ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of When We Dead Awaken, by Henrik IbsenThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use itunder the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: When We Dead AwakenAuthor: Henrik IbsenCommentator: William ArcherTranslator: WilliamArcherRelease Date: December, 2003 [EBook #4782]Posting Date: February 17, 2010Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN WE DEAD AWAKEN ***Produced by Sonia KWHEN WEDEAD AWAKENBy Henrik Ibsen.Introduction and translation by William Archer.INTRODUCTION.From _Pillars of Society_ to _John Gabriel Borkman_, Ibsen's plays hadfollowed each other at regular intervals of twoyears, save when hisindignation over the abuse heaped upon _Ghosts_ reduced to a singleyear the interval between that play and _An Enemy of the People_. _JohnGabriel Borkman_ having appeared in 1896, itssuccessor was expected in1898; but Christmas came and brought no rumour of a new play. In aman now over seventy, this breach of a long-established habit seemedominous. The new National Theatre in Christianiawas opened in Septemberof the following year; and when I then met Ibsen (for the last time) hetold me that he was actually at work on a new play, which he thought ofcalling a "Dramatic Epilogue." "He wrote _WhenWe Dead Awaken_,"says Dr. Elias, "with such labour and such passionate agitation, sospasmodically and so feverishly, that those around him were almostalarmed. He must get on with it, he must get on! He seemed tohearthe beating of dark pinions over his head. He seemed to feel the grimVisitant, who had accompanied Alfred Allmers on the mountain paths,already standing behind him with uplifted hand. His relatives arefirmlyconvinced that he knew quite clearly that this would be his last play,that he was to write no more. And soon the blow fell."_When We Dead Awaken_ was published very shortly before Christmas 1899.He had still ayear of comparative health before him. We find him inMarch 1900, writing to Count Prozor: "I cannot say yet whether or notI shall write another drama; but if I continue to retain the vigour ofbody and mind which I atpresent enjoy, I do not imagine that I shall beable to keep permanently away from the old battlefields. However, if Iwere to make my appearance again, it would be with new weapons andin new armour." Was hehinting at the desire, which he had long agoconfessed to Professor Herford, that his last work should be a drama inverse? Whatever his dream, it was not to be realised. His last letter(defending his attitude ofphilosophic impartiality with regard to theSouth African war) is dated December 9, 1900. With the dawn of the newcentury, the curtain descended upon the mind of the great dramatic poetof the age which had passedaway._When We Dead Awaken_ was acted during 1900 at most of the leadingtheatres in Scandinavia and Germany. In some German cities (notablyin Frankfort on Main) it even attained a considerable numberofrepresentatives. I cannot learn, however, that it has anywhere held thestage. It was produced in London, by the State Society, at the ImperialTheatre, on January 25 and 26, 1903. Mr. G. S. Titheradge playedRubek,Miss Henrietta Watson Irene, Miss Mabel Hackney Maia, and Mr. LaurenceIrving Ulfheim. I find no record of any American performance.In the above-mentioned letter to Count Prozor, Ibsen confirmed thatcritic'sconjecture that "the series which ends with the Epilogue reallybegan with _The Master Builder_." As the last confession, so to speak,of a great artist, the Epilogue will always be read with interest. Itcontains, moreover,many flashes of the old genius, many strokes of theold incommunicable magic. One may say with perfect sincerity that thereis more fascination in the dregs of Ibsen's mind than in the "firstsprightly running" of morecommon-place talents. But to his saneadmirers the interest of the play must always be melancholy, because itis purely pathological. To deny this is, in my opinion, to cast a slurover all the poet's previous work, and ingreat measure to justify thecriticisms of his most violent detractors. For _When We Dead Awaken_ isvery like the sort of play that haunted the "anti-Ibsenite" imaginationin the year 1893 or thereabouts. It is a piece ofself-caricature, aseries of echoes from all the earlier plays, an exaggeration of mannerto the pitch of mannerism. Moreover, in his treatment of his symbolicmotives, Ibsen did exactly what he had hitherto, with perfectjustice,plumed himself upon never doing: he sacrificed the surface realityto the underlying meaning. Take, for instance, the history of Rubek'sstatue and its development into a group. In actual sculpturethisdevelopment is a grotesque impossibility. In conceiving it we aredeserting the domain of reality, and plunging into some fourth dimensionwhere the properties of matter are other than those we know. This isanabandonment of the fundamental principle which Ibsen over and over againemphatically expressed--namely, that any symbolism his work might befound to contain was entirely incidental, and subordinate to thetruthand consistency of his picture of life. Even when he dallied with thesupernatural, as in _The Master Builder_ and _Little Eyolf_, he wasalways careful, as I have tried to show, not to overstep decisivelytheboundaries of the natural. Here, on the other hand, without anysuggestion of the supernatural, we are confronted with the whollyimpossible, the inconceivable. How remote is this alike from hisprinciples of art and fromthe consistent, unvarying practice of hisbetter years! So great is the chasm between _John Gabriel Borkman_ and_When We Dead Awaken_ that one could almost suppose his mental breakdownto have precededinstead of followed the writing of the latter play.Certainly it is one of the premonitions of the coming end. It is Ibsen's_Count Robert of Paris_. To pretend to rank it with his masterpieces isto show a very imperfect senseof the nature of their mastery.WHEN WE DEAD AWAKEN.A DRAMATIC EPILOGUE.CHARACTERS.      PROFESSOR ARNOLD RUBEK, a sculptor.      MRS. MAIA RUBEK, his wife.      THE INSPECTOR at theBaths.      ULFHEIM, a landed proprietor.      A STRANGER LADY.      A SISTER OF MERCY.      Servants, Visitors to the Baths, and Children.The First Act passes at a bathing establishment on the coast; the SecondandThird Acts in the neighbourhood of a health resort, high in themountains.ACT FIRST.   [Outside the Bath Hotel. A portion of the main building can be seen   to the right.   An open, park-like place with a fountain,groups   of fine old trees, and shrubbery.  To the left, a little pavilion   almost covered with ivy and Virginia creeper.  A table and chair   outside it.  At the back a view over the fjord, right out to sea,   with headlandsand small islands in the distance.  It is a calm,   warm and sunny summer morning.   [PROFESSOR RUBEK and MRS. MAIA RUBEK are sitting in basket chairs   beside a covered table on the lawn outside the hotel,having just   breakfasted.  They have champagne and seltzer water on the table,   and each has a newspaper.  PROFESSOR RUBEK is an elderly man of   distinguished appearance, wearing a black velvet jacket,and   otherwise in light summer attire.  MAIA is quite young, with   a vivacious expression and lively, mocking eyes, yet with a   suggestion of fatigue.  She wears an elegant travelling dress.MAIA.[Sits for some time asthough waiting for the PROFESSOR to saysomething, then lets her paper drop with a deep sigh.] Oh dear, dear,dear--!PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Looks up from his paper.] Well, Maia? What is the matter with you?MAIA.Justlisten how silent it is here.PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Smiles indulgently.] And you can hear that?MAIA.What?PROFESSOR RUBEK.The silence?MAIA.Yes, indeed I can.PROFESSOR RUBEK.Well, perhaps you are right, _meinKind_. One can really hear thesilence.MAIA.Heaven knows you can--when it's so absolutely overpowering as it ishere--PROFESSOR RUBEK.Here at the Baths, you mean?MAIA.Wherever you go at home here, it seems tome. Of course there was noiseand bustle enough in the town. But I don't know how it is--even thenoise and bustle seemed to have something dead about it.PROFESSOR RUBEK.[With a searching glance.] You don'tseem particularly glad to be athome again, Maia?MAIA.[Looks at him.] Are you glad?PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Evasively.] I--?MAIA.Yes, you, who have been so much, much further away than I. Are youentirely happy, nowthat you are at home again?PROFESSOR RUBEK.No--to be quite candid--perhaps not entirely happy--MAIA.[With animation.] There, you see! Didn't I know it!PROFESSOR RUBEK.I have been too long abroad. I havedrifted quite away from allthis--this home life.MAIA.[Eagerly, drawing her chair nearer him.] There, you see, Rubek! We hadmuch better get away again! As quickly as ever we can.PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Somewhatimpatiently.] Well, well, that is what we intend to do, mydear Maia. You know that.MAIA.But why not now--at once? Only think how cozy and comfortable we couldbe down there, in our lovely new house--PROFESSORRUBEK.[Smiles indulgently.] We ought by rights to say: our lovely new home.MAIA.[Shortly.] I prefer to say house--let us keep to that.PROFESSOR RUBEK.[His eyes dwelling on her.] You are really a strange littleperson.MAIA.Am I so strange?PROFESSOR RUBEK.Yes, I think so.MAIA.But why, pray? Perhaps because I'm not desperately in love with mooningabout up here--?PROFESSOR RUBEK.Which of us was it that wasabsolutely bent on our coming north thissummer?MAIA.I admit, it was I.PROFESSOR RUBEK.It was certainly not I, at any rate.MAIA.But good heavens, who could have dreamt that everything would havealtered soterribly at home here? And in so short a time, too! Why, itis only just four years since I went away--PROFESSOR RUBEK.Since you were married, yes.MAIA.Married? What has that to do with the matter?PROFESSORRUBEK.[Continuing.] --since you became the Frau Professor, and found yourselfmistress of a charming home--I beg your pardon--a very handsome house, Iought to say. And a villa on the Lake of Taunitz, just at thepoint thathas become most fashionable, too--. In fact it is all very handsome anddistinguished, Maia, there's no denying that. And spacious too. We neednot always be getting in each other's way--MAIA.[Lightly.] No,no, no--there's certainly no lack of house-room, and thatsort of thing--PROFESSOR RUBEK.Remember, too, that you have been living in altogether more spaciousand distinguished surroundings--in more polishedsociety than you wereaccustomed to at home.MAIA.[Looking at him.] Ah, so you think it is _I_ that have changed?PROFESSOR RUBEK.Indeed I do, Maia.MAIA.I alone? Not the people here?PROFESSOR RUBEK.Oh yes,they too--a little, perhaps. And not at all in the direction ofamiability. That I readily admit.MAIA.I should think you must admit it, indeed.PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Changing the subject.] Do you know how it affects me whenI look at thelife of the people around us here?MAIA.No. Tell me.PROFESSOR RUBEK.It makes me think of that night we spent in the train, when we werecoming up here--MAIA.Why, you were sound asleep all thetime.PROFESSOR RUBEK.Not quite. I noticed how silent it became at all the little roadsidestations. I heard the silence--like you, Maia--MAIA.H'm,--like me, yes.PROFESSOR RUBEK. --and that assured me that we hadcrossed thefrontier--that we were really at home. For the train stopped at all thelittle stations--although there was nothing doing at all.MAIA.Then why did it stop--though there was nothing to be done?PROFESSORRUBEK.Can't say. No one got out or in; but all the same the train stopped along, endless time. And at every station I could make out that therewere two railway men walking up and down the platform--one withalantern in his hand--and they said things to each other in the night,low, and toneless, and meaningless.MAIA.Yes, that is quite true. There are always two men walking up and down,and talking--PROFESSOR RUBEK.--of nothing. [Changing to a livelier tone.] But justwait till to-morrow. Then we shall have the great luxurious steamerlying in the harbour. We'll go on board her, and sail all round thecoast--northward ho!--right to thepolar sea.MAIA.Yes, but then you will see nothing of the country--and of the people.And that was what you particularly wanted.PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Shortly and snappishly.] I have seen more than enough.MAIA.Do youthink a sea voyage will be better for you?PROFESSOR RUBEK.It is always a change.MAIA.Well, well, if only it is the right thing for you--PROFESSOR RUBEK.For me? The right thing? There is nothing in the world thematter withme.MAIA.[Rises and goes to him.] Yes, there is, Rubek. I am sure you must feelit yourself.PROFESSOR RUBEK.Why my dearest Maia--what should be amiss with me?MAIA.[Behind him, bending over theback of his chair.] That you must tell me.You have begun to wander about without a moment's peace. You cannot restanywhere--neither at home nor abroad. You have become quite misanthropicof late.PROFESSORRUBEK.[With a touch of sarcasm.] Dear me--have you noticed that?MAIA.No one that knows you can help noticing it. And then it seems to me sosad that you have lost all pleasure in your work.PROFESSOR RUBEK.Thattoo, eh?MAIA.You that used to be so indefatigable--working from morning to night!PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Gloomily.] Used to be, yes--MAIA.But ever since you got your great masterpiece out of hand--PROFESSORRUBEK.[Nods thoughtfully.] "The Resurrection Day"--MAIA. --the masterpiece that has gone round the whole world, and madeyou so famous--PROFESSOR RUBEK.Perhaps that is just the misfortune, Maia.MAIA.Howso?PROFESSOR RUBEK.When I had finished this masterpiece of mine--[Makes a passionatemovement with his hand]--for "The Resurrection Day" is a masterpiece! Orwas one in the beginning. No, it is one still. It must,must, must be amasterpiece!MAIA.[Looks at him in astonishment.] Why, Rubek--all the world knows that.PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Short, repellently.] All the world knows nothing! Understands nothing!MAIA.Well, at anyrate it can divine something--PROFESSOR RUBEK.Something that isn't there at all, yes. Something that never was in mymind. Ah yes, that they can all go into ecstasies over! [Growling tohimself.] What is the good ofworking oneself to death for the mob andthe masses--for "all the world"!MAIA.Do you think it is better, then--do you think it is worthy of you, to donothing at all but portrait-bust now and then?PROFESSORRUBEK.[With a sly smile.] They are not exactly portrait-busts that I turn out,Maia.MAIA.Yes, indeed they are--for the last two or three years--ever since youfinished your great group and got it out of thehouse--PROFESSOR RUBEK.All the same, they are no mere portrait-busts, I assure you.MAIA.What are they, then?PROFESSOR RUBEK.There is something equivocal, something cryptic, lurking in and behindthesebusts--a secret something, that the people themselves cannot see--MAIA.Indeed?PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Decisively.] I alone can see it. And it amuses me unspeakably.--On thesurface I give them the "striking likeness,"as they call it, that theyall stand and gape at in astonishment--[Lowers his voice]--but at bottomthey are all respectable, pompous horse-faces, and self-opinionateddonkey-muzzles, and lop-eared, low-broweddog-skulls, and fattedswine-snouts--and sometimes dull, brutal bull-fronts as well--MAIA.[Indifferently.] All the dear domestic animals, in fact.PROFESSOR RUBEK.Simply the dear domestic animals, Maia. All theanimals which men havebedevilled in their own image--and which have bedevilled men in return.[Empties his champagne-glass and laughs.] And it is these double-facedworks of art that our excellent plutocrats comeand order of me. Andpay for in all good faith--and in good round figures too--almost theirweight in gold, as the saying goes.MAIA.[Fills his glass.] Come, Rubek! Drink and be happy.PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Passes his handseveral times across his forehead and leans back in hischair.] I am happy, Maia. Really happy--in a way. [Short silence.]For after all there is a certain happiness in feeling oneself free andindependent on every hand--inhaving at ones command everything one canpossibly wish for--all outward things, that is to say. Do you not agreewith me, Maia?MAIA.Oh yes, I agree. All that is well enough in its way. [Looking athim.] But do youremember what you promised me the day we came to anunderstanding on--on that troublesome point--PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Nods.] --on the subject of our marriage, yes. It was no easy matter foryou,Maia.MAIA.[Continuing unruffled.] --and agreed that I was to go abroad with you,and live there for good and all--and enjoy myself.--Do you remember whatyou promised me that day?PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Shaking hishead.] No, I can't say that I do. Well, what did I promise?MAIA.You said you would take me up to a high mountain and show me all theglory of the world.PROFESSOR RUBEK.[With a slight start.] Did I promise you that,too?MAIA.Me too? Who else, pray?PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Indifferently.] No, no, I only meant did I promise to show you--?MAIA. --all the glory of the world? Yes, you did. And all that gloryshould be mine, yousaid.PROFESSOR RUBEK.That is sort of figure of speech that I was in the habit of using onceupon a time.MAIA.Only a figure of speech?PROFESSOR RUBEK.Yes, a schoolboy phrase--the sort of thing I used to say when Iwantedto lure the neighbours' children out to play with me, in the woods andon the mountains.MAIA.[Looking hard at him.] Perhaps you only wanted to lure me out to play,as well?PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Passing it off asa jest.] Well, has it not been a tolerable amusinggame, Maia?MAIA.[Coldly.] I did not go with you only to play.PROFESSOR RUBEK.No, no, I daresay not.MAIA.And you never took me up with you to any high mountain,or showed me--PROFESSOR RUBEK.[With irritation.] --all the glory of the world? No, I did not. For, letme tell you something: you are not really born to be a mountain-climber,little Maia.MAIA.[Trying to control herself.]Yet at one time you seemed to think I was.PROFESSOR RUBEK.Four or five years ago, yes. [Stretching himself in his chair.] Four orfive years--it's a long, long time, Maia.MAIA.[Looking at him with a bitter expression.]Has the time seemed so verylong to you, Rubek?PROFESSOR RUBEK.I am beginning now to find it a trifle long. [Yawning.] Now and then,you know.MAIA.[Returning to her place.] I shall not bore you anylonger.      [She resumes her seat, takes up the newspaper, and begins turning       over the leaves.  Silence on both sides.PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Leaning on his elbows across the table, and looking at her teasingly.]Isthe Frau Professor offended?MAIA.[Coldly, without looking up.] No, not at all.    [Visitors to the baths, most of them ladies, begin to pass,       singly and in groups, through the park from the right, and       out to theleft.    [Waiters bring refreshments from the hotel, and go off behind       the pavilion.    [The INSPECTOR, wearing gloves and carrying a stick, comes from       his rounds in the park, meets visitors, bows politely,and       exchanges a few words with some of them.THE INSPECTOR.[Advancing to PROFESSOR RUBEK's table and politely taking off his hat.]I have the honour to wish you good morning, Mrs. Rubek.--Goodmorning,Professor Rubek.PROFESSOR RUBEK.Good morning, good morning Inspector.THE INSPECTOR.[Addressing himself to MRS. RUBEK.] May I venture to ask if you haveslept well?MAIA.Yes, thank you;excellently--for my part. I always sleep like a stone.THE INSPECTOR.I am delighted to hear it. The first night in a strange place is oftenrather trying.--And the Professor--?PROFESSOR RUBEK.Oh, my night's rest is nevermuch to boast of--especially of late.THE INSPECTOR.[With a show of sympathy.] Oh--that is a pity. But after a few weeks'stay at the Baths--you will quite get over that.PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Looking up at him.] Tell me,Inspector--are any of your patients in thehabit of taking baths during the night?THE INSPECTOR.[Astonished.] During the night? No, I have never heard of such a thing.PROFESSOR RUBEK.Have you not?THEINSPECTOR.No, I don't know of any one so ill as to require such treatment.PROFESSOR RUBEK.Well, at any rate there is some one who is in the habit of walking aboutthe park by night?THE INSPECTOR.[Smiling andshaking his head.] No, Professor--that would be against therules.MAIA.[Impatiently.] Good Heavens, Rubek, I told you so this morning--you musthave dreamt it.PROFESSOR RUBEK.[Drily.] Indeed? Must I? Thank you!


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lone Star Planetby Henry Beam Piper and John Joseph McGuireThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it,give it away orre-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.orgTitle: Lone Star PlanetAuthor: Henry Beam Piper and John Joseph McGuireRelease Date:January 3, 2007 [EBook #20121][This file was first posted on December 16, 2006]Language: English*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LONE STAR PLANET ***Produced by Greg Weeks, MalcolmFarmer, and the Online DistributedProofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net                     LONE STAR PLANET                           by             H. Beam Piper and John J. McGuireTranscriber's Note:This etext wasprepared from a 1979 reprint of the 1958 original. There isno evidence that the copyright on this publication was renewed.Obvious typesetting errors in the source text have been correctedLone Star PlanetSFace booksADivision of Charter Communications Inc.A GROSSET & DUNLAP COMPANY360 Park Avenue SouthNew York, New York 10010LONE STAR PLANETCopyright Â© 1958 by Ace Books, Inc.Originally published as A PLANETFOR TEXANSAll rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any formor by any means, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in areview, without permission in writing from the publisher.All charactersin this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actualpersons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.This Ace Printing: April 1979Printed in U.S.A.CHAPTER IThey started giving me the business as soon as I came throughthe doorinto the Secretary's outer office.There was Ethel K'wang-Li, the Secretary's receptionist, at her desk.There was Courtlant Staynes, the assistant secretary to theUndersecretary for Economic Penetration, andNorman Gazarin, fromProtocol, and Toby Lawder, from Humanoid Peoples' Affairs, and RaoulChavier, and Hans Mannteufel, and Olga Reznik.It was a wonder there weren't more of them watching the condemnedman'smarch to the gibbet: the word that the Secretary had called me in musthave gotten all over the Department since the offices had opened."Ah, Mr. Machiavelli, I presume," Ethel kicked off."Machiavelli, Junior."Olga picked up the ball. "At least, that's theway he signs it.""God's gift to the Consular Service, and the Consular Service's gift toPolicy Planning," Gazarin added."Take it easy, folks. These Hooligan Diplomats would assoon shoot youas look at you," Mannteufel warned."Be sure and tell the Secretary that your friends all want importantposts in the Galactic Empire." Olga again."Well, I'm glad some of you could read it," I fired back."Maybe even afew of you understood what it was all about.""Don't worry, Silk," Gazarin told me. "Secretary Ghopal understands whatit was all about. All too well, you'll find."A buzzer sounded gently on EthelK'wang-Li's desk. She snatched up thehandphone and whispered into it. A deathly silence filled the room whileshe listened, whispered some more, then hung it up.They were all staring at me."Secretary Ghopal is readyto see Mr. Stephen Silk," she said. "Thisway, please."As I started across the room, Staynes began drumming on the top of thedesk with his fingers, the slow reiterated rhythm to which a man marchesto a militaryexecution."A cigarette?" Lawder inquired tonelessly. "A glass of rum?"There were three men in the Secretary of State's private office. GhopalSingh, the Secretary, dark-faced, gray-haired, slender and elegant,meetingme halfway to his desk. Another slender man, in black, with asilver-threaded, black neck-scarf: Rudolf KlÃ¼ng, the Secretary of theDepartment of Aggression.And a huge, gross-bodied man with a fat baby-face andopaque black eyes.When I saw him, I really began to get frightened.The fat man was Natalenko, the Security CoÃ¶rdinator."Good morning, Mister Silk," Secretary Ghopal greeted me, his handextended. "Gentlemen,Mr. Stephen Silk, about whom we were speaking.This way, Mr. Silk, if you please."There was a low coffee-table at the rear of the office, and four easychairs around it. On the round brass table-top were cups andsaucers, acoffee urn, cigarettes--and a copy of the current issue of the _GalacticStatesmen's Journal_, open at an article entitled _Probable FutureCourses of Solar League Diplomacy_, by somebody who had signedhimselfMachiavelli, Jr.I was beginning to wish that the pseudonymous Machiavelli, Jr. had neverbeen born, or, at least, had stayed on Theta Virgo IV and been awineberry planter as his father had wanted him to be.As Isat down and accepted a cup of coffee, I avoided looking at theperiodical. They were probably going to hang it around my neck beforethey shoved me out of the airlock."Mr. Silk is, as you know, in our ConsularService," Ghopal was sayingto the others. "Back on Luna on rotation, doing something in Mr.Halvord's section. He is the gentleman who did such a splendid job forus on Assha--Gamma Norma III."And, as he has justdemonstrated," he added, gesturing toward the_Statesman's Journal_ on the Benares-work table, "he is a student bothof the diplomacy of the past and the implications of our presentpolicies.""A bit frank," KlÃ¼ngcommented dubiously."But judicious," Natalenko squeaked, in the high eunuchoid voice thatcame so incongruously from his bulk. "He aired his singularly accuratepredictions in a periodical that doesn't have a circulationof more thana thousand copies outside his own department. And I don't think thepublic's semantic reactions to the terminology of imperialism is as badas you imagine. They seem quite satisfied, now, with the change inthetitle of your department, from Defense to Aggression.""Well, we've gone into that, gentlemen," Ghopal said. "If the articlereally makes trouble for us, we can always disavow it. There's nocensorship of the _Journal_.And Mr. Silk won't be around to draw fireon us."_Here it comes_, I thought."That sounds pretty ominous, doesn't it, Mr. Silk?" Natalenko titteredhappily, like a ten-year-old who has just found a new beetle to pullthelegs out of."It's really not as bad as it sounds, Mr. Silk," Ghopal hastened toreassure me. "We are going to have to banish you for a while, but Idaresay that won't be so bad. The social life here on Luna hasprobablybegun to pall, anyhow. So we're sending you to Capella IV.""Capella IV," I repeated, trying to remember something about it. Capellawas a GO-type, like Sol; that wouldn't be so bad."New Texas," KlÃ¼nghelped me out._Oh, God, no!_ I thought."It happens that we need somebody of your sort on that planet, Mr.Silk," Ghopal said. "Some of the trouble is in my department and some ofit is in Mr. KlÃ¼ng's; for thatreason, perhaps it would be better ifCoÃ¶rdinator Natalenko explained it to you.""You know, I assume, our chief interest in New Texas?" Natalenko asked."I had some of it for breakfast, sir," I replied."Supercow."Natalenko tittered again. "Yes, New Texas is the butcher shop of thegalaxy. In more ways than one, I'm afraid you'll find. They justbutchered one of our people there a short while ago. Our Ambassador,infact."That would be Silas Cumshaw, and this was the first I'd heard about it.I asked when it had happened."A couple of months ago. We just heard about it last evening, when thenews came in on a freighter fromthere. Which serves to point upsomething you stressed in your article--the difficulties of trying torun a centralized democratic government on a galactic scale. But we haveanother interest, which may be even moreurgent than our need for NewTexan meat. You've heard, of course, of the z'Srauff."That was a statement, not a question; Natalenko wasn't trying to insultme. I knew who the z'Srauff were; I'd run into them, here andthere. Oneof the extra-solar intelligent humanoid races, who seemed to have beenevolved from canine or canine-like ancestors, instead of primates. Mostof them could speak Basic English, but I never saw one whowould admitto understanding more of our language than the 850-word Basicvocabulary. They occupied a half-dozen planets in a small star-clusterabout forty light-years beyond the Capella system. They haddevelopednormal-space reaction-drive ships before we came into contact withthem, and they had quickly picked up the hyperspace-drive from us backin those days when the Solar League was still playing MissionariesofProgress and trying to run a galaxy-wide Point-Four program.In the past century, it had become almost impossible for anybody to getinto their star-group, although z'Srauff ships were orbiting in on everyplanet thatthe League had settled or controlled. There were z'Sraufftraders and small merchants all over the galaxy, and you almost neversaw one of them without a camera. Their little meteor-mining boats wereeverywhere, andall of them carried more of the most modern radar andastrogational equipment than a meteor-miner's lifetime earnings wouldpay for.I also knew that they were one of the chief causes of ulcers andpremature gray hairat the League capital on Luna. I'd done a littlereading on pre-spaceflight Terran history; I had been impressed by theparallel between the present situation and one which had culminated, twoand a half centuries before,on the morning of 7 December, 1941."What," Natalenko inquired, "do you think Machiavelli, Junior would doabout the z'Srauff?""We have a Department of Aggression," I replied. "Its mottoes are, 'Stoptrouble before itstarts,' and, 'If we have to fight, let's do it on theother fellow's real estate.' But this situation is just a little toodelicate for literal application of those principles. An unprovokedattack on the z'Srauff would set every othernon-human race in thegalaxy against us.... Would an attack by the z'Srauff on New Texasconstitute just provocation?""It might. New Texas is an independent planet. Its people aredescendants of emigrants from Terrawho wanted to get away from the ruleof the Solar League. We've been trying for half a century to persuadethe New Texan government to join the League. We need their planet, forboth strategic and commercialreasons. With the z'Srauff for neighbors,they need us as much at least as we need them. The problem is to makethem understand that."I nodded again. "And an attack by the z'Srauff would do that, too, sir,"Isaid.Natalenko tittered again. "You see, gentlemen! Our Mr. Silk picks thingsup very handily, doesn't he?" He turned to Secretary of State Ghopal."You take it from there," he invited.Ghopal Singh smiled benignly. "Well,that's it, Stephen," he said. "Weneed a man on New Texas who can get things done. Three things, to beexact."First, find out why poor Mr. Cumshaw was murdered, and what can be doneabout it to maintain ourprestige without alienating the New Texans."Second, bring the government and people of New Texas to a realizationthat they need the Solar League as much as we need them."And, third, forestall or expose the plansfor the z'Srauff invasion ofNew Texas."_Is that all, now?_ I thought. _He doesn't want a diplomat; he wants amagician._"And what," I asked, "will my official position be on New Texas, sir? Orwill I have one, of anysort?""Oh, yes, indeed, Mr. Silk. Your official position will be that ofAmbassador Plenipotentiary and Envoy Extraordinary. That, I believe, isthe only vacancy which exists in the Diplomatic Service on that planet."AtDumbarton Oaks Diplomatic Academy, they haze the freshmen by makingthem sit on a one-legged stool and balance a teacup and saucer on oneknee while the upper classmen pelt them with ping-pong balls.Whoeverinvented that and the other similar forms of hazing was one of the greatgeniuses of the Service. So I sipped my coffee, set down the cup, took apuff from my cigarette, then said:"I am indeed deeply honored,Mr. Secretary. I trust I needn't go intoany assurances that I will do everything possible to justify your trustin me.""I believe he will, Mr. Secretary," Natalenko piped, in a manner thatchilled my blood."Yes, I believe so,"Ghopal Singh said. "Now, Mr. Ambassador, there's aliner in orbit two thousand miles off Luna, which has been held fromblasting off for the last eight hours, waiting for you. Don't botherpacking more than a few things;you can get everything you'll needaboard, or at New Austin, the planetary capital. We have a man whomCoÃ¶rdinator Natalenko has secured for us, a native New Texan, HoddyRingo by name. He'll act as your personalsecretary. He's aboard theship now. You'll have to hurry, I'm afraid.... Well, _bon voyage_, Mr.Ambassador."CHAPTER IIThe death-watch outside had grown to about fifteen or twenty. They wereall waiting in happyanticipation as I came out of the Secretary'soffice."What did he do to you, Silk?" Courtlant Staynes asked, amusedly."Demoted me. Kicked me off the Hooligan Diplomats," I said glumly."Demoted you from the ConsularService?" Staynes asked scornfully."Impossible!""Yes. He demoted me to the Cookie Pushers. Clear down to Ambassador."They got a terrific laugh. I went out, wondering what sort of noisesthey'd make, the nextmorning, when the appointments sheet was posted.I gathered a few things together, mostly small personal items, and allthe microfilms that I could find on New Texas, then got aboard the SpaceNavy cutter that waswaiting to take me to the ship. It was a four-hourtrip and I put in the time going over my hastily-assembled microfilmlibrary and using a stenophone to dictate a reading list for thespacetrip.As I rolled up thestenophone-tape, I wondered what sort of secretarythey had given me; and, in passing, why Natalenko's department hadfurnished him.Hoddy Ringo....Queer name, but in a galactic civilization, you find all sorts ofnamesand all sorts of people bearing them, so I was prepared for anything.And I found it.I found him standing with the ship's captain, inside the airlock, when Iboarded the big, spherical space-liner. A tubby little man,withshoulders and arms he had never developed doing secretarial work, and agood-natured, not particularly intelligent face._See the happy moron, he doesn't give a damn_, I thought.Then I took a second look at him.He might be happy, but he wasn't amoron. He just looked like one. Natalenko's people often did, as one oftheir professional assets.I also noticed that he had a bulge under his left armpit the size of aneleven-mm armyautomatic.He was, I'd been told, a native of New Texas. I gathered, after talkingwith him for a while, that he had been away from his home planet forover five years, was glad to be going back, and especially glad thathewas going back under the protection of Solar League diplomatic immunity.In fact, I rather got the impression that, without such protection, hewouldn't have been going back at all.I made another discovery. Mypersonal secretary, it seemed, couldn'tread stenotype. I found that out when I gave him the tape I'd dictatedaboard the cutter, to transcribe for me."Gosh, boss. I can't make anything out of this stuff," heconfessed,looking at the combination shorthand-Braille that my voice had put ontothe tape."Well, then, put it in a player and transcribe it by ear," I told him.He didn't seem to realize that that could be done."How didyou come to be sent as my secretary, if you can't dosecretarial work?" I wanted to know.He got out a bag of tobacco and a book of papers and began rolling acigarette, with one hand."Why, shucks, boss, nobodyseemed to think I'd have to do this kindawork," he said. "I was just sent along to show you the way around NewTexas, and see you don't get inta no trouble."He got his handmade cigarette drawing, and hitched thestrap that wentacross his back and looped under his right arm. "A guy that don't knowthe way around can get inta a lotta trouble on New Texas. If you callgettin' killed trouble."So he was a bodyguard ... and I wonderedwhat else he was. One thing, itwould take him forty-two years to send a radio message back to Luna, andI could keep track of any other messages he sent, in letters or on tape,by ships. In the end, I transcribed myown tape, and settled down tolaying out my three weeks' study-course on my new post.I found, however, that the whole thing could be learned in a few hours.The rest of what I had was duplication, some of itcontradictory, and itall boiled down to this:Capella IV had been settled during the first wave of extrasolarcolonization, after the Fourth World--or First Interplanetary--War.Some time around 2100. The settlers had comefrom a place in NorthAmerica called Texas, one of the old United States. They had a lengthyhistory--independent republic, admission to the United States, secessionfrom the United States, reconquest by the UnitedStates, and generalintransigence under the United States, the United Nations and the SolarLeague. When the laws of non-Einsteinian physics were discovered and thehyperspace-drive was developed, practically theentire population ofTexas had taken to space to find a new home and independence fromeverybody.They had found Capella IV, a Terra-type planet, with a slightly highermean temperature, a lower mass and lowergravitational field, aboutone-quarter water and three-quarters land-surface, at a stage ofevolutionary development approximately that of Terra during the latePliocene. They also found supercow, a big mammal lookinglike theunsuccessful attempt of a hippopotamus to impersonate a dachshund andabout the size of a nuclear-steam locomotive. On New Texas' plains,there were billions of them; their meat was fit for the gods ofOlympus.So New Texas had become the meat-supplier to the galaxy.There was very little in any of the microfilm-books about the politicsof New Texas and such as it was, it was very scornful. There weresuchexpressions as 'anarchy tempered by assassination,' and 'grotesqueparody of democracy.'There would, I assumed, be more exact information in the material whichhad been shoved into my hand just beforeboarding the cutter from Luna,in a package labeled _TOP SECRET: TO BE OPENED ONLY IN SPACE, AFTER THEFIRST HYPERJUMP._ There was also a big trunk that had been placed in mysuite, sealed and bearing thesame instructions.I got Hoddy out of the suite as soon as the ship had passed out of thenormal space-time continuum, locked the door of my cabin and opened theparcel.It contained only two loose-leaf notebooks, bothlabeled with the SolarLeague and Department seals, both adorned with the customarybloodthirsty threats against the unauthorized and the indiscreet. Theywere numbered _ONE_ and _TWO_._ONE_ contained fourpages. On the first, I read:_FINAL MESSAGEOF THE FIRST SOLAR LEAGUE AMBASSADORTONEW TEXASANDREW JACKSON HICKOCK__I agree with none of the so-called information about this planet onfile with theState Department on Luna. The people of New Texas arecertainly not uncouth barbarians. Their manners and customs, whilelively and unconventional, are most charming. Their dress is gracefuland practical, notgrotesque; their soft speech is pleasing to the ear.Their flag is the original flag of the Republic of Texas; it isdefinitely not a barbaric travesty of our own emblem. And the underlyingpremises of their political systemshould, as far as possible, beincorporated into the organization of the Solar League. Here politics isan exciting and exacting game, in which only the true representative ofall the people can survive.__DEPARTMENTADDENDUM__After five years on New Texas, Andrew Jackson Hickock resigned, marrieda daughter of a local rancher and became a naturalized citizen of thatplanet. He is still active in politics there, often in oppositiontoSolar League policies._That didn't sound like too bad an advertisement for the planet. I waseven feeling cheerful when I turned to the next page, and:_FINAL MESSAGEOF THE SECOND SOLAR LEAGUEAMBASSADORTONEW TEXASCYRIL GODWINSON__Yes and no; perhaps and perhaps not; pardon me; I agree with everythingyou say. Yes and no; perhaps and perhaps not; pardon me; I agree...__DEPARTMENT ADDENDUM__Afterseven years on New Texas, Ambassador Godwinson was recalled;adjudged hopelessly insane._And then:_FINAL MESSAGEOF THE THIRD SOLAR LEAGUEAMBASSADOR TO NEW TEXASR. F. GULLIS__I find it verypleasant to inform you that when you are reading this, Iwill be dead.__DEPARTMENT ADDENDUM__Committed suicide after six months on New Texas._I turned to the last page cautiously, found:_FINAL MESSAGEOFTHE FOURTH SOLAR LEAGUEAMBASSADOR TO NEW TEXASSILAS CUMSHAW__I came to this planet ten years ago as a man of pronounced andoutspoken convictions. I have managed to keep myself alive herebybecoming an inoffensive nonentity. If I continue in this course, it willbe only at the cost of my self-respect. Beginning tonight, I am going tostate and maintain positive opinions on the relation between this planetand


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                               T I T A N I C                              a screenplay by                               James Cameron1BLACKNESSThen two faint lights appear, close together... growing brighter. Theyresolve into two DEEP SUBMERSIBLES, free-falling toward us like expresselevators.One is ahead of the other, and passes closeenough to FILL FRAME, lookinglike a spacecraft blazing with lights, bristling with insectilemanipulators.TILTING DOWN to follow it as it descends away into the limitless blacknessbelow. Soon they are fireflies, then stars.Then gone.                                                                   CUT TO:2 EXT./ INT. MIR ONE / NORTH ATLANTIC DEEPPUSHING IN on one of the falling submersibles, called MIR ONE, right up toitscircular viewport to see the occupants.INSIDE, it is a cramped seven foot sphere, crammed with equipment. ANATOLYMIKAILAVICH, the sub's pilot, sits hunched over his controls... singingsoftly in Russian.Next to himon one side is BROCK LOVETT. He's in his late forties, deeplytanned, and likes to wear his Nomex suit unzipped to show the gold fromfamous shipwrecks covering his gray chest hair. He is a wiley, fast-talkingtreasurehunter, a salvage superstar who is part historian, part adventurerand part vacuum cleaner salesman. Right now, he is propped against the CO2scrubber, fast asleep and snoring.On the other side, crammed into theremaining space is a bearded wide-bodynamed LEWIS BODINE, sho is also asleep. Lewis is an R.O.V. (REMOTELYOPERATED VEHICLE) pilot and is the resident Titanic expert.Anatoly glances at the bottom sonar andmakes a ballast adjustment.                                                                   CUT TO:3 EXT. THE BOTTOM OF THE SEAA pale, dead-flat lunar landscape. It gets brighter, lit from above, as MIRONEenters FRAME and drops to the seafloor in a downblast from itsthrusters. It hits bottom after its two hour free-fall with a loud BONK.                                                                   CUT TO:4 INT. MIRONELovett and Bodine jerk awake at the landing.                                  ANATOLY                          (heavy Russian accent)We are here.EXT. / INT. MIR ONE AND TWO5 MINUTES LATER: THETWO SUBS skim over the seafloor to the sound ofsidescan sonar and the THRUM of big thrusters.6 The featureless gray clay of the bottom unrols in the lights of the subs.Bodine is watching the sidescan sonar display,where the outline of a hugepointed object is visible. Anatoly lies prone, driving the sub, his facepressed to the center port.                                  BODINECome left a little. She's right in front of us, eighteenmeters. Fifteen.Thirteen... you should see it.                                  ANATOLYDo you see it? I don't see it... there!Out of the darkness, like a ghostly apparition, the bow of the shipappears. Its knife-edge prowis coming straight at us, seeming to plow thebottom sediment like ocean waves. It towers above the seafloor, standingjust as it landed 84 years ago.THE TITANIC. Or what is left of her. Mir One goes up and over thebowrailing, intact except for an overgrowth of "rusticles" draping it likemutated Spanish moss.TIGHT ON THE EYEPIECE MONITOR of a video camcorder. Brock Lovett's facefills the BLACK AND WHITEFRAME.                                  LOVETTIt still gets me every time.The image pans to the front viewport, looking over Anatoly's shoulder, tothe bow railing visible in the lights beyond. Anatolyturns.                                  ANATOLYIs just your guilt because of estealing from the dead.CUT WIDER, to show that Brock is operating the camera himself, turning itin his hand so it points at his ownface.                                  LOVETTThanks, Tolya. Work with me, here.Brock resumes his serious, pensive gaze out the front port, with the cameraaimed at himself at arm'slength.                                  LOVETTIt still gets me every time... to see the sad ruin of the great shipsitting here, where she landed at 2:30 in the morning, April 15, 1912,after her long fall from the worldabove.Anatoly rolls his eyes and mutters in Russian. Bodine chuckles and watchesthe sonar.                                  BODINEYou are so full of shit, boss.7 Mir Two drives aft down the starboard side, past thehuge anchor whileMir One passes over the seemingly endless forecastle deck, with its massiveanchor chains still laid out in two neat rows, its bronze windlass capsgleaming. The 22 foot long subs are like white bugsnext to the enormouswreck.                               LOVETT (V.O.)Dive nine. Here we are again on the deck of Titanic... two and a half milesdown. The pressure is three tons per square inch, enough to crush uslike afreight train going over an ant if our hull fails. These windows are nineinches thick and if they go, it's sayonara in two microseconds.8 Mir Two lands on the boat deck, next to the ruins of the Officer'sQuarters. MirOne lands on the roof of the deck hous nearby.                                  LOVETTRight. Let's go to work.Bodine slips on a pair of 3-D electronic goggles, and grabs the joystickcontrols of the ROV.9 OUTSIDE THESUB, the ROV, a small orange and black robot called SNOOPDOG, lifts from its cradle and flies forward.                               BODINE (V.O.)Walkin' the dog.SNOOP DOG drives itself away from the sub, payingout its umbilical behindit like a robot yo-yo. Its twin stereo-video cameras swivel like insecteyes. The ROV descends through an open shaft that once was the beautifulFirst Class Grand Staircase.Snoop Dog goes downseveral decks, then moves laterally into the FirstClass Reception Room.SNOOP'S VIDEO POV, moving through the cavernous interior. The remains ofthe ornate handcarved woodwork which gave the ship its elegancemovethrough the floodlights, the lines blurred by slow dissolution anddescending rusticle formations. Stalactites of rust hang down so that attimes it looks like a natural grotto, then the scene shifts and the linesof aghostly undersea mansion can be seen again.MONTAGE STYLE, as Snoop passes the ghostly images of Titanic's opulence:10 A grand piano in amazingly good shape, crashed on its side against awall. The keys gleamblack and white in the lights.11 A chandelier, still hanging from the ceiling by its wire... glinting asSnoop moves around it.12 Its lights play across the floor, revealing a champagne bottle, thensome WHITE STAR LINEchina... a woman's high-top "granny shoe". Thensomething eerie: what looks like a child's skull resolves into theporcelain head of a doll.Snoop enters a corridor which is much better preserved. Here and there adoor stillhangs on its rusted hinges. An ornate piece of molding, a wallsconce... hint at the grandeur of the past.13 THE ROV turns and goes through a black doorway, entering room B-52, thesitting room of a "promenade suite",one of the most luxurious stateroomson Titanic.                                  BODINEI'm in the sitting room. Heading for bedroom B-54.                                  LOVETTStay off the floor. Don't stir it up likeyou did yesterday.                                  BODINEI'm tryin' boss.Glinting in the lights are the brass fixtures of the near-perfectlypreserved fireplace. An albino Galathea crab crawls over it. Nearby aretheremains of a divan and a writing desk. The Dog crosses the ruins of theonce elegant room toward another DOOR. It squeezes through the doorframe,scraping rust and wood chunks loose on both sides. It moves outof a cloudof rust and keeps on going.                                  BODINEI'm crossing the bedroom.The remains of a pillared canopy bed. Broken chairs, a dresser. Through thecollapsed wall of the bathroom, theporcelain commode and bathtub tookalmost new, gleaming in the dark.                                  LOVETTOkay, I want to see what's under that wardrobe door.SEVERAL ANGLES as the ROV deploys itsMANIPULATOR ARMS and starts movingdebris aside. A lamp is lifted, its ceramic colors as bright as they werein 1912.                                  LOVETTEasy, Lewis. Take it slow.Lewis grips a wardrobe door, lyingat an angle in a corner, and pulls itwith Snoop's gripper. It moves reluctantly in a cloud of silt. Under it isa dark object. The silt clears and Snoop's cameras show them what was underthedoor...                                  BODINEOoohh daddy-oh, are you seein' what I'm seein'?CLOSE ON LOVETT, watching his moniteors. By his expression it is like he isseeing the HolyGrail.                                  LOVETTOh baby baby baby.                             (grabs the mike)It's payday, boys.ON THE SCREEN, in the glare of the lights, is the object of their quest: asmall STEELCOMBINATION SAFE.                                                                   CUT TO:14 EXT. STERN OF DECK OF KEDYSH - DAYTHE SAFE, dripping wet in the afternoon sun, is lowered onto the deck of ashipby a winch cable.We are on the Russian research vessel AKADEMIK MISTISLAV KELDYSH. A crowdhas gathered, including most of the crew of KELDYSH, the sub crews, and ahand-wringing money guy named BOBBYBUELL who represents the limitedpartners. There is also a documentary video crew, hired by Lovett to coverhis moment of glory.Everyone crowds around the safe. In the background Mir Two is being loweredinto itscradle on deck by a massive hydraulic arm. Mir One is alreadyrecovered with Lewis Bodine following Brock Lovett as he bounds over to thesafe like a kid on Christmanmorning.                                  BODINEWho's the best? Say it.                                  LOVETTYou are, Lewis.                            (to the video crew)Yourolling?                                 CAMERAMANRolling.Brock nods to his technicians, and they set about drilling the safe'shinges. During this operation, Brock amps the suspense, working the lens tofill thetime.                                  LOVETTWell, here it is, the moment of truth. Here's where we find out if thetime, the sweat, the money spent to charter this ship and these subs, tocome out here to the middle ofthe North Atlantic... were worth it. If whatwe think is in that same... is in that safe... it will be.Lovett grins wolfishly in anticipation of his greatest find yet. The dooris pried loose. It clangs onto the deck. Lovett movescloser, peering intothe safe's wet interior. A long moment then... his face says it all.                                  LOVETTShit.                                  BODINEYou know, boss, this happened to Geraldo andhis career never recovered.                                  LOVETT                         (to the video cameraman)Get that outta my face.                                                                   CUT TO:15 INT. LABDECK, PRESERVATION ROOM - DAYTechnicians are carefully removing some papers from the safe and placingthem in a tray of water to separate them safely. Nearby, other artifactsfrom the stateroom are beingwashed and preserved.Buell is on the satellite phone with the INVESTORS. Lovett is yelling atthe video crew.                                  LOVETTYou send out what I tell you when I tell you. I'm signing yourpaychecks,not 60 minutes. Now get set up for the uplink.Buell covers the phone and turns to Lovett.                                   BUELLThe partners want to know how it's


ï»¿The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Man's Woman, by Frank NorrisThis eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and withalmost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away orre-use it under theterms of the Project Gutenberg License includedwith this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.netTitle: A Man's WomanAuthor: Frank NorrisRelease Date: June 20, 2005  [eBook #16096]Language: English***START OFTHE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MAN'S WOMAN***E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan, Project Gutenberg BeginnersProjects, and the Project Gutenberg Online Distributed ProofreadingTeam(http://www.pgdp.net)A MAN'S WOMANbyFRANK NORRIS1904The following novel was completed March 22, 1899, and sent to theprinter in October of the same year. After the plates had been madenotice wasreceived that a play called "A Man's Woman" had been writtenby Anne Crawford Flexner, and that this title had been copyrighted.As it was impossible to change the name of the novel at the time thisnotice was received,it has been published under its original title.F.N.New York.A MAN'S WOMANI.At four o'clock in the morning everybody in the tent was still asleep,exhausted by the terrible march of the previous day. The hummockyiceand pressure-ridges that Bennett had foreseen had at last been met with,and, though camp had been broken at six o'clock and though men and dogshad hauled and tugged and wrestled with the heavy sledges untilfiveo'clock in the afternoon, only a mile and a half had been covered. Butthough the progress was slow, it was yet progress. It was not theharrowing, heart-breaking immobility of those long months aboard theFreja.Every yard to the southward, though won at the expense of abattle with the ice, brought them nearer to Wrangel Island and ultimatesafety.Then, too, at supper-time the unexpected had happened. Bennett, movednodoubt by their weakened condition, had dealt out extra rations to eachman: one and two-thirds ounces of butter and six and two-thirds ouncesof aleuronate bread--a veritable luxury after the unvarying dietofpemmican, lime juice, and dried potatoes of the past fortnight. The menhad got into their sleeping-bags early, and until four o'clock in themorning had slept profoundly, inert, stupefied, almost without movement.Buta few minutes after four o'clock Bennett awoke. He was usually upabout half an hour before the others. On the day before he had been ableto get a meridian altitude of the sun, and was anxious to completehiscalculations as to the expedition's position on the chart that he hadbegun in the evening.He pushed back the flap of the sleeping-bag and rose to his full height,passing his hands over his face, rubbing the sleep fromhis eyes. He wasan enormous man, standing six feet two inches in his reindeer footnipsand having the look more of a prize-fighter than of a scientist. Evenmaking allowances for its coating of dirt and its harsh, blackstubbleof half a week's growth, the face was not pleasant. Bennett was an uglyman. His lower jaw was huge almost to deformity, like that of thebulldog, the chin salient, the mouth close-gripped, with greatlips,indomitable, brutal. The forehead was contracted and small, the foreheadof men of single ideas, and the eyes, too, were small and twinkling, oneof them marred by a sharply defined cast.But as Bennett wasfumbling in the tin box that was lashed upon thenumber four sledge, looking for his notebook wherein he had begun hiscalculations for latitude, he was surprised to find a copy of the recordhe had left in the instrumentbox under the cairn at Cape Kammeni at thebeginning of this southerly march. He had supposed that this copy hadbeen mislaid, and was not a little relieved to come across it now. Heread it through hastily, his mindreviewing again the incidents of thelast few months. Certain extracts of this record ran as follows:"Arctic steamer Freja, on ice off Cape Kammeni, New SiberianIslands, 76 deg. 10 min. north latitude, 150 deg. 40 min.eastlongitude, July 12, 1891.... We accordingly froze the ship in onthe last day of September, 1890, and during the following winterdrifted with the pack in a northwesterly direction.... On Friday,July 10, 1891, being inlatitude 76 deg. 10 min. north; longitude150 deg. 10 min. east, the Freja was caught in a severe nip betweentwo floes and was crushed, sinking in about two hours. We abandonedher, saving 200 days' provisions andall necessary clothing,instruments, etc...."I shall now attempt a southerly march over the ice to Kolyuchin Bayby way of Wrangel Island, where provisions have been cached, hopingto fall in with the relief ships or steamwhalers on the way. Ourparty consists of the following twelve persons: ... All well withthe exception of Mr. Ferriss, the chief engineer, whose left handhas been badly frostbitten. No scurvy in the party as yet. Wehaveeighteen Ostiak dogs with us in prime condition, and expect to dragour ship's boat upon sledges."WARD BENNETT, Commanding Freja Arctic Exploring Expedition."Bennett returned this copy of the record to itsplace in the box, andstood for a moment in the centre of the tent, his head bent to avoid theridge-pole, looking thoughtfully upon the ground.Well, so far all had gone right--no scurvy, provisions in plenty. Thedogs werein good condition, his men cheerful, trusting in him as in agod, and surely no leader could wish for a better lieutenant and comradethan Richard Ferriss--but this hummocky ice--these pressure-ridges whichtheexpedition had met the day before. Instead of turning at once to hisciphering Bennett drew the hood of the wolfskin coat over his head,buttoned a red flannel mask across his face, and, raising the flap ofthe tent,stepped outside.Under the lee of the tent the dogs were sleeping, moveless bundles offur, black and white, perceptibly steaming. The three great McClintocksledges, weighted down with the Freja's boats and with theexpedition'simpedimenta, lay where they had been halted the evening before.In the sky directly in front of Bennett as he issued from the tent threemoons, hooped in a vast circle of nebulous light, shone roseatethrougha fine mist, while in the western heavens streamers of green, orange,and vermilion light, immeasurably vast, were shooting noiselessly fromhorizon to zenith.But Bennett had more on his mind that morningthan mock-moons andauroras. To the south and east, about a quarter of a mile from the tent,the pressure of the floes had thrown up an enormous ridge of shatteredice-cakes, a mound, a long hill of blue-green slabsand blocks huddlingtogether at every conceivable angle. It was nearly twenty feet inheight, quite the highest point that Bennett could discover. Scramblingand climbing over countless other ridges that intervened, hemade hisway to it, ascended it almost on hands and knees, and, standing upon itshighest point, looked long and carefully to the southward.A wilderness beyond all thought, words, or imagination desolatestretched outbefore him there forever and forever--ice, ice, ice,fields and floes of ice, laying themselves out under that gloomy sky,league after league, endless, sombre, infinitely vast, infinitelyformidable. But now it was no longerthe smooth ice over which theexpedition had for so long been travelling. In every direction,intersecting one another at ten thousand points, crossing andrecrossing, weaving a gigantic, bewildering network of gashed,jagged,splintered ice-blocks, ran the pressure-ridges and hummocks. In places ascore or more of these ridges had been wedged together to form one hugefield of broken slabs of ice miles in width, miles in length.Fromhorizon to horizon there was no level place, no open water, no pathway.The view to the southward resembled a tempest-tossed ocean suddenlyfrozen.One of these ridges Bennett had just climbed, and upon it henow stood.Even for him, unencumbered, carrying no weight, the climb had beendifficult; more than once he had slipped and fallen. At times he hadbeen obliged to go forward almost on his hands and knees. And yet itwasacross that jungle of ice, that unspeakable tangle of blue-green slabsand cakes and blocks, that the expedition must now advance, dragging itsboats, its sledges, its provisions, instruments, and baggage.Bennettstood looking. Before him lay his task. There under his eyes wasthe Enemy. Face to face with him was the titanic primal strength of achaotic world, the stupendous still force of a merciless nature, waitingcalmly, waitingsilently to close upon and crush him. For a long time hestood watching. Then the great brutal jaw grew more salient than ever,the teeth set and clenched behind the close-gripped lips, the cast inthe small twinkling eyesgrew suddenly more pronounced. One huge fistraised, and the arm slowly extended forward like the resistless movingof a piston. Then when his arm was at its full reach Bennett spoke asthough in answer to thevoiceless, terrible challenge of the Ice.Through his clenched teeth his words came slow and measured."But I'll break you, by God! believe me, I will."After a while he returned to the tent, awoke the cook, andwhilebreakfast was being prepared completed his calculations for latitude,wrote up his ice-journal, and noted down the temperature and thedirection and velocity of the wind. As he was finishing, RichardFerriss, whowas the chief engineer and second in command, awoke andimmediately asked the latitude."Seventy-four-fifteen," answered Bennett without looking up."Seventy-four-fifteen," repeated Ferriss, nodding his head; "wedidn'tmake much distance yesterday.""I hope we can make as much to-day," returned Bennett grimly as he putaway his observation-journal and note-books."How's the ice to the south'ard?""Bad; wake the men."Afterbreakfast and while the McClintocks were being loaded Bennett sentFerriss on ahead to choose a road through and over the ridges. It wasdreadful work. For two hours Ferriss wandered about amid the broken iceall buthopelessly bewildered. But at length, to his great satisfaction,he beheld a fairly open stretch about a quarter of a mile in lengthlying out to the southwest and not too far out of the expedition's lineof march. Some dozenridges would have to be crossed before this levelwas reached; but there was no help for it, so Ferriss planted his flagswhere the heaps of ice-blocks seemed least impracticable and returnedtoward the camp. It hadalready been broken, and on his way he met theentire expedition involved in the intricacies of the first rough ice.All of the eighteen dogs had been harnessed to the number two sledge,that carried the whaleboat and themajor part of the provisions, andevery man of the party, Bennett included, was straining at thehaul-ropes with the dogs. Foot by foot the sledge came over the ridge,grinding and lurching among the ice-blocks; then,partly by guiding,partly by lifting, it was piloted down the slope, only in the end toescape from all control and come crashing downward among the dogs,jolting one of the medicine chests from its lashings and buttingitsnose heavily against the foot of the next hummock immediately beyond.But the men scrambled to their places again, the medicine chest wasreplaced, and Muck Tu, the Esquimau dog-master, whipped forwardhisdogs. Ferriss, too, laid hold. The next hummock was surmounted, the dogspanting, and the men, even in that icy air, reeking with perspiration.Then suddenly and without the least warning Bennett and McPherson,whowere in the lead, broke through some young ice into water up to theirbreasts, Muck Tu and one of the dogs breaking through immediatelyafterward. The men were pulled out, or, of their own efforts, climbeduponthe ice again. But in an instant their clothes were frozen torattling armor."Bear off to the east'ard, here!" commanded Bennett, shaking the icy,stinging water from his sleeves. "Everybody on the ropes now!"Anotherpressure-ridge was surmounted, then a third, and by an hourafter the start they had arrived at the first one of Ferriss's flags.Here the number two sledge was left, and the entire expedition, dogs andmen, returned tocamp to bring up the number one McClintock loaded withthe Freja's cutter and with the sleeping-bags, instruments, and tent.This sledge was successfully dragged over the first two hummocks, but asit was being hauledup the third its left-hand runner suddenly buckledand turned under it with a loud snap. There was nothing for it now butto remove the entire load and to set Hawes, the carpenter, to work uponits repair."Up your othersledge!" ordered Bennett.Once more the expedition returned to the morning's camping-place, and,harnessing itself to the third McClintock, struggled forward with it foran hour and a half until it was up with the firstsledge and Ferriss'sflag. Fortunately the two dog-sleds, four and five, were light, andBennett, dividing his forces, brought them up in a single haul. ButHawes called out that the broken sledge was now repaired. Themen turnedto at once, reloaded it, and hauled it onward, so that by noon everysledge had been moved forward quite a quarter of a mile.But now, for the moment, the men, after going over the same groundseventimes, were used up, and Muck Tu could no longer whip the dogs to theirwork. Bennett called a halt. Hot tea was made, and pemmican and hardtackserved out."We'll have easier hauling this afternoon, men," saidBennett; "thisnext ridge is the worst of the lot; beyond that Mr. Ferriss says we'vegot nearly a quarter of a mile of level floes."On again at one o'clock; but the hummock of which Bennett had spokenproved absolutelyimpassable for the loaded sledges. It was all one thatthe men lay to the ropes like draught-horses, and that Muck Tu floggedthe dogs till the goad broke in his hands. The men lost their footingupon the slippery ice andfell to their knees; the dogs laid down in thetraces groaning and whining. The sledge would not move."Unload!" commanded Bennett.The lashings were taken off, and the loads, including the great,cumbersomewhaleboat itself, carried over the hummock by hand. Then thesledge itself was hauled over and reloaded upon the other side. Thus thewhole five sledges.The work was bitter hard; the knots of the lashings were frozentightand coated with ice; the cases of provisions, the medicine chests, thecanvas bundle of sails, boat-covers, and tents unwieldy and of enormousweight; the footing on the slippery, uneven ice precarious, andmorethan once a man, staggering under his load, broke through the crust intowater so cold that the sensation was like that of burning.But at last everything was over, the sledges reloaded, and the forwardmovementresumed. Only one low hummock now intervened between them andthe longed-for level floe.However, as they were about to start forward again a lamentable giganticsound began vibrating in their ears, a rumbling,groaning note rising byquick degrees to a strident shriek. Other sounds, hollow andshrill--treble mingling with diapason--joined in the first. The noisecame from just beyond the pressure-mound at the foot of which thepartyhad halted."Forward!" shouted Bennett; "hurry there, men!"Desperately eager, the men bent panting to their work. The sledgebearing the whaleboat topped the hummock."Now, then, over with her!" criedFerriss.But it was too late. As they stood looking down upon it for an instant,the level floe, their one sustaining hope during all the day, suddenlycracked from side to side with the noise of ordnance. Then thegroaningand shrieking recommenced. The crack immediately closed up, the pressureon the sides of the floe began again, and on the smooth surface of theice, domes and mounds abruptly reared themselves. As thepressureincreased these domes and mounds cracked and burst into countless blocksand slabs. Ridge after ridge was formed in the twinkling of an eye.Thundering like a cannonade of siege guns, the whole floe burstup,jagged, splintered, hummocky. In less than three minutes, and while theFreja's men stood watching, the level stretch toward which since morningthey had struggled with incalculable toil was ground up into a vastmassof confused and pathless rubble."Oh, this will never do," muttered Ferriss, disheartened."Come on, men!" exclaimed Bennett. "Mr. Ferriss, go forward, and choosea road for us."The labour of the morning wasrecommenced. With infinite patience,infinite hardship, the sledges one by one were advanced. So heavy werethe three larger McClintocks that only one could be handled at a time,and that one taxed the combinedefforts of men and dogs to theuttermost. The same ground had to be covered seven times. For every yardgained seven had to be travelled. It was not a march, it was a battle; abattle without rest and without end andwithout mercy; a battle with anEnemy whose power was beyond all estimate and whose movements were notreducible to any known law. A certain course would be mapped, certainplans formed, a certain objectivedetermined, and before the coursecould be finished, the plans executed, or the objective point attainedthe perverse, inexplicable movement of the ice baffled theirdetermination and set at naught their best ingenuity.Atfour o'clock it began to snow. Since the middle of the forenoon thehorizon had been obscured by clouds and mist so that no observation forposition could be taken. Steadily the clouds had advanced, and by fouro'clockthe expedition found itself enveloped by wind and driving snow.The flags could no longer be distinguished; thin and treacherous ice wasconcealed under drifts; the dogs floundered helplessly; the men couldscarcelyopen their eyes against the wind and fine, powder-like snow,and at times when they came to drag forward the last sledge they foundit so nearly buried in the snow that it must be dug out before it couldbemoved.Toward half past five the odometer on one of the dog-sleds registered adistance of three-quarters of a mile made since morning. Bennett calleda halt, and camp was pitched in the lee of one of the largerhummocks.The alcohol cooker was set going, and supper was had under the tent, themen eating as they lay in their sleeping-bags. But even while eatingthey fell asleep, drooping lower and lower, finally collapsing uponthecanvas floor of the tent, the food still in their mouths.Yet, for all that, the night was miserable. Even after that day ofsuperhuman struggle they were not to be allowed a few hours of unbrokenrest. By midnight thewind had veered to the east and was blowing agale. An hour later the tent came down. Exhausted as they were, theymust turn out and wrestle with that slatting, ice-sheathed canvas, andit was not until half an hourlater that everything was fast again.Once more they crawled into the sleeping-bags, but soon the heat fromtheir bodies melted the ice upon their clothes, and pools of waterformed under each man, wetting him to theskin. Sleep was impossible. Itgrew colder and colder as the night advanced, and the gale increased. Atthree o'clock in the morning the centigrade thermometer was at eighteendegrees below. The cooker was lightedagain, and until six o'clock theparty huddled wretchedly about it, dozing and waking, shiveringcontinually.Breakfast at half past six o'clock; under way again an hour later. Therewas no change in the nature of the ice.Ridge succeeded ridge, hummockfollowed upon hummock. The wind was going down, but the snow still fellas fine and bewildering as ever. The cold was intense. Dennison, thedoctor and naturalist of the expedition,having slipped his mitten, hadhis hand frostbitten before he could recover it. Two of the dogs, BigJoe and Stryelka, were noticeably giving out.But Bennett, his huge jaws clenched, his small, distorted eyestwinklingviciously through the apertures of the wind-mask, his harsh, blackeyebrows lowering under the narrow, contracted forehead, drove theexpedition to its work relentlessly. Not Muck Tu, the dog-master, hadhisOstiaks more completely under his control than he his men. Hehimself did the work of three. On that vast frame of bone and muscle,fatigue seemed to leave no trace. Upon that inexorable bestialdeterminationdifficulties beyond belief left no mark. Not one of thetwelve men under his command fighting the stubborn ice with tooth andnail who was not galvanised with his tremendous energy. It was as thougha spur was in theirflanks, a lash upon their backs. Their minds, theirwills, their efforts, their physical strength to the last ounce andpennyweight belonged indissolubly to him. For the time being they werehis slaves, his serfs, his beasts ofburden, his draught animals, nobetter than the dogs straining in the traces beside them. Forward theymust and would go until they dropped in the harness or he gave the wordto pause.At four o'clock in the afternoonBennett halted. Two miles had been madesince the last camp, and now human endurance could go no farther.Sometimes when the men fell they were unable to get up. It was evidentthere was no more in them that


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<title>Klute</title>
INT. DINING ROOM - TOM GRUNEMANN HOUSE - DAYCLOSE SHOT of TOM GRUNEMANN, attractive youngexecutive, sitting at the head of the diningroomtable carving a turkey for Thanksgiving Day dinner.There are joyous sounds of celebration. The CAMERAPANS around the table revealing the happy familyand guests. Among them are KLUTE and CABLE.Camerastops at Mrs. Grunemann who sits at the footof the table opposite her husband. She smilesacross at him with pleasure. We cut to TomGrunemann smiling back at her. We cut back to acloseup of Mrs.Grunemann  looking back at herhusband with love. We cut back to Tom Grunemann'schair - only now it is empty. The joyous soundsdisappear on this cut. It appears that TomGrunemann has disappeared before oureyes. Onemoment he is there, and the next moment he is gone.The camera pans back down the table, only now it isempty except for Grunemann's children and Mrs.Grunemann. She is now dressed in somethingdark.She and the three children sit eating another mealin emptiness. She has changed from a joyous womanto a woman bereaved.INT. RESEARCH PLANT: ON ROSS - DAYThe industrial frontier. SPECIALAGENT ROSS stepsinto frame, glancing (perhaps idly, a littleimpatiently) in this direction at some loudindustrial goings-on just beyond camera, thenreturns toward GROUP.The group includes CABLE and a YOUNGER FBIAGENTwith clipboard, to whom KLUTE is supplyingpreliminary data. KLUTE's manner is somewhatrumpled, awkward. KLUTE Klute. With a K. K - L - U - ROSS Are you with plant security,Sergeant? KLUTE (shakes head) Town Police. ROSS Then how are you involved? KLUTE (slowly) I know Tom Grunemann. ROSS (shortcutting again) You knew the subject ThomasGrunemann. How well? KLUTE We grew up together. Kids. ROSS Can you account for his disappearance in any way? KLUTE No. ROSS Did he recently appear to you agitated ordepressed? (aside to younger Agent, recording) -- indicates no -- Did he voice to you grievance or discontent with his research work here? Indicates no. Moral or sexual problems or peculiarities? -- KLUTENo. ROSS Marital problems in general? Indicates possibly -- am I right Sergeant? KLUTE Everybody's got some, I guess. ROSS Did he ever mention specifically a girl or woman in NewYork? KLUTE No. ROSS Examine this letter please. (continues) We recovered that from the shredder -- the plant disposal and incinerator system. Grunemann apparently typed it Friday, before heleft, decided not to send it, tossed it away. We've already contacted the New York Police; they think they know the girl in question.C.U. KLUTEKlute reads. We see a controlled incredulity andrevulsion.ROSS (CONT'D) He never mentioned this type thing to you? You didn't know he had these interests?INT. GRUNEMANN HOUSE: C.U. HOLLY - DAYHOLLY thrusts the letter back toward camera,towardKLUTE crying out - HOLLY My husband was not like that! My God, Klute. KLUTE It looks like he sent her quite a few of those Holly -- the girl -- she recalls six or seven letters like --HOLLY (calmly) -- No. I mean sure a little rough stuff, but just what people usually -- No, I would've said we were pretty good. (pause) Johnnie I don't understand. I just don't understand.Klute nods. She is talkingfor both of them. Klutelooks out the window to the children playingoutside. CAMERA PANS out window to Klute's POV ofchildren playing on a cold winter day. The treesare stripped bare.EXT. RESEARCHPLANTTree lined area, lush and green - Summer.INT. RESEARCH PLANT: DIRECTOR'S OFFICE - DAYCAMERA pulls back inside window to Klute staringoutside, as if still pondering the fate ofTomGrunemann. The group in the office includes ROSS(holding a report), TRASK, a New York detective,Cable, and the plant director, STREIGER. ROSS -- has disclosed no evidence of crime or criminal intentwithin the jurisdiction of this bureau, and since subject Thom -- CABLE (turns sharply, interrupts) It's been almost a year! Tom Grunemann's been missing for a year. And all the FBI has to offer is a report thatmust bore even you. ROSS (restraint) Well sir. STREIGER Are you closing the case? ROSS No sir, we don't state that. We're countin -- CABLE But you don't find it worth mucheffort. ROSS (injured dignity) Well Mr. Cable, you've got me here from the Bureau. You got Lieutenant Trask here from New York representing his department and I don't frankly consider --STREIGER (moderating, suggesting) Why couldn't you ever find out anything from the girl? ROSS (refers the question) Trask -- TRASK (summarizes from notes) We first hold her undersurveillance expectin your boy Grunemann to show up there. Didn't. Then we bagged -- we arrested her on a CP charge, convicted, two month's women's city prison, offer to reduce sentence, she cooperated. (counts)Four interrogations. She thought she remembered Grunemann -- from those letters from before, she made that connection -- but she hadn't seen him since and couldn't identify his photograph and she --STREIGER Why not? TRASK Oh a good call girl, she'll turn six-seven hundred tricks a year. The faces get blurred. (resumes) And since then, recent months, she's reported several, you know, incidents:like breather calls, anonymous phone calls, also somebody maybe following her, watching her, things like that. So it's I guess you could say, conceivable Grunemann's still around there, just hangin around her, spookingher. But you know, that --He shakes his head, gestures doubtingly. Ross capsit. ROSS The subject got emotionallv disturbed; he just dropped out. There's thousands. STREIGER Inspector weunderstand your position; ours is a little different. We have an investment in Tom Grunemann. The Company has an investment, and we feel entitled to investigate for ourselves. ROSS Private investigation,you mean. Yes sir, of course you're entitled, and there's some very competent -- STREIGER Klute offered us his services; we've accepted.Pause. Ross and Trask look at Klute - more than abit startled - then ateach other. Klute just looksuneasy. STREIGER (CONT'D) Klute knew Tom. He has a great many ideas about the case -- ROSS (sourly) Yes sir, we know he -- STREIGER We'd expect him towork in cooperation with you. He'd report to each of you and to our Company's New York office, to Pete -- Pete goes there on a regular schedule back and forth, and -- ROSS (tactfully) Mr. Streiger, speakingfrankly -- we've appreciated the Sergeant's interest you know, all along. Here, locally. But New York, that's - well -- TRASK (to Klute, leniently) Ever done any missing person's work? ROSS Spentmuch time in the city? (to others) You see, I have to wonder -- speaking frankly; the Sergeant knows I'm only speaking frankly - CABLE You wonder why we thought of Klute? Frankly? He'sinterested.INT/EXT. WIDE SHOT: PENNSYLVANIA COUNTRYSIDE - DAYVerdant Pennsylvania farmland. Early morning. Nearat hand an open field set about with bee hutchesand patched with mist.A FIGURE, ashadow (Klute's actually) moves acrossframe from the left, blanking in. We reorient to -INT. BEDROOM - KLUTES HOUSE - DAYWe see that we've been looking out from the bedroomwindow of this house. Kluteturns to rolltop deskin bedroom and picture of Tom Grunemann, picture ofBree Daniel, and other material he has collected onthe case. He puts them in his suitcase and closesthe suitcase. He shuts rolltop desk.INT.KLUTE'S HOUSE - DAYWe follow Klute through the house with suitcase. Heputs away a last dish, shutting off water, gas, andelectricity, and so on -- takes a last look around - reaches for the door handle. WE CUTTO --INT. COMMERCIAL AUDITION - SOUND STAGE - DAYA section of wall, a door coming open -- and theFIGURE of BREE entering and standing. We have gonefrom the warm sunlight of the country tomustvdarkness.She appears chic, poised, and perfect as a magazinepicture.But as she gets used to the darkness and her eyesfocus on a line of equally beautiful girls sittingand waiting in folding chairs along a wall, weseethat she is a great deal less certain of demeanor.Assailable. WE CUT TO -EXT. KLUTE'S HOUSEYARD, HOUSE, BARN - DAYKlute, stepping out, closes, locks and checks thehouse door, then moves on to hiscar -- a vintagePlymouth -- and tosses in his suitcase; and thentakes a last turn around the yard itself; propsopen the cover of a beehutch, and lets down therail gate of a sidefield. He approaches to rollshut his barndoor -- and on this action we CUTagain TO --INT. COMMERCIAL AUDITION - SOUNDSTAGE - DAY DIRECTOR (O.S.) (hastily) Honey, no, we don't have too many.She slaps the cup down, hurls herselfforward --SWISH PAN -- onto a MALE ACTOR, thrusting him downto the floor, her hands at his throat. As we WIDENTO INCLUDE DIRECTOR AND MORE OF SCENE, and as theDirector reads from script, supplying anarratorvoice - DIRECTOR (CONT'D) Now before it comes to that, let's have a look, et cetera, et cetera -- OK -Bree and the Male Actor relax slightly, as -ANGLE TO REVEAL ROOM,OTHERSWe reestablish the scene -- a few pieces of filmequipment -- and the congery of other ACTORS and ACTRESSES preparing to read for parts. As theDirector approaches, counsels Bree -- all of thisquick andconsecutive -- DIRECTOR (CONT'D) -- Honey you make it look a little real. It should have, you know, that fun to it. (beat) BREE Strangle him to death funny? DIRECTOR Well we go fromthis into stomach diagrams. It can't be too -- look let's try it again from --- but then he glances at his watch, and at theothers waiting their turn. DIRECTOR (CONT'D) No -- just give us the faces at the end,would you?Bree and the Male Actor set their cheeks together,beaming half-moon smiles to camera, hold it for amoment, as the Director reads again - DIRECTOR (CONT'D) (reads) -- And another family savedby Elso tablets. OK -- (brightly) Thank you very much.-- and holds out his hands for their scripts, atthe same time as he summons from a list in hisother hand -- DIRECTOR (CONT'D) Pierce -- Danner -BREEpasses a new group of beautiful girls sittingin line waiting their turn as she exits as brightlyas possible.EXT. NEW YORK SIDEWALK: PEDESTRIANS - DAYThey trudge along the sidewalk -- the herd,thelate-afternoon crush. A LONG-LENS shot, the crowdcompacted. We see BREE milling along with the rest.She maneuvers to a sidewalk PHONE BOOTH, enters. Wesee her deposit, dial.INT. PHONE BOOTH, BREE -DAYShe is connected (to her registry). BREE Bree Daniel, any messages? (waits -- none) OK, thanks.She waits for a moment. Then makes a curious, smallgesture of her hand -- deposits another dime,