement. Erin watches them look around at each other, stunned by the figure. Erin's enjoying Ed's discomfort almost too much to stop. But just almost. She shifts gears. They look at Ed. Well? When they hear this, and realize he's in it with them, they all reach for their pens and sign. They hand the agreements over to Erin, who takes them across the room to Ed. He stuffs them in his briefcase and closes it up. That's that. Boy. Cold as ice. Erin stares at him, stunned by his brusque manner, then leans in to him, close. She picks up a tray of iced tea and cookies and heads to the kitchen. Donna and Mandy follow, leaving Ed alone with Pete and Roy. He stands there, awkwardly. Then, finally: Erin listens, interested. He sees Erin picking her way toward him in her high-heels. She steps in a cow patty. Laughs at herself good-naturedly. Annabelle smiles a little. Erin is holding Beth, watching Matt and Katie sleep. Erin hears the floor creak as George steps into the doorway. They go into their office building. The doors open. Ed gets off. Erin follows. He gets to the Masry & Vititoe doors. Opens them. He shuts his office door on her. He shoves the messages aside George reaches in his pocket, finds her pacifier. As he's leaning down to give it to her, he hears a RUMBLE coming down the street behind him. The roar grows. He stands, looks. A GROUP OF ABOUT TEN BIKERS has pulled up next to him. He looks at them. They look at him, then at the stroller. George feels ridiculous. When the light changes, the bikers REV LOUDLY and pull out. George just stands there and watches them go. Erin is up at the map, eating Chinese food. She bites into a forkful of food, keeps talking. She reaches for a document, reads from it. In response to the insinuation, Erin gives him a glare. Suddenly, her eyes pop out of her head -- Tears spring to her eyes. She fans furiously at her mouth. Ed finds the tequila from the client and hands it to her. She takes a swig. There's a nanosecond of relief ... until the tequila hits. Her eyes redden. She spews and gasps. He gets up, grabs his trash can, and moves around the room with it, cleaning up all the Chinese food cartons. She doesn't have one. Beat. Ed smiles. He gives her a long look. They both smile a little awkwardly. Take a beat. Then: She flicks on the lights. Brenda's desk is decorated and as a present on it. Erin's is empty. Erin shakes her head. She's surprised by how hurt she is. George looks over at her, sees her eyes glisten a little. He goes over to her, wraps his arms around her. He kisses her. She leans into him. He kisses her some more. She kisses back. She's gonna let as she opens her car door and gets in. ED MASRY, senior partner, slumps by ROSALIND, his chipper receptionist, with a cup of coffee in his hand. He's in his mid-50's, compact and -- even though it's only 9 AM -- already rumpled. Whatever passion he once had for the personal injury law that is his career has long since dissipated. He trundles off toward his office. He grabs a gift-wrapped bottle off her desk, reads the card. Ed peers into his office. It's a mess -- papers everywhere, unopened mail. Standing in the middle of the room is Erin, in a teensy, leopard-print mini-dress. As she jiggles a spike-heeled foot, everything about her shimmies gloriously. Except her head, which is held in place by a neck brace. As Ed heads into his office, Brenda picks up the phone. He clears a stack of papers off a chair. Ed gives her a look of pro-forma sympathy. He takes out a pad and paper, gets ready to write. She glances at the defendant's table, where a DOCTOR sits nobly in surgical scrubs. His WIFE and two beautiful KIDS are behind him. A frigging Norman Rockwell painting. Erin looks over at the jury. The personification of conservative family values. Oh, shit. Erin sees a juror staring judgmentally at her short hem. Erin gives it a tug, pulling it down a stitch. Erin sees a few jurors share dubious glances. Great. Ed shakes his head slightly to her -- don't get mad. Erin sees jurors nodding almost imperceptibly in agreement. She's on a sinking ship. Ed notices her ranting is starting to draw attention. Erin turns away from him and heads for the stairway. Erin gets out, takes the mail from her mailbox, | Who's behaviour caused Erin to loose her case at the beginning of the story? | Erin's behaviour |
motorcycle helmet, to leave, she's hit with a wave of regret. There's a KNOCK at the door, and Ed enters. George looks at him. Not interested in her apologies. And Erin watches George leave the room, then turns to Ed. But his mind's made up. He stands to leave. She climbs up on an old wagon for a better view. Agreeing MURMURS ripple through the crowd. Potter turns around and looks at Ed seated behind him. The GRUMBLE of discontent has overtaken the room. More whispering, more movement. Ted Daniels gets up from his seat. He drops his agreement form, unsigned, then takes Rita's hand and heads for the door. She thinks for a moment, then gets an idea. She picks up a release form, and leaves the firehouse. As the kids wander toward the bathroom, Erin picks up the phone and dials. RING, RING. He takes it, glances toward the motel room. She hands him a wad of cash. He nods. She gets into her car. Before closing the door, she turns back to him. She sees how mad she's made him. Takes a beat. George softens, shifts. He steps toward the truck and gently closes her door, so he's standing close to her. He thinks about this. Finally: He smiles back at her, nods, then tenderly brushes a piece of hair out of her eyes. He nods, understanding. Then he taps the side of her truck and turns toward the motel room. She puts the truck in gear and pulls out. Erin forces herself awake. He picks up Beth, takes Katie's hand, and calls across the room to Matthew. Erin turns to see Matthew holding one of her release forms. But he's reading it. huge smile of appreciation slowly spreads across Ed's face. Erin hands Ed a manila envelope. He opens it. Potter and Theresa reel. Ed shakes his head in disbelief. And she struts out of the room, leaving everyone slack-jawed. The CLIP CLIP CLIP of her heels carry her away. Erin puts her hand in the door, keeping it from closing. He stares at her, in awe. He looks down the hall at her, standing so tall and proud in the elevator. He walks toward her, stops right outside the elevator. Of course she will. She releases her hand so he won't see her smiling. Ed watches the doors close. Erin's Chevy moves up the PCH. DISCO music emanates from it. Donna turns, sees her. Smiles. Erin sits down on a rock. Donna sits down next to her. Tears of vindication spring to Donna's eyes. She reels. After a breathless beat: Donna wipes the tears off her face, then watches the light flickering off her girls playing in the surf. Donna is overwhelmed. Erin pulls her close. She lost them. Her reaction indicates this isn't the first time. The front doors open and Erin enters. Erin heads on down a hall to: He reaches into his breast pocket, pulls out a check. Hands it to her. Erin does. Looks at it. Her eyes bug out. She stares at it, speechless. He goes back to unpacking as she opens her car door and gets in. ED MASRY, senior partner, slumps by ROSALIND, his chipper receptionist, with a cup of coffee in his hand. He's in his mid-50's, compact and -- even though it's only 9 AM -- already rumpled. Whatever passion he once had for the personal injury law that is his career has long since dissipated. He trundles off toward his office. He grabs a gift-wrapped bottle off her desk, reads the card. Ed peers into his office. It's a mess -- papers everywhere, unopened mail. Standing in the middle of the room is Erin, in a teensy, leopard-print mini-dress. As she jiggles a spike-heeled foot, everything about her shimmies gloriously. Except her head, which is held in place by a neck brace. As Ed heads into his office, Brenda picks up the phone. He clears a stack of papers off a chair. Ed gives her a look of pro-forma sympathy. He takes out a pad and paper, gets ready to write. She glances at the defendant's table, where a DOCTOR sits nobly in surgical scrubs. His WIFE and two beautiful KIDS are behind him. A frigging Norman Rockwell painting. Erin looks over at the jury. The personification of conservative family values. Oh, shit. Erin sees a juror staring judgmentally at her short hem. Erin gives it a tug, pulling it down a stitch. Erin sees a few jurors share dubious glances. Great. Ed shakes his head slightly to her -- don't get mad. Erin sees jurors nodding almost imperceptibly in agreement. She's on a sinking ship. Ed notices her ranting is starting to draw attention. Erin turns away from him and heads for the stairway. Erin gets out, takes the mail from her mailbox, and puts his head in his hands. He sits like that for a moment, GROANS to himself. Then he pushes himself up and heads over to his door. When he opens it, he finds Erin still standing there, exactly where he left her, arms crossed. She hasn't budged. Ed pauses, groans again, realizing what decision he's making. She smiles victoriously. He heads back to his desk. Erin follows him into his office. He gives her a look. Knows what's coming. Matthew and Katie fan out into the store. Erin keeps messing with the phone. Erin looks over at him, weary. And she walks away from him. As Erin labels the containers, her heels slide down the side of the ditch, and she lands smack in it, knee-deep in gunk. She adds them to a growing collection of containers in the trunk of her car. Erin spots a few dead frogs in the water. She picks one up by the leg, and seals it in a plastic bag as well. ON THE REPORTS: We catch a few words: "water sample A ...", "soil sample D ...", "frog sample A ...", "... traces of hexavalent ..." Brenda looks at Erin and sees her hem rising in the back. Erin turns to Brenda, relishing the chance to irritate her. Ed, in his office, laughs. He's starting to like this gal. His voice is flat, creepy. Not friendly. CLICK. Erin stares at the phone, freaked. She goes to the living room, double-checks the window locks in there. George follows. She heads into the bedrooms. George reacts, a little stung. He follows her into: She gives him a glare, then leaves the room. Ross is speechless. He just stands there. Erin drags checks the piece of paper with Donna's address, she drives by the PG&E COMPRESSOR STATION, a massive gray structure of pipes, chimneys and ladders, set way back from the road. Erin passes it without noticing it. She stops at an intersection. The house on the corner has been boarded up with plywood. Erin notices it -- depressing -- then turns the corner onto Donna's street. The Hyundai pulls into the driveway and stops. Erin gets out. As she heads up to the door, her spike heels sink into the dirt. She rings the bell. It has a melody chime. DONNA IRVING opens the door. She's 35, petite, with a scrappy, high-strung manner. She's wearing tight jeans, and her dark curls are piled on top of her head. She comes out from the kitchen with a tray of iced tea. Donna corrects the positioning on a couple of pillows. This would be the perfect opportunity for many to get self- pitying. But not Donna. Life's handed her a shitload of lemons, and darned if she hasn't made a shitload of lemonade. Donna tops off their iced teas. WIDEN to see Donna pulling the box down into the room. She rifles through the box. She hands Erin a printed fact sheet. Erin scans it. She gets to an intersection and looks across the street at the massive COMPRESSOR STATION. Six stories high, lit up like a Christmas tree, with all sizes of PIPES criss-crossing the outside and GIANT COOLING TOWERS sticking up out of it. Far more massive than anything else in town, it looms over the horizon like the Capitol in D.C. or St. Peter's in Rome. Erin takes a long look at the compressor station, then turns | Who gave Erin incriminating documents? | Charles Embry |
Subsets and Splits