THE RING\n</b>\n Original screenplay by Takahashi Hiroshi\n Based upon the novel by Suzuki Kouji\n\n\n This manuscript is intended for informational \n purposes only, and is a fair usage of copyrighted\n material.\n\n Ring (c) 1995 Suzuki Kouji\n Ring feature film (c) 1998 Ring/Rasen Committee\n Distributed by PONY CANYON\n\n\n Adapted/ Translated by J Lopez\n\n http://www.somrux.com/ringworld/\n\n<b> ---\n</b>\n\n Caption-- September 5th. Sunday.\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD TOMOKOS ROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\n CLOSEUP on a TELEVISION SET. Theres a baseball game on, but the sound \n is turned completely down. Camera PANS to show two cute high school \n girls, MASAMI and TOMOKO. Masami is seated on the floor at a low coffee \n table, TEXTBOOK in front of her. Tomoko is at her desk. There are SNACKS \n all over the room, and its obvious there hasnt been much studying going \n on. Masami is currently in mid-story, speaking excitedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\tThey say that some elementary school \n\t\tkid spent the night with his parents \n\t\tat a bed and breakfast in Izu. The kid\n\t\twanted to go out and play with everybody, \n\t\tright, but he didnt want to miss the \n\t\tprogram he always used to watch back in \n\t\tTokyo, so he records it on the VCR in \n\t\ttheir room. But of course the stations \n\t\tin Izu are different from the ones in \n\t\tTokyo. In Izu, it was just an empty \n\t\tchannel, so he shouldve recorded\n\t\tnothing but static. But when the kid \n\t\tgets back to his house and watches the \n\t\ttape, all of a sudden this woman comes \n\t\ton the screen and says--\n\n Masami points so suddenly and dramatically at her friend that Tomoko \n actually jumps in her seat.\n\n\t\t\t\tMASAMI (contd)\n\t\tOne week from now, you will die.\n\n Short silence as Masami pauses, relishing the moment.\n\n\t\t\t\tMASAMI (contd)\t\n\t\tOf course the kids completely \n\t\tfreaked, and he stops the video. \n\t\tJust then the phone rings, and when he \n\t\tpicks it up a voice says--\n\n Her voice drops voice almost to a whisper.\n\n\t\t\t\tMASAMI (contd)\t\n\t\tYou watched it, didnt you? That \n\t\tsame time, exactly one week later... \n\t\thes dead!\n\n Masami laughs loudly, thoroughly enjoying her own performance. \n Tomoko, however, is completely silent. She begins looking more \n and more distressed, until finally Masami notices.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\tWhat is it, Tomoko?\n\n Tomoko comes out of her chair and drops onto the floor next to her \n friend. Her words are quick, earnest.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tWho did you hear that story from?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\tWho? Its just a rumor. Everybody \n\t\tknows it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tYouko told you?\t\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tNo, it wasnt Youko...\n\n Tomoko looks away, worried. Masami slaps her on the knee, \n laughing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\tWhats up with you?\n\n Tomoko speaks slowly, still looking away.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tThe other day, I... I watched this \n\t\tstrange video.\n<b>\t\t\n</b><b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\tWhere?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\t\n</b>\t\tWith Youko and them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\t\t(excited) \n\t\tSo thats what Ive been hearing \n\t\tabout you doing some double-date/\n\t\tsleepover thing! So, you and that \n\t\tguy Iwata, huh? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\t\n</b>\t\tNo, its not like that. Nothing \n\t\thappened!\n\n Their eyes meet and Tomoko half-blushes, looks away again. Her \n expression becomes serious as she resumes her conversation.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tIwata... he found this weird video. \n\t\tEveryone was like, Whats that? so \n\t\the put it on and we all watched it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\t\t(quietly) \n\t\tAnd? What kind of video was it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tJust... weird, I cant really explain \n\t\tit. Anyway, right after we finished \n\t\twatching it, the phone rang. Whoever\n\t\tit was didnt say anything, but still...\n\n Silence. Masami curls up on herself, thoroughly spooked. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tJesus.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b> \t\tIt's cuz, you know, we'd all heard the \n\t\trumors.\n\nTomoko looks seriously over at her friend.\n\n\t\t\t\tTOMOKO (cont'd)\n\t\tThat was one week ago today.\n\n There is a long, heavy silence as neither of them says anything.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI \t\n</b>\t\tWaaait a minute. Are you faking me \n\t\tout?\n\n Tomokos face suddenly breaks into a smile. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\t\n</b>\t\tBusted, huh?\n\n They both crack up laughing. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\tOh, my... I cant believe you! \n\n Masami reaches out, slaps her friend on the knee.\n\n\t\t\t\tMASAMI (contd)\n\t\tYoure terrible!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tGotcha!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\t\t(thinking) \n\t\tBut hang on... you really stayed\n\t\tthe night with Youko and Iwata, \n\t\tright?\n\n Tomoko nods, uh-huh. Masami dives forward, pinching her friends \n cheeks and grinning wildly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tSo, how far did you and he get?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO \t\n</b>\t\tOh... I cant remember.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tYou cant remember, huh?\n\n Masami laughs, then slaps Tomoko on the knee again as she remembers \n the trick her friend played on her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tMan, you had me freaked me out. \n<b>\t\tI--\n</b>\n Just at that moment, the phone RINGS. They are both suddenly, \n instantly serious. Tomokos eyes go off in one direction and she \n begins shaking her head, -No-. Masami looks over her shoulder, \n following her friends gaze. \n\n Tomoko is looking at the CLOCK, which currently reads 9:40.\n\n The phone continues to ring. Tomoko is now clutching tightly onto her \n friend, looking panicked.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\t\t(softly) \n\t\tWas it true?\n\n Tomoko nods her head, still holding on tightly. Masami has to \n forcibly disengage herself in order to stand. The phone is downstairs, \n so Masami opens the bedroom DOOR and races down the STAIRS. Tomoko \n calls out to her from behind.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tMasami!\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD STAIRCASE - NIGHT \n</b>\n Tomoko and Masami run down the staircase, through the hallway towards \n the kitchen. Tomoko cries out again just before they reach the kitchen.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\t\n</b>\t\tMasami!\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD KITCHEN - NIGHT \n</b>\n Masami has come to a halt before a PHONE mounted on the wall. She \n pauses, looking slowly at her friend, then back to the phone. She \n takes it tentatively from its cradle, answers it wordlessly. The \n tension continues to mount as nothing is said. Masami suddenly breaks \n into a huge grin.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tIll put her on.\n\n Still grinning, she hands the phone to Tomoko. Tomoko snatches it \n quickly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\t\t(softly) \n\t\tYes?\n\n She is silent for a moment, then smiling widely. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tOh, man!\n\n She is so relieved that all the strength seeps out of her and she \n sinks to the kitchen floor. Masami, equally relieved, slides down \n the wall and sits down next to her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\t\t(on the phone) \n\t\tYeah, Ive got a friend over now. \n\t\tYeah. Yeah, OK. Bye.\n\n Tomoko stands to place the phone back in its wall cradle, and then \n squats back down onto the kitchen floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\t\n</b>\t\tThe games gone into overtime, so \n\t\ttheyre gonna be a little late. \n\n They burst out laughing with relief again, and are soon both \n clutching their stomachs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\t\n</b>\t\tJeeezus, my parents...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tOh man, Im tellin everybody about \n\t\tthis tomorrow!\n\n Tomoko shakes her head, -Dont you dare-.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tIm gonna use your bathroom. Dont \n\t\tgo anywhere.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\t\n</b><b>\t\tK.\n</b>\n Masami walks out of the kitchen. Alone now, Tomoko stands and walks \n toward the SINK, where she takes a GLASS from the DISH RACK. She \n then goes to the FRIDGE and sticks her face in, looking for something \n to drink. Suddenly there is the SOUND of people clapping and \n cheering. Tomoko, startled, peers her head over the refrigerator \n door to check for the source of the sound. \n\n She begins walking slowly, following the sound to the DINING ROOM \n adjacent the kitchen. \n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - DINING ROOM - NIGHT \n</b>\n The lights are off, and there is no one in the room. Tomoko pauses a \n moment, bathed in the garish LIGHT from the TV, which has been switched\n on. Playing is the same baseball game they had on the TV upstairs; the \n same game that Tomokos parents are currently at. The VOLUME is up \n quite high.\n\n A puzzled look on her face, Tomoko takes the REMOTE from the coffee \n table and flicks the TV off. She walks back to the kitchen.\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD KITCHEN - NIGHT \n</b>\n A bottle of SODA that Tomoko had earlier taken from the fridge is on \n the kitchen table. She picks the bottle up, pours herself a drink. \n Before she can take a sip, however, the air around her becomes suddenly \n charged, heavy. Her body begins to shiver as somewhere out of sight \n comes a popping, crackling SOUND underscored by a kind of GROANING. \n Trembling now, Tomoko spins around to see what she has already felt \n lurking behind her. She draws in her breath to scream.\n\n The screen goes white, and fades into:\n\n<b> CAMERA POV \n</b>\n The screen is filled with the visage of a nervous-looking YOUNG GIRL. \n She is being interviewed by ASAKAWA, a female reporter seated offscreen.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA (O.S.)\n</b>\t\tThere seems to be a popular rumor \n\t\tgoing around about a cursed \n\t\tvideotape.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG GIRL\t\n</b>\t\tUh-huh.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tHave you heard what kind of video \n\t\tit might be?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG GIRL\t\n</b>\t\tUh-huh.\n\n The girl looks directly at the camera, her mouth dropping into an O \n as shes suddenly overcome by a kind of stage fright. She continues \n staring, silently, at the camera.\n\n<b> INT. COFFEE SHOP - DAY \n</b>\n KOMIYA, the cameraman, has lowered his camera. We can now see that \n the young girl being interviewed is seated at a table between two \n friends, a SHORT-HAIRED GIRL (GIRL#2) and a LONG-HAIRED GIRL (GIRL #3). \n They are all dressed in the UNIFORMS of junior high school students. \n Opposite them sits Komiya and Asakawa, a pretty woman in her mid-\n twenties. A BOOM MIKE GUY stands to the left.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\t\n</b>\t\tUh, dont look right at the camera, \n<b>\t\tOK?\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG GIRL\t\n</b>\t\tSorry.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tLets do it again.\n\n Asakawa glances over her shoulder, makes sure that Komiya is ready.\n\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHave you heard what kind of video \n\t\tit might be?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG GIRL\n</b>\t\tWhat I heard was, all of a sudden \n\t\tthis scaaarry lady comes on the\n\t\tscreen and says, In one week, you\n\t\twill die.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL #2\t\n</b>\t\tI heard that if youre watching TV \n\t\tlate at night itll come on, and\n\t\tthen your phonell ring.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tWatching TV late at night... do you\n \t\tknow what station?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL #2\t\n</b>\t\tMmmm... I heard some local station, \n\t\taround Izu.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tIzu?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL #2\t\n</b>\t\tMmm-hmm.\t\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tAnd, do you know if anyones really \n\t\tdied from watching it?\n\n The girl flashes a look at her two friends.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG GIRL\n</b>\t\tWell, no one that we know, right?\n\n Girl #2 nods her head. Girl #3 nods slowly, opens and closes her \n mouth as if deciding whether to say something or not. The \n reporter notices. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWhat is it?\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL #3\n</b>\t\tI heard this from a friend of mine \n\t\tin high school. She said that there \n\t\twas this one girl who watched the \n\t\tvideo, and then died a week later. \n\t\tShe was out on a drive with her \n\t\tboyfriend.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tThey were in a wreck?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL #3\n</b>\t\tNo, their car was parked, but they \n\t\twere both dead inside. Her \n\t\tboyfriend died because hed watched \n\t\tthe video, too. Thats what my \n\t\tfriend said.\n\n Girl #3 grows suddenly defensive.\n\n\t\t\t\tGIRL #3 (contd)\t\n\t\tIts true! It was in the paper two \n\t\tor three days ago.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tDo you know the name of the high \n\t\tschool this girl went to?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL #3\n</b>\t\tNo... I heard this from my friend, \n\t\tand it didnt happen at her school. \n\t\tShe heard it from a friend at a \n\t\tdifferent school, she said.\n\n<b> INT. NEWS STATION DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa is seated at her DESK. The station is filled with PEOPLE, \n scrabbling to meet deadlines. Komiya walks up to Asakawas desk \n and holds out a MANILA FOLDER.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\t\n</b>\t\tMrs. Asakawa?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHm?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\t\n</b>\t\tHere you are.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t\t(taking the folder) \n\t\tThanks.\n\n Komiya has a seat.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\t\n</b>\t\tThis same kind of thing happened \n\t\tabout ten years ago too, didnt it? \n\t\tSome popular young singer committed \n\t\tsuicide, and then suddenly there was \n\t\tall this talk about her ghost showing\n\t\tup on some music show.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tBut I wonder what this rumors all \n\t\tabout. Everyone you ask always \n\t\tmentions Izu.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\t\n</b>\t\tMaybe thats where it all started. \n\t\tHey, where was that Kuchi-sake\n\t\tOnna * story from again?\n\n\n >* Literally Ripped-Mouth Lady, a kind of ghastly spectre from \n >Japanese folk stories who wears a veil to hide her mouth, which \n >has been ripped or cut open from ear to ear. She wanders the \n >countryside at night asking men Do you think Im beautiful? then \n >lowering her veil to reveal her true features.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tGifu, but there was some big \n\t\taccident out there, and that ended\n\t\tup being what started the rumor. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\n</b>\t\tA big accident?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tMmm-hmm. Something terrible like \n\t\tthat is going to stay in peoples \n\t\tminds. Sometimes the story of what \n\t\thappened gets twisted around, and \n\t\tends up coming back as a rumor like \n\t\tthis one. Thats what they say, at \n\t\tleast.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\n</b>\t\tDyou think something like that \n\t\thappened out at Izu?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tMaybe. Well, anyway, Im off. See you\n\t\ttomorrow.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\n</b>\t\tSee you.\n\n Asakawa gets up from her desk and begins walking towards the exit. \n She takes only a few steps before noticing a RACK of recent DAILY \n<b> EDITIONS. \n</b>\n She takes one from the rack, sets it on a nearby TABLE. She begins \n flipping the pages, and suddenly spies this story: \n\n<b> STRANGE AUTOMOBILE DEATH OF YOUNG COUPLE IN YOKOHAMA\n</b>\n The bodies of a young man and woman were discovered in their \n passenger car at around 10 A.M. September 6th. The location was a \n vacant lot parallel to Yokohama Prefectural Road. Local authorities \n identified the deceased as a 19-year old preparatory school student \n of Tokyo, and a 16-year old Yokohama resident, a student of a \n private all-girls high school. Because there were no external \n injuries, police are investigating the possibility of drug-induced \n suicide...\n\n Just then two men walk by, a GUY IN A BUSINESS SUIT and a youngish \n intern named OKAZAKI. Okazaki is carrying an armload of VIDEOTAPES.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGUY IN SUIT\n</b>\t\tOK, Okazaki, Im counting on you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\t\n</b>\t\tYessir.\n\n The guy in the suit pats Okazaki on the shoulder and walks off. \n\n Okazaki turns to walk away, spots Asakawa bent over the small table \n and peering intently at the newspaper article.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\t\n</b>\t\tMiss Asakawa? I thought you were \n\t\tgoing home early today.\n\n Asakawa turns around and begins speaking excitedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tOkazaki, can I ask you a favor?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\n</b>\t\tSure.\n\n Asakawa points to the newspaper.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tCould you check out this article \n\t\tfor me? Get me some more info.?\t\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\n</b>\t\tI guess...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tGood. Call me as soon as you know \n\t\tmore, OK?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\t\n</b>\t\tMaam.\n\n Asakawa walks off. Okazaki, still carrying the videotapes, leans \n forward to take a look at the article.\n<b> \n</b><b> EXT. APARTMENT PARKING LOT - DAY \n</b>\n Asakawa drives her car into the lot and parks quickly. She gets \n out, runs up the STAIRCASE to the third floor. She stops in front \n of a door, sticks her KEY in the lock, and opens it.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM DAY\n</b>\n A BOY of about 7 is sitting in an ARMCHAIR facing the veranda. We \n can see only the back of his head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tYoichi!\n\n Hearing his name, the boy puts down the BOOK he was reading and \n stands up, facing the door. He is wearing a white DRESS SHIRT with \n a brown sweater-type VEST over it. He sees Asakawa, his mother, \n run in the door. She is panting lightly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tSorry Im late. Oh, youve already \n\t\tchanged.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\n</b>\t\tYup. \n\n He points over to his mothers right.\n\n\t\t\t\tYOICHI (contd)\n\t\tI got your clothes out for you.\n\n Asakawa turns to see a DARK SUIT hanging from one of the living \n room shelves. She reaches out, takes it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tAargh, weve gotta hurry!\n\n She runs into the next room to change.\n\n<b> INT. BEDROOM DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa has changed into all-black FUNERAL ATTIRE. Her hair is \n up, and she is fastening the clasp to a pearl NECKLACE. Yoichi is \n still in the living room.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tDid grandpa call?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tNope.\n\n Yoichi walks into the room and faces his mother.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tWhy did Tomo-chan die? *\n\n\n >* -chan is a suffix in Japanese that denotes closeness or affection. \n >It is most often used for young girls, though it can also be used for \n >boys.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWell... it looks like she was really, \n\t\treally sick.\n\n She takes a seat on the bed.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWill you do me up?\n\n Yoichi fastens the rear button of his mothers dress and zips her up. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tYou can die even if youre young?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIf its something serious... well, yes.\n\n Asakawa turns to face her son, puts an arm around him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tAs hard as it is for us, what your \n\t\tauntie and uncle are going through \n\t\tright now is even harder, so lets \n\t\tnot talk about this over there, OK?\n\n Yoichi nods.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t\t(remembering)\n\t\tYou and her used to play a lot \n\t\ttogether, didnt you?\n\n Yoichi says nothing.\n\n<b> EXT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - NIGHT \n</b>\n RED PAPER LANTERNS mark this place as the site of a wake. Several \n GIRLS in high school uniforms are standing together and talking in \n groups. Asakawa and Yoichi, walking hand in hand, enter the house.\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - NIGHT \n</b>\n There are many PEOPLE milling about, speaking softly. A MAN seated \n at a counter is taking monetary donations from guests and entering \n their information into a LEDGER. Asakawa and Yoichi continue walking, \n down a hallway.\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - NIGHT \n</b>\n Mother and son halt before the open DOOR to the main wake room, where \n guests may show their respects to the departed. The room is laid in \n traditional Japanese-style tatami, a kind of woven straw mat that \n serves as a carpet. Two GUESTS, their shoes off, are kneeling upon \n zabuton cushions. \n\n Kneeling opposite the guests is KOUICHI, Asakawas father. The two \n guests are bowing deeply, and Kouichi bows in response.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tDad.\n\n Kouichi turns to see her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\n</b>\t\tAh!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHow is sis holding up?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\n</b>\t\tShes resting inside right now. \n\t\tShes shaken up pretty badly, you \n\t\tknow. Its best she just take \n\t\tthings easy for a while.\n\n Asakawa nods.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIll go check on auntie and them, \n\t\tthen.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\n</b>\t\tOK. Ah, Yoichi. Why dont you sit \n\t\there for a little while?\n\n He grabs the young boy and seats him on a cushion next to the two guests. \n As the guests resume their conversation with Asakawas father, Yoichis \n eyes wander to the ALTAR at the front of the room set up to honor the \n deceased. It is made of wood, and surrounded by candles, flowers, and \n small paper lanterns. At the center is a PICTURE of the deceased, a \n teenage girl. A small wooden PLAQUE reads her name: Tomoko Ouishi. It \n is the same Tomoko from the first scene.\n\n Yoichi continues to stare at Tomokos picture. He makes a peculiar \n gesture as he does so, rubbing his index finger in small circles just \n between his eyes.\n\n<b> INT. HALLWAY NIGHT\n</b>\n Asakawa walks down the hallway, looking for her aunt. She walks until \n finding the open doorway to the kitchen. There are a few people in \n there, preparing busily. Asakawa sees her AUNT, who rushes into the \n hallway to meet her, holds her fast by the arm. The aunt speaks in a \n fierce, quick whisper.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tAUNT\t\t\n</b>\t\tHave you heard anything more about \n\t\tTomo-chans death?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tNo, I...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tAUNT\t\t\n</b>\t\tBut the police have already finished \n\t\ttheir autopsy!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWell, they said there was no sign of \n\t\tfoul play.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tAUNT\t\n</b>\t\t\t(shaking her head) \n\t\tThat was no normal death. They havent \n\t\tonce opened the casket to let us see\n\t\tthe body. Dont you think thats \n\t\tstrange?\n<b> \n</b> Asakawa looks away, thinking.\n\n<b> INT. HALLWAY NIGHT\n</b>\n Yoichi has wandered off by himself. He stops at the foot of the \n steps, looking up-- and catches a glimpse of a pair of BARE FEET \n running up to the second floor. \n\n A guarded expression on his face, Yoichi walks slowly up the \n stairs. \n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - TOMOKOS BEDROOM - NIGHT \n</b>\n Yoichi has wandered into Tomokos bedroom. The lights are all off, \n and there is an eerie feel to it. Yoichis eyes wander about the \n room, finally coming to rest on the TELEVISION SET. Suddenly, he \n hears his mothers voice from behind him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKWAWA (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tYoichi?\n\n Yoichi turns to face her as she approaches, puts an arm around him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWhat are you doing up here? You\n\t\tshouldnt just walk into other \n\t\tpeoples rooms.\n\n Without replying, Yoichis gaze slowly returns to the television \n set. Asakawa holds him by the shoulders, turning him to meet \n her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tYou go on downstairs, OK?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b><b>\t\tOK.\n</b>\n He turns to leave, and Asakawa follows.\n\n<b> INT. OUSHI HOUSEHOLD - TOP OF THE STAIRS NIGHT\n</b>\n Just as Yoichi and Asakawa are about to descend the steps, \n Asakawas CELL PHONE rings. She opens the clasp to her PURSE.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(to Yoichi) \n\t\tYou go on ahead.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b><b>\t\tK.\n</b>\n He walks down the steps. Asakawa brings out her cell phone, \n answers it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tHello?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\t\n</b>\t\tUh... this is Okazaki. Ive got \n\t\tsome more info on that article for\n\t\tyou. The girl was a student of \n\t\tthe uh, Seikei School for Women in \n\t\tYokahama City.\n\n Asakawa blinks at this, looks disturbed.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(softly) \n\t\tThanks.\n\n She hangs up the phone.\n\n<b> EXT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - NIGHT \n</b>\n Asakawa stands now at the entrance of the house. Dazedly, she \n walks toward a large, hand-painted PLACARD. The placard reads \n that the wake is being held for a student of the Seikei School \n for Women. \n\n Asakawa stares at that placard, making the mental connections. \n She turns abruptly, walks towards a nearby TRIO of HIGH SCHOOL \n<b> GIRLS.\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tExcuse me. This is, um, kind of a\n\t\tstrange question, but by any chance \n\t\twere you friends of that young girl\n\t\tthat died in the car as well?\n\n The three girls turn their faces to the ground.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tPlease. If you know anything...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL RIGHT\t\n</b>\t\tThey all died the same day. Youko. \n\t\tTomoko. Even Iwata, he was in a\n\t\tmotorcycle accident.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL LEFT\t\n</b>\t\tBecause they watched the video.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tVideo?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL LEFT\t\n</b>\t\tThats what Youko said. They all\n\t\twatched some weird video, and \n\t\tafter that their phone rang.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tTomoko-chan watched it, too? \n\t\tWhere?\n\n Girl Left shakes her head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL LEFT\t\n</b>\t\tShe just said they all stayed \n\t\tsomewhere.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL RIGHT\t\n</b>\t\tThere was a girl with Tomoko when \n\t\tshe died. Shes had to be \n\t\thospitalized for shock.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL MIDDLE\n</b>\t\tThey say she wont go anywhere \n\t\tnear a television.\n\n\n<b> INT. NEWS STATION - VIEWING BOOTH DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa and YOSHINO, another news reporter, are watching scenes \n from the Yokohama car death. In the footage there are lots of \n POLICEMEN milling about, one of them trying to pick the door to \n the passenger side. Yoshino is giving Asakawa the blow-by-blow.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOSHINO\n</b>\t\tThe bodies of those found were \n\t\tTsuji Youko, age 17, a student of \n\t\tthe Seikei School for Women, and \n\t\tNomi Takehiko, age 19, preparatory \n\t\tschool student. Both their doors \n\t\twere securely locked.\n\n Onscreen, the policeman has finally picked the lock. The door opens, \n and a girls BODY halffalls out, head facing upwards. Yoshino flicks \n a BUTTON on the control panel, scans the footage frame by frame. He \n stops when he gets a good close-up of the victim. \n\n Her face is twisted into an insane rictus of fear, mouth open, eyes \n wide and glassy. Yoshino and Asakawa lean back in their seats.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOSHINO\n</b>\t\tThis is the first time Ive -ever- \n\t\tseen something like this.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tCause of death?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOSHINO\n</b>\t\tCouldnt say, aside from sudden \n\t\theart failure.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tDrugs?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOSHINO\t\n</b>\t\tThe autopsy came up negative.\n\n\n Yoshino takes the video off pause. Onscreen, a policeman has caught \n the young girls body from completely falling out, and is pushing it \n back into the car. As the body moves into an upright position, we \n can see that the girls PANTIES are mid-way around her left thigh.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOSHINO\n</b>\t\tThese two, about to go at it, \n\t\tsuddenly up and die for no \n\t\tapparent reason. \n\n He sighs.\n\n\t\t\t\tYOSHINO (contd)\n\t\tDo -you- get it?\n\n\n<b> EXT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - DAY \n</b>\n Asakawas CAR is already halted before a modest-sized, two-story HOUSE \n with a small covered parkway for a garage. She gets out of her car, \n closes the door. She stares at the house, unmoving.\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD KITCHEN - DAY \n</b>\n Asakawa stands before her SISTER RYOMI, who is seated at the kitchen \n TABLE. Ryomi is staring blankly away, making no sign of acknowledging \n her sister. The silence continues unabated, and Asakawa, pensive, \n wanders idly into the adjoining dining room. She takes a long look at \n the television, the same television that had puzzled Tomoko by suddenly \n switching itself on, sitting darkly in one corner. Her reflection in \n the screen looks stretched, distorted.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYOMI\t(O.S.) \n</b>\t\tThey tell me that Yoichi came to \n\t\tthe funeral, too. \n\n Asakawa steps back into the kitchen. She addresses her sister, who \n continues to stare out at nothing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tMmm-hmm.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYOMI\n</b>\t\tThey used to play a lot together, didnt they? Upstairs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tYeah...\n\n Ryomi lapses back into a silence. Asakawa waits for her to say more, \n but when it is clear that nothing else is forthcoming, she quietly gives \n up and exits the kitchen.\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD STAIRCASE - DAY \n</b>\n Asakawa climbs the steps to the second floor. She makes her way down \n the hall.\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - TOMOKOS ROOM - DAY \n</b>\n As if intruding, Asakawa walks slowly, cautiously into Tomokos room. \n The window to the room is open, and a single piece of folded white PAPER \n on Tomokos desk flutters in the breeze. Asakawa walks towards it, picks \n it up. It is a RECEIPT from a photo shop. The developed photos have yet \n to be claimed. \n\n Asakawa senses something, spins to look over her shoulder. Her sister \n has crept quietly up the stairs and down the hall, and stands now in the \n doorway to Tomokos room. She appears not to notice what Asakawa has in \n her hands, as her gaze has already shifted to the sliding closet door. \n She regards it almost druggedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYOMI\n</b>\t\t\t(haltingly) \n\t\tThis... this is where Tomoko died.\n\n<b> FLASHBACK\n</b><b>\t\t\t\tRYOMI (O.S.)\n</b>\t\tTomoko!\n\n Ryomis hands fling aside the CLOSET DOOR. Within, she finds the pale \n blue CARCASS of her daughter, curled up into an unnatural fetal position. \n Tomokos mouth yawns gaping, her eyes glassy and rolled up into the back \n of her head. Her hands are caught in her hair, as if trying to pull it \n out by the roots. It is a horrific scene, one that says Tomoko died as \n if from some unspeakable fear.\n\n<b> PRESENT\n</b>\n Ryomi sinks to her knees, hitting the wooden floor hard. She puts her \n face into her hands and begins sobbing loudly. Asakawa says nothing.\n\n<b> EXT. CAMERA SHOP DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa leaves the camera shop clutching Tomokos unclaimed PHOTOS. She \n walks out onto the sidewalk and begins flipping through them. We see \n Tomoko standing arm-in-arm with Iwata, her secret boyfriend. Tomoko and \n her friends eating lunch. The camera had its date-and-time function \n enabled, and the photos are marked\n\n<b> 97 8 29.\n</b>\n The next shot is of Tomoko, Iwata, and another young couple posing in \n front of a SIGN for a bed and breakfast. The sign reads:\n\n<b> IZU PACIFIC LAND\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tIzu...\n\n Asakawa continues looking through the photos, various shots of the \n four friends clowning around in their room. Suddenly she comes to a \n shot taken the next day, at check out. The friends are lined up, arms \n linked-- and all four of their faces are blurred, distorted as if \n someone had taken an eraser to them and tried to rub them out of \n existence.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT KITCHEN - DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa wears an APRON, and is frying something up on the STOVE. Yoichi \n stands watching.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tLook, Im probably going to be late\n\t\tcoming home tonight, so just stick \n\t\tyour dinner in the microwave when \n\t\tyoure ready to eat, OK?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tK... Mom?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tHmm?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tTomo-chan watched some cursed video!\n\n\n Asakawa leaves the food on the stove, runs over to Yoichi and grabs him \n by the shoulders. She shakes him roughly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWhat did you say? You are not to \n\t\tspeak of this at school, do you \n\t\thear me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\t\t(utterly unfazed) \n\t\tI wont. Im going to school now.\n\n Yoichi walks off. Asakawa goes back to the stove, but stops after only \n a few stirs, staring off and thinking.\n\n Caption-- September 13th. Monday.\n\n<b> EXT. ROAD DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa drives her car speedily along a narrow country road, LEAVES \n blowing up in her wake.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS CAR - DAY \n</b>\n Asakawa mutters to herself, deep in thought.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tTheres no way...\n\n<b> EXT. COUNTRY ROAD DAY\n</b>\n Asakawas car drives past a sign reading:\n\n<b>\tIZU PACIFIC LAND\n</b>\n<b> EXT. IZU PACIFIC LAND - DRIVEWAY DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa has left her car and is walking around the driveway of what is \n less a bed and breakfast and more like a series of cabin-style rental \n<b> COTTAGES. \n</b>\n She wanders about for a while, trying to get her bearings. She pauses \n now in front of a particular cottage and reaches into her PURSE. She \n withdraws the PICTURE from the photomat, the one that showed Tomoko and \n her friends with their faces all blurred. The four are posing in front \n of their cottage, marked in the photograph as B4. Asakawa lowers the \n photo to regard the cottage before her.\n\n<b> B4\n</b>\n She walks to the door, turns the handle experimentally. Its open. \n Asakawa walks in.\n\n<b> INT. PACIFIC LAND - COTTAGE B4 DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa lets her eyes wander around the cottage. It looks very modern, \n all wood paneling and spacious comfort. \n\n Her eyes rest on the TV/VCR setup at the front of the room. Crouching \n before the VCR now, she presses the eject button. Nothing happens. \n She fingers the inside of the deck, finds it empty, then reaches behind \n to the rear of the VCR, searching. Again, there is nothing. Asakawa \n presses the power button on the television, picks up the REMOTE, and \n takes a seat on the SOFA. She runs through a few channels but theyre \n all talk shows, no clues whatsoever. She flicks the TV off and leans \n back in the sofa, sighing.\n\n Just then, she spies a LEDGER on the coffee table. These things are \n sometimes left in hotels in Japan, so that guests can write a few \n comments about their stay for others to read. Asakawa picks the \n ledger up, begins thumbing through it. She stops at a strange PICTURE\n obviously drawn by a child, that shows three rotund, almost entirely \n round personages. She reads the handwritten MESSAGE.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\"My dad is fat. My mom is fat. \n\t\tThats why Im fat, too.\"\n\n She smiles in spite of herself. \n\n Asakawa flips through the rest of the ledger, but theres nothing else \n of any import. \n\n She tosses it back onto the coffee table and, sighing again, leans into \n the sofa and closes her eyes.\n\n<b> EXT. OUTDOOR CAF - DUSK \n</b>\n Asakawa eats silently, alone.\n\n<b> INT. PACIFIC LAND - FRONT RECEPTION - NIGHT \n</b>\n Asakawa has returned to the bed and breakfast. As she walks in the \n door, the COUNTER CLERK rises out of his chair to greet her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCLERK\n</b>\t\tRoom for one?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tUm, actually Im here on business.\n\n She passes the clerk a picture of Tomoko and her three other friends. \n He stares at it for a moment.\n\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tThey would have stayed here on \n\t\tAugust 29th, all four of them. \n\t\tIf theres any information you \n\t\tmight have...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCLERK\n</b>\t\tUh, hang on just a minute. \n\n The clerk turns his back to her, begins leafing through a guest log.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCLERK\t\n</b>\t\t\t(to himself) \n\t\tAugust 29th...\n\n While she waits, Asakawas eyes start to wander around the room. \n Behind the desk is a sign reading Rental Video, and a large wooden \n BOOKSHELF filled with VIDEOTAPES. They are all in their original boxes, \n and she lets her eyes glance over the titles. Raiders of the Lost Ark, \n 48 Hours--\n\n --and then, suddenly, she spies a VIDEOTAPE in a plain, unmarked \n sleeve, tucked away in the back of the very bottom shelf. She feels \n the hairs on the back of her neck rise.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tThat...\n\n The clerk looks up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCLERK\n</b>\t\tHmm?\n\n Asakawa stabs a finger excitedly towards the shelf.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tThat! What tape is that?\n\n The clerk reaches out for it, grabs it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCLERK\t\n</b>\t\tThis? Hmm...\n\n The clerk pulls the tape out of its SLEEVE and checks for a label. \n Its unmarked.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCLERK\n</b>\t\tMaybe one of the guests left it behind\n\n<b> INT. PACIFIC LAND COTTAGE B4 - NIGHT \n</b>\n Asakawa flips on the TV. Its on channel 2, and there is nothing but \n static. She kneels down to slide the tape into the deck and pauses a \n moment, framed in the vaguely spectral LIGHT from the television \n screen. Steeling her nerves, she puts the tape into the machine, picks \n up the remote, and presses play.\n\n\n NOTE: This next scene is entirely visual. If you are reading this \n translation before watching the movie, do yourself a favor; STOP \n reading this now and watch the scene for itself. Afterwards, you can \n come back here to check the meaning of the Japanese characters \n displayed.\n\n\n<b> THE VIDEOTAPE\n</b>\n At first it looks like nothing has happened-- then Asakawa realizes that \n she is now viewing recorded static instead of broadcast static. She \n watches, waiting, but the static continues unbroken. Asakawa looks \n down at the remote, is about to press fast forward, when suddenly the \n picture on the screen clears and for a moment she thinks shes looking \n at the moon.\n\n Its not the moon at all, she realizes. The shape is round like a full \n moon, but it seems to be made up of thin RIBBONS of cloud streaking \n against a night sky. And theres a FACE, she sees, a face hidden in \n shadows, looking down from above. \n\n What is this?\n\n The scene changes now, and Asakawa notes that the tape has that kind of \n grainy quality one sees in 3rd or 4th generation copies. The scene is of \n a WOMAN brushing her long hair before an oval-shaped MIRROR. The nerve-\n wracking grating as if of some giant metallic insect sounds in the \n background, but the lady doesnt seem to notice. The mirror the lady is \n using to brush her hair suddenly changes position from the left part of \n the wall before which she stands, to the right. Almost instantly the \n mirror returns to its original position, but in that one moment in its \n changed location we see a small FIGURE in a white GOWN. The woman turns \n towards where that figure stood, and smiles.\n\n The screen next becomes a twitching, undulating impenetrable sea of the \n kanji characters used in the Japanese language. Asakawa can pick out \n only two things recognizable:\n\n local volcanic eruption\n\n Now the screen is awash in PEOPLE-- crawling, scrabbling, shambling \n masses, some of them moving in reverse. A sound like moaning accompanies \n them.\n<b> -\n</b>\n A FIGURE stands upon a shore, its face shrouded. It points accusingly, \n not towards the screen, but at something unseen off to one side. The \n insect-like screeching sounds louder. \n<b> --\n</b>\n Close up on inhuman, alien-looking EYE. Inside that eye a single \n character is reflected in reverse: SADA, meaning \"chastity.\"\n\n The eye blinks once, twice. The symbol remains.\n<b> ---\n</b>\n A long shot of an outdoor, uncovered WELL.\n<b> ----\n</b>\n Sudden loud, blinding STATIC as the tape ends.\n\n Asakawa turns the TV off, looking physically drained. She sighs shakily \n and slumps forward, resting on her knees. Just then, she glances at the \n television screen. She sees, reflected, a small FIGURE in a white gown \n standing at the rear of the room. Shocked, Asakawa draws in breath, \n spins around.\n\n The room is empty. Asakawa runs to the sofa to collect her jacket--\n\n --and the RINGING of the telephone stops her dead in her tracks. Zombie-\n like, she walks towards the telephone, picks it up wordlessly. \n\n From the other end comes the same metallic, insectoid SQUEAKING heard on \n the video. Asakawa slams the phone down and glances up at the CLOCK. \n Its about seven minutes after 7 P.M.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(to herself) \n\t\tOne week\n\n Asakawa grabs her coat, pops the tape out of the deck, and runs out the \n door.\n\n<b> EXT. STREET DAY\n</b>\n It is dark and raining heavily. Yoichi, Asakawas son, is walking to \n school, UMBRELLA firmly in hand. The sidewalk is quite narrow, and Yoichi \n comes to a halt when a second PERSON comes from the opposite direction, \n blocking his way. Yoichi slowly raises his umbrella, peers up to look at \n this other pedestrian. It is a MAN, a BAG slung over one shoulder. He \n has a beard; unusual for Japan where clean-shaven is the norm. \n\n The two continue looking directly at each other, neither moving nor \n speaking. Yoichi then walks around the persons left and continues on his\n way. The man resumes walking as well.\n\n Caption-- September 14th. Tuesday.\n\n<b> EXT. OUTSIDE AN APARTMENT DOOR - DAY \n</b>\n The bearded man, whose name is RYUJI, reaches out to press the DOORBELL, \n but the door has already opened from within. Asakawa leans out, holding \n the door open for him. Neither of them speaks. Wordlessly, Ryuji enters \n the apartment.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT - DAY \n</b>\n Ryuji puts his bag down, looks around the apartment. The interior is dark, \n ominous somehow. He takes his JACKET off and wanders into the living room. \n Asakawa is in the kitchen behind him, preparing TEA. Ryuji spies the \n collection of FRAMED PHOTOGRAPHS in living room.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tYoichis in elementary school \n\t\talready, is he?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tHis first year. What about you, \n\t\tRyuji? How have you been \n\t\trecently?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tSame as always.\n\n She takes a seat next to him, serves the tea. On the coffee table \n before them is a VIDEOTAPE in a plain, unmarked case.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tAnd money is...?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tIm teaching at university.\n\n Ryuji picks up his cup of tea but stops, grimacing, before it is to his \n lips. He rubs his forehead as if experiencing a sudden headache. Ryuji \n shakes it off and quickly regains his composure.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tAnyway. You said that the phone rang?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tThats right.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tSo if I watch it too, that phone over \n\t\tthere--\n\n He gestures with his mug \n\n\t\t\t\tRYUJI (contd)\n\t\t--should ring.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tRyuji, four people have already \n\t\tdied. On the same day!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(flippant) \n\t\tWell, why dont you try calling \n\t\tan exorcist?\n\n He takes a sip of his tea. Asakawa reaches quickly, grabs something \n from the bookshelf behind her-- a POLAROID CAMERA. She shoves it \n into Ryujis hands, then turns to look down at the floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tTake my picture.\n\n Ryuji raises the camera to his eye.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tTurn this way.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(unmoving) \n\t\tHurry up and take it.\n\n Ryuji snaps off a shot. It comes out the other end and he takes it, \n waits impatiently for an image to appear. When it does, all he can \n do is pass it wordlessly over to Asakawa. Her face is twisted, \n misshapen. \n\n Just like the picture of Tomoko and her friends.\n\n Asakawa stares at it, horrified. By the time she finally looks up, \n Ryuji has already risen from his seat and slid the videotape into the \n VCR. Again, the screen is filled with static, only to be replaced \n with what looks like the moon. Asakawa slams the Polaroid on the \n coffee table and goes outside onto the veranda. \n\n<b> EXT. VERANDA - DAY \n</b>\n Asakawa stares out at a view of the houses shaded in cloud and rain. \n There is a knock on the glass door behind her. A moment later, \n Ryuji slides the door open.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tIts over.\n\n Asakawa re-enters her apartment.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - DAY\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tWell, it looks like your phones not \n\t\tringing.\n\n Ryuji pops the tape from the deck, hands it to Asakawa.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tMake me a copy of this, will you? \n\t\tId like to do a little research\n\t\tof my own. Theres no reason to \n\t\twrite us off as dead just yet. \n\n He dramatically takes a seat.\n\n\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t(contd)\n\t\tIf theres a video, that means that \n\t\tsomebody had to make it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tTheres the guest list from the \n\t\tcottage to look into... and the \n\t\tpossibility of someone hacking \n\t\tinto the local stations broadcast \n\t\tsignals.\n\n Asakawa pulls a NOTEPAD from her purse and begins busily scribbling \n away.\n\n\n<b> INT. NEWS STATION - DAY \n</b>\n Okazaki putters around.\n\n Caption- September 15th. Tuesday.\n\n<b> INT. NEWS STATION - VIEWING BOOTH DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa sits by herself, reviewing the videotape. She is replaying \n the very last scene, an outdoor shot of a well. She stares at it \n carefully, and notices...\n\n The tape ends, filling the screen with static. A split-second \n afterwards, there is a KNOCK on the door and Okazaki enters, holding \n a FILE. Asakawa momentarily forgets about the video.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\t\n</b>\t\t\t(handing her the file)\n\t\tHeres that guest list you wanted.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tOh, thanks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\t\n</b>\t\tWhat are you gonna do with this?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tUh... sorry, Im working on \n\t\tsomething personal.\n\n<b> EXT. IN FRONT OF A TRAIN STATION - DAY \n</b>\n Some quick shots of a FOUNTAIN gushing water, PIGEONS flapping away \n looking agitated. CUT to Ryuji sitting on a BENCH. Hes deep in \n thought, writing in a NOTEPAD. There are multitudes of PEOPLE about \n him, and we can hear the sounds of their coming and going. A PAIR \n OF LEGS attached to a woman in white dress, hose, and pumps appears, \n heading directly for Ryuji. Her pace is slow, rhythmical, and as \n that pace progresses all other sounds FADE into the background, so \n that all we can hear is the CLOMP, CLOMP as those legs walk to stand \n just before Ryuji. The pumps are scuffed, dirtied with grime. \n\n A gust of WIND rips by. Ryuji fights the urge to look up as in his \n ears rings the same hollowed, multi-voiced BABBLING heard on the \n videotape. The sound grows stronger.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI (VO)\n</b> \t\tSo, it was you. You did it.\n\n The babbling fades, disappears as slowly the worlds normal \n background sounds return. Ryuji looks up, but the woman in white \n is nowhere to be seen.\n\n<b> EXT. OUTSIDE RYUJIS APARTMENT AFTERNOON\n</b>\n Ryuji rides up on a BICYCLE. He turns the corner towards his \n apartment and finds Asakawa seated on the steps, waiting for him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tHey.\n\n Asakawa notes in his face that something is wrong.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b> \t\tWhat happened to you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(gruffly)\n\t\tNothing.\n\n He enters the building, carrying his bicycle. Asakawa follows.\n\n<b> INT. HALLWAY - AFTERNOON \n</b>\n The two walk down the hallway towards the FRONT DOOR to Ryujis \n apartment. He unlocks the door and they enter.\n\n<b> INT. RYUJIS APARTMENT AFTERNOON\n</b>\n Ryuji and Asakawa enter the living room.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tSo, whatd you come up with?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tI dont think any of the guests on \n\t\tthe list brought the tape with them. \n\t\tI couldnt confirm it face-to-face \n\t\tof course, but even over the phone I \n\t\tgot the feeling they were all being \n\t\tupfront with me.\n\n<b> \t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tHow about the other angle? Pirate \n\t\tsignals or...\n\n Asakawa shakes her head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tTherere no traces of any illegal \n\t\ttelevision signals being broadcast \n\t\taround Izu. \n\n She reaches into her purse, pulls out a large white ENVELOPE.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHeres that copy of the videotape \n\t\tyou wanted.\n\n Ryuji tears the package open. He squats down on the tatami in \n frontof his TV and slides the tape in. Asakawa sits on the \n tatami as well, but positions herself away from the TV and keeps \n her eyes averted. Ryuji glares over his shoulder at her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(sternly) \n\t\tAsakawa.\n\n She reluctantly scoots closer, looks up at the screen. Ryuji \n fast-forwards the tape a bit, stopping at the scene where the \n woman is brushing her long hair before an oval mirror. He puts \n the video on frame-by-frame. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tHave you ever seen this woman?\n\n Asakawa regards the screen intently.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b> \t\tNo...\n\n The tape advances to the scene where the mirror suddenly changes \n positions. When it does, we can again see the small figure in the \n white gown, a figure with long black hair. When Ryuji sees this \n his body stiffens, becomes tense. Asakawa notices but says nothing. \n She also notices something else.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t\t(excitedly) \n\t\tTheres something strange about \n\t\tthis shot.\n\n She takes the remote from Ryuji, rewinds it a ways. Onscreen, the \n woman begins coming her long hair again.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tFrom this angle, the mirror should \n\t\tbe reflecting whoevers filming.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tSo, what does that mean?\n\n Asakawa lets out a short sigh.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWell, if the person who made this \n\t\tis a pro, thered be a way around \n\t\tthat, I guess, but still...\n\n The screen changes, showing the mass of squiggling kanji characters \n again.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\t\t(reading) \n\t\tVolcanic eruption... Eruption where?\n\n He pauses the screen, trying to make sense of what is written.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tThis is gonna be impossible to figure \n\t\tout on just a regular TV screen, \n\t\tdont you think?\n\n They are both still staring at the screen when from behind them comes \n the SOUND of someone opening the front door. Ryuji turns off the TV, \n ejects the tape from the deck.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tCome on in.\n\n Asakawa flashes a look at Ryuji and then turns her head back towards \n the front door to see who has entered. A cute, nervous-looking young \n GIRL with short hair approaches slowly. She is carrying a PLASTIC BAG \n filled with groceries.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tAsakawa, meet my student, Takano Mai.\n\n He turns, addresses Mai.\n\n\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t(contd)\t\n\t\tThis is Asakawa, my ex-wife.\n\n Ryuji gets up and walks conveniently away.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAI\t\t\n</b>\t\tNice to meet you. Im Takano.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tAsakawa. *\n\n\n > * As you may already be aware, Japanese name order is the \n >opposite of Englishs, and even close friends may continue to\n >address one another by their last names. Incidentally, Asakawas\n >first name is Reiko. In this scene, Mai deferentially refers\n >to Ryuji as sensei, meaning teacher.\n\n\n Mai sets the bag of groceries down and chases after Ryuji. He is \n putting on his jacket and getting ready to leave.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAI\t\n</b>\t\tSensei, the people from the \n\t\tpublishing company called about \n\t\tthe deadline on your thesis again. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\t\t(brusquely) \n\t\tWhatre they talkin to you \n\t\tabout it for?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAI\t\t\n</b>\t\tBecause they can never get a \n\t\thold of you.\n\n Ryuji picks up his keys, video firmly in hand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tAsk them to wait another week.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAI\t\t\n</b>\t\tSensei, ask them yourself, \n\t\tplease.\n\n Ryuji is already headed for the door. His back is to her as he \n responds.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b><b>\t\tOK, OK.\n</b>\n Asakawa walks after him. They leave.\n\n Mai pouts unhappily a bit, and then breaks into a smile as an idea \n crosses her mind. She walks across the room to where Ryuji has set \n up a large BLACKBOARD filled with mathematical equations. Grinning, \n Mai rubs out part of one equation with her sleeve and writes in a \n new value.\n\n<b> INT. NEWS STATION HALLWAY - NIGHT \n</b>\n Asakawa and Ryuji stride purposefully. They stop before a DOOR to \n the right, which Asakawa unlocks. They both walk in.\n\n<b> INT. NEWS STATION - VIEWING BOOTH - NIGHT \n</b>\n Asakawa and Ryuji sit in a completely darkened room, their eyes \n glued to the television MONITOR. They are again watching the scene \n with the fragmented kanji characters, but despite their efforts have \n been able to identify only one additional word, bringing the total \n to three:\n\n\tvolcanic eruption\t local\t residents\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tThis is impossible.\n\n Ryuji fast forwards, stopping at the scene with the kanji reflected\n inside an alien-looking EYE. He reads the kanji aloud. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tSada... \n\n Ryuji moves to make a note of this, notices the time.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tIs Yoichi gonna be all right?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(sadly) \n\t\tHes used to it...\n\n Short silence. Ryuji breaks it by gesturing towards the screen. \n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tWhoever made this had to have left \n\t\tsome kind of clue behind. Theyre \n\t\tprobably waiting for us to find it.\n\n Asakawa turns a DIAL to bring up the volume, which up until now has \n been on mute. The room is filled with an eerie, metallic GRATING, \n and Asakawa spins the dial again, shutting it off. Just as she does, \n Ryujis eyes widen.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tWait a minute.\n\n He turns the dial again, punches a few buttons as if searching for \n something. He listens carefully, and when he hears that strange \n something again he stops, looks at the screen.\n\n It is paused at the scene with the figure, pointing, a CLOTH draped \n over its head. The figure now looks oddly like a messenger.\n\n Ryuji and Asakawa exchange glances. This could be it. Ryuji flips \n some more switches, setting the sound for super-slow mo. What follows \n is a strange, labored sort of speech- a hidden message-- framed in \n the skittering distortion of the tape in slow motion. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTAPE\t\n</b>\t\tShoooomonnn bakkkkkarrri toou... \n\t\tboooouuuukonn ga kuuru zouuu...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\t\t(repeating) \n\t\tShoumon bakkari, boukon ga kuru \n\t\tzo. Did you hear that, too?\n\n Asakawa nods. Ryuji is already writing it down excitedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWhat does that mean?\n\n Ryuji tears the sheet of paper off the notepad, folds it, and tucks \n it into his shirt pocket.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tIm gonna check it out.\n\n<b> EXT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT COMPLEX - MORNING \n</b>\n Yoichi is walking to school. He looks back over his shoulder, just \n once,then resumes walking.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT - MORNING\n</b>\n All the lights are turned off, and she is sitting on the living room \n couch watching the footage of her caf interview with the junior high \n school girls. \n\n Caption-- September 16th. Thursday.\n\n Just when the girl in the interview mentions that whomever watches \n the video is supposed to afterwards receive a phone call, Asakawas \n own phone RINGS, startling her. She runs to answer it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tHello?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI (O.S.)\n</b>\t\tIve got it. Its a dialect, just \n\t\tlike I thought. SHOUMON means \n\t\tplaying in the water and BOUKON\n \t\tmeans monster. *\n\n\n >* Translated from standard Japanese, the phrase from the videotape \n >would initially have sounded like, \"If only SHOUMON then the \n >BOUKON will come.\" These two capitalized words, later identified to \n >be dialectical, were at the time completely incomprehensible to Ryuji \n >and Asakawa. Dialect can vary dramatically from region to region in \n >Japan, to the point of speakers of different dialect being unable to\n >understand one another. \n\n >The phrase on the tape can now be rendered, \"If you keep playing in \n >the water, the monster will come for you.\"\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tBut, dialect from where?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tOshima. And the site of our \n\t\teruption is Mt. Mihara.\n\n<b> INT. LIBRARY - NIGHT \n</b>\n Ryuji and Asakawa are seated at cubicles, looking through bound \n ARCHIVES of old newspaper articles. Asakawa sneaks a look at Ryuji, \n stands up and walks off a little ways. She has already pulled out her \n cell phone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(whispering, on phone) \n\t\tYoichi? Im gonna be a little \n\t\tlate tonight, honey. \n\n Ryuji looks over his shoulder at her, scowls.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tYou can do it yourself, right? OK. \n\t\tSorry. Bye.\n\n She hangs up, returns to her seat at the cubicle. She resumes her \n scanning of the newspaper articles, and Ryuji shoots her another scowl. \n Asakawa turns a page and then stops, frowning. She has spied an article \n that looks like...\n\n Nervously, Asakawa puts the thumb and forefinger of each hand together, \n forming the shape of a rectangle. Or a screen. She places the rectangle\n over the article she has just discovered, its headlines reading:\n\n Mount Mihara Erupts \tLocal Residents Urged to Take Precautions\n\n Ryuji notices her, leans forward excitedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tIve got it! This old article...\n\n The two scan the remainder of the page, and find a smaller, related \n article.\t\n\n Did Local Girl Predict Eruption?\n A young lady from Sashikiji prefecture...\n\n The two read over both articles, absorbing the details. Ryuji stands \n suddenly, gathering his things.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tWhat are you doing?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tHas your newspaper got someone out \n\t\tthere at Oshima?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tI think so. There should be a \n\t\tcorrespondent out there.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tI need you to find out, and let me \n\t\tknow how to get hold of him.\n\t\tTonight.\n\n He begins walking briskly away. Asakawa chases after him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWhat do you think youre--?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\t\t(angrily) \n\t\tYouve only got four days left, \n\t\tAsakawa! Your newspaper contact \n\t\tand I can handle this from here \n\t\ton out. You just stay with Yoichi.\n\n Ryuji strides off. Asakawa stands motionless.\n\n<b> EXT. COUNTRY ROAD - DAY \n</b>\n A car speeds along. CUT to a gravel DRIVEWAY leading up to a wooden, \n traditional-style HOUSE. Kouichi, Asakawas father, is standing before \n the entrance and puttering around in his GARDEN. The car from the \n previous shot drives up, comes to a halt. The passenger door opens and \n Yoichi hops out, running towards the old man. Asakawa walks leisurely \n after her son.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tGrandpa!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\t\n</b>\t\tWhoa, there! So, you made it, huh?\n\n Caption-- September 17th. Friday.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tYoichi says hes looking forward to \n\t\tdoing some fishing with you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\t\n</b>\t\tIs that so?\n\n Yoichi begins tugging excitedly at his grandfathers arm.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tCmon grandpa, lets go!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\t\n</b>\t\tOK, OK. Well get our things \n\t\ttogether and then we can go.\n\n\n<b> EXT. RIVER DAY \n</b>\n Asakawa stands on a RIVERBANK while her father and Yoichi, GUMBOOTS on, \n are ankle-deep in a shallow river. Yoichi holds a small NET, and \n Asakawas dad is pointing and chattering excitedly. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\n</b>\t\tThere he is! Cmon, there he is, \n\t\tdont let him go!\n\n Yoichi tries to scoop up the fish his grandfather is pointing out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\n</b>\t\tOh, oh! Ah... guess he got away, \n\t\thuh?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tThat was your fault, grandpa.\n\n Asakawas father laughs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\t\n</b>\t\tWell, whaddya say we try again?\n\n He begins sloshing noisily out to the center of the stream, Yoichi in \n tow.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\n</b>\t\tWell get im this time.\n\n Asakawa looks away, pensive.\n\n<b> INT. KOUICHIS HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT \n</b>\n Yoichi is passed out asleep on the tatami mats. A TELEVISION looms \n inone corner of the living room, but it is switched off. The \n SLIDING DOORS to the adjacent guest room are open and we can see \n futons set out, ready for bed.\n\n Asakawa enters the living room and, seeing Yoichi, scoops him up in\n her arms and carries him over to the guest room.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\n</b>\t\t\t(sleepily) \n\t\tHow was work, mommy?\n\n Asakawa tucks him into the futons and walks silently off.\n\n<b> INT. KOUICHIS HOUSE - STAIRCASE NIGHT \n</b>\n Asakawa stands at the foot of the staircase, telephone RECEIVER in \n hand. The phone rests on a small STAND by the staircase.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tHello?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI (O.S.)\n</b>\t\tYeah. Your Oshima contact came \n\t\tthrough. It looks like the woman \n\t\twho predicted the Mihara eruption \n\t\tis the same woman from the video.\n\n<b> INT. RYUJIS APARTMENT NIGHT\n</b>\n Ryuji is crouched in front of the TV, REMOTE in hand. The screen is \n paused on the scene of the woman brushing her long hair.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tHer name is Yamamura Shizuko. She \n\t\tcommitted suicide forty years ago \n\t\tby throwing herself into Mt. Mihara.\n\n<b> INT. KOUJIS HOUSE STAIRCASE - NIGHT \n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHave you got anything else?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tIm gonna have to check it for \n\t\tmyself. Ill be leaving for \n\t\tOshima tomorrow morning.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tOshima? Ive only got three days \n\t\tleft!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI (O.S.)\n</b>\t\tI know. And Ive got four.\n\n Short silence.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI (O.S.)\n</b>\t\tIll be in touch.\n\n Ryuji hangs up. Asakawa, deep in thought, slowly places the phone \n back in its CRADLE. She turns around to walk back down the hallway \n only to find her father standing there, face full of concern.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUJI\n</b>\t\tWhats happened?\n\n Asakawa shakes her head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tNothing. I just had some things \n\t\tleft over from work.\n\n She walks past her father, who glances worriedly after her over his \n shoulder.\n\n<b> INT. KOUJIS HOUSE - GUEST ROOM NIGHT\n</b>\n The lights are all off and Asakawa is asleep in her futon. Her eyes \n suddenly fly open as a VOICE sounding eerily like her deceased niece \n Tomoko calls out to her.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tAuntie?\n\n Asakawa looks around the room, gets her bearings. Her eyes fall on \n the futon next to hers.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tYoichi?\n\n There is a BODY in that futon, but it is full-grown, dressed all in \n black. It is curled into a fetal position and has its head turned \n away.\n\n Suddenly, the IMAGE from the video of the figure with its face \n shrouded springs to Asakawas mind. Just an instant, its pointing \n visage materializes, and then disappears. It reappears a moment \n later, pointing more insistently now, and disappears again. \n\n Asakawa blinks her eyes and realizes that the futon next to hers is \n empty. Yoichi is nowhere to be seen.\n\n Just then, she hears that high-pitched, metallic SQUEAKING from the \n video. Eyes wide with horror, she flings the sliding doors apart--\n --and there, seated before the television, is Yoichi.\n\n He is watching the video.\n\n It is already at the very last scene, the shot of the outdoor well. \n CLOSEUP on the screen now, and for just an instant we can see that \n something is trying to claw its way out of the well. The video cuts \n off, and the screen fills with static. \n\n Shrieking, Asakawa races over to Yoichi, covers his eyes though it is \n already too late. She scoots over to the VCR, ejects the tape and \n stares at it uncomprehendingly. She is then at Yoichis side again, \n shaking him roughly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tYoichi! You brought this with you, \n\t\tdidnt you? Why?!?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tTomo-chan...\n\n Asakawa freezes, her eyes wide.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tTomo-chan told me to watch it.\n\n<b> EXT. OCEAN DAY\n</b><b> \n</b> WAVES are being kicked up by a large PASSENGER SHIP as it speeds on \n its way. CUT to Asakawa and Ryuji standing on deck, looking out over \n the waves.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tI shouldve been more careful. \n\t\tWhen I was at your place that \n\t\tday, I could feel something \n\t\tthere. I thought it was just \n\t\tbecause of the video... \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tYou mean that Tomoko\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tThats not Tomoko. Not anymore.\n\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tYoichi... he can see them too, \n\t\tcant he?\n\n Ryuji nods his head, lowers it sadly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tIts all my fault. First Tomoko \n\t\tdied, then those three others. It \n\t\tshould have stopped there, but it \n\t\tdidnt. Because of me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tI wonder...\n\n Asakawa turns to Ryuji suddenly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHow did the rumors about the \n\t\tvideo even start in the first \n\t\tplace?\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tThis kind of thing... it doesnt \n\t\tstart by one person telling a \n\t\tstory. Its more like everyones \n\t\tfear just takes on a life of its \n\t\town.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tFear...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tOr maybe its not fear at all. \n\t\tMaybe its what we were \n\t\tsecretly hoping for all along.\n\n<b> EXT. PORT DAY \n</b>\n The ship has docked, its GANGPLANK extended. Ryuji and Asakawa walk \n the length of the gangplank towards the shore. A man named MR. \n HAYATSU is already waiting for them. He holds up a white SIGNBOARD \n in both hands.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tMr. Hayatsu?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\t\n</b>\t\tAah, welcome! You must be tired \n\t\tafter your long trip. Please, \n\t\tthis way.\n\n Mr. Hayatsu leads Asakawa and Ryuji to an awaiting minivan.\n\n Caption-- September 18th. Saturday.\n\n<b> INT. HAYATSUS MINIVAN - DAY \n</b>\n Ryuji and Asakawa sit in the back. Mr. Hayatsu is behind the wheel, \n chattering away.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\t\n</b>\t\tBack in the old days, the Yamamuras\n\t\tused to head fishing boats out in \n\t\tSashikiji, though they dont much \n\t\tanymore. You know, one of Shizukos \n\t\tcousins is still alive. Hes just an \n\t\told man now. His son and his \n\t\tdaughter-in-law run an old-fashioned \n\t\tinn. I went ahead and booked \n\t\treservations for yall, hope thats \n\t\talright...\n\n Asakawa gives the briefest of nods in reply, after which the \n minivan lapses into silence. Asakawa looks dreamily out at the \n mountain-studded landscape, then suddenly snaps to.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t\t(to Ryuji) \n\t\tWhy did Yamamura Shizuko commit \n\t\tsuicide?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tShe was taking a real beating \n\t\tin the press, being called a \n\t\tfraud and all sorts of names. \n\t\tAfter a while she just lost it. \n\n CUT to a scene of the minivan speeding along a country road.\n\n<b> INT. HAYATSUS MINIVAN DAY \n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tShizuko was getting a lot of \n\t\tattention around the island after\n\t\tpredicting the eruption of Mt. \n\t\tMihara. Seems that for some time \n\t\tshed had a rather unique ability:\n\t\tprecognition. It was around then\n\t\tthat she attracted the attention \n\t\tof a certain scholar whom you may \n\t\thave heard of; Ikuma Heihachiro. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHe was driven out of the university, \n\t\twasnt he?\n\n Ryuji nods.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tThis Professor Ikuma convinces \n\t\tShizuko to go to Tokyo with him, \n\t\twhere he uses her in a series of \n\t\tdemonstrations meant to prove the \n\t\texistence of ESP. At first shes \n\t\tthe darling of the press, but the \n\t\tnext thing you know theyre \n\t\tknocking her down, calling her a \n\t\tfraud. Hmph. Forty years later,\n\t\tthe media still hasnt changed that\n\t\tmuch.\n\n Asakawa continues, ignoring Ryujis barb.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIve heard this story. But... Im \n\t\tsure I remember hearing that somebody \n\t\tdied at one of those demonstrations.\n\n A strange look crosses Ryujis face. He looks away, ignores her \n for a moment.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tAfter getting kicked out of \n\t\tuniversity, Ikuma just vanished, \n\t\tand no ones been able to get hold \n\t\tof him since. Hes probably not \n\t\teven alive anymore.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tBut, why even try looking for him?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tBecause hes supposed to have had a \n\t\tchild with Shizuko. A daughter.\n\n Asakawa freezes. In her mind, she sees a small FIGURE dressed in \n white, its face hidden by long, black HAIR. It is the figure from \n the video.\n\n<b> EXT. OUTSIDE YAMAMURA VILLA - DAY \n</b>\n Mr. Hayatsu leads Asakawa and Ryuji to the entrance.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\t\n</b>\t\tHello?\n\n The INKEEPER, a middle-aged lady named KAZUE wearing a traditional \n KIMONO, comes shuffling up. She addresses Mr. Hayatsu.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\t\n</b>\t\tThank you.\n\n She turns to Asakawa and Ryuji.\n\n\t\t\t\tKAZUE (contd)\n\t\tWelcome.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\n</b>\t\tWell, Ill be off then.\n\n He gives a little bow and is off. Kazue, meanwhile, has produced \n two pairs of SLIPPERS, which she offers to Ryuji and Asakawa.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\n</b>\t\tPlease.\n\n Ryuji and Asakawa begin removing their shoes. \n\n<b> INT. YAMAMURA VILLA STAIRCASE - DAY \n</b>\n Kazue leads Ryuji and Asakawa up a shadowed, wooden STAIRCASE.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\n</b>\t\tAnd for your rooms, how shall we...? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tSeparate, please.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\n</b>\t\tSir.\n\n<b> INT. YAMAMURA VILLA - 2ND FLOOR DAY\n</b>\n Kazue gives a little bow.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\n</b>\t\tThis way.\n\n Kazue turns to the right. Almost immediately after reaching the \n top of the steps, however, a strange look crosses Ryujis face. \n He heads down the opposite end of the corridor, Asakawa close \n behind.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\n</b>\t\t\t(alarmed) \n\t\tSir!\n\n Ryuji flings open the SLIDING DOOR to one of the older rooms. There, \n hanging from one of the walls, is the oval-shaped MIRROR from the \n video, the one used by the mysterious lady to brush her long hair. \n Ryuji stares at the mirror, almost wincing. He turns around as if \n to look at Asakawa,but continues turning, looks past her. Asakawa \n follows his gaze, as does Kazue. Standing at the end of the corridor \n is an old man, MR. YAMAMURA. \n\n Yamamura regards them silently, balefully. Breaking the silence, \n Kazue gestures for Asakawa and Ryuji to follow.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\n</b>\t\t\t(softly) \n\t\tPlease, this way.\n\n Asakawa races past the innkeeper towards the old man. He keeps his \n back turned towards her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tPlease! If you could just answer \n\t\ta few questions, about Shizuko...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\n</b>\t\tI got nuthin to say.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIts about Shizukos daughter.\n\n The old man says nothing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tShe did have a daughter, didnt she?\n\n Yamamura regards her for a moment, then turns to walk away.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\t\n</b> \t\tYoure wasting your time.\n\n<b> INT. YAMAMURA VILLA - DINING ROOM NIGHT\n</b>\n The TABLE is laid out with an elaborate-looking DINNER. Asakawa \n sits alone, knees curled up to her chin, eyes wide and frightened. \n She is whimpering softly to herself. Just then, the DOOR slides \n open and Ryuji walks in. He sits at the table and picks up a \n pair of CHOPSTICKS.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tArent you gonna eat?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tUmm...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tHm?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tYoull stay with me wont you? \n\t\tWhen its time for me to die.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tOh, stop it.\n\n Asakawa scoots across the tatami mats towards the table, grabs \n Ryuji fiercely by the arm.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tYoull stay, wont you? If you \n\t\tstayed, maybe youd learn something\n\t\tthat could help Yoichi--\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tI said stop it! Have you forgotten \n\t\tThere was a girl with Tomoko when \n\t\tshe died? That girls now in a \n\t\tmental institution. Who knows what \n\t\tcould happen. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tBut you could stay with me, Ryuji. \n\t\tYoud be OK.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(angrily)\n\t\tWhy, because Im already not \n\t\tright in the head?\n\n Asakawa releases her hold on Ryujis arm, lowers her head. Ryuji \n slams his chopsticks down angrily.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tIf thats the case, why not just\n\t\tlet things run its course, get rid\n\t\tof father -and- son? Yoichi was a\n\t\tmistake, anyway.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tStop it!\n\n Short silence. When Ryuji speaks up again, his voice is soft, \n reassuring.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tWe still have two days left...\n\n Just then the VOICE of the innkeeper calls tentatively out from \n the other side of the sliding door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tExcuse me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tCome in.\n\n Kazue slides the door open. She stands hesitantly in the doorway, \n something tucked under one arm.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\t\n</b>\t\tIts about Miss Shizuko. \n\n Ryuji shoots a glance at Asakawa and stands up from the table, \n walks towards the innkeeper.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\t\n</b>\t\tThis is all that there is...\n\n Kazue produces an old black and white PHOTOGRAPH. The photo shows a \n WOMAN, seated, dressed in a KIMONO. A MAN in a Western-style SUIT \n stands beside her. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tIs this Professor Ikuma?\n\n Hearing this Asakawa leaps up, walks over to examine the picture for \n herself.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\n</b>\t\t...yes. This picture is from before \n\t\tId entered the household. \n\n She pauses a moment.\n\n\t\t\t\tKAZUE (contd)\n\t\tI should go now.\n\n The innkeeper scuttles off, leaving Asakawa and Ryuji alone with the \n photograph. Unbidden, the VOICE from the video enters their \n thoughts.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tShoumon bakkari... boukon ga kuru zo...\n\n\n<b> EXT. IZU SEASHORE - DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa watches Ryuji stride down the shore.\n\n Caption-- September 19th. Monday.\n\n Ryuji strolls up to find old man Yamamura sitting alone, staring \n out at the sea. Yamamura glances up to see Ryuji approaching. \n Ryuji takes a seat next to the old man, but its Yamamura who speaks \n first. The deep basso of his voice emphasizes the drawl of his \n accent.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\t\n</b>\t\tYalld do best to be off soon. \n\t\tSeas probably gonna be rough \n\t\ttonight.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tWhat kind of a child was Shizuko?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA \n</b>\t\tShizuko was... different. Shed come \n\t\tout here by herself everday an just\n\t\tstare out at the ocean. The fishermen \n\t\tall took a dislikin to her. Oceans \n\t\tan unlucky place for us, ysee: every \n\t\tyear it swallows up more of our own. \n\t\tYou keep starin out at somethin \n\t\tike that... \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b> \t\tShoumon bakkari shiteru to, boukon ga \n\t\tkuru zo. If you keep playing in the \n\t\twater, the monster will come for you.\n\n Yamamura looks at Ryuji, surprised. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tShizuko could see inside people, \n\t\tcouldnt she? Down to the places \n\t\ttheyd most like to keep hidden. It \n\t\tmust have been difficult for her...\n\n Yamamura rises unsteadily to his feet, features twisted angrily.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\n</b> \t\tPlease leave! Now!\n\n Ryuji stands, takes hold of Yamamuras arm.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tIve got a little of that ability \n\t\tmyself. It was you who spread the \n\t\tword about Shizuko, wasnt it? \n\t\tAnd you who first contacted \n\t\tProfessor Ikuma?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\t\n</b>\t\tWhatre you--?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tYou thought youd be able to make \n\t\tsome money off her. You even got \n\t\tsome, from one of the newspapers.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\t\t\n</b>\t\tLeave me the hell alone!\n\n Mr. Yamamura strides angrily off. Both Ryuji and Asakawa take \n pursuit, Ryuji calling out from behind Yamamuras back.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tTell us about Shizukos daughter. \n\t\tWho was she?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\t\n</b>\t\tI dont know!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tShe was there, with Shizuko. She \n\t\thad to be.\n\n Yamamuras pace, which has become increasingly erratic, finally \n causes him to stumble and fall. Ryuji comes up behind him, \n grasping him firmly. At their touch Ryujis power awakens, and as \n he peers into the old mans mind there is a sudden blinding\n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n The setting is a large MEETING HALL. A number of people are seated \n in folding chairs before a STAGE, on which are a four MEN in BUSINESS \n SUITS and a WOMAN in a KIMONO. A BANNER hangs above the stage, which \n reads PUBLIC DEMONSTRATION ON THE EXISTENCE OF CLAIRVOYANCE. \n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n Ryuji eyes widen as he realizes he is seeing Shizukos demonstration \n before the press. He also realizes--\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(to Yamamura)\n\t\tYou were there!\n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n YAMAMURA SHIZUKO, the woman in the kimono, is sitting at a TABLE \n onstage. Her face is calm and expressionless. Standing off to one \n side and peering from behind the curtains is a young Mr. Yamamura.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t(O.S.) \n</b>\t\tYou stood there and watched the \n\t\tdemonstration.\n\n CUT back to the beach. Asakawa comes running up toward Ryuji and the \n prone Mr. Yamamura. Suddenly there is another\n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n Asakawa, her eyes wide, finds herself inside the scene, reliving it \n as if she had actually been there. She watches as Shizuko receives \n a sealed clay POT in both hands. Shizuko regards the pot a moment \n and then places it gently on the table before her. She takes a \n calligraphy STYLUS from the table, begins writing on a thin, \n rectangular sheet of RICE PAPER. The members of the press talk \n excitedly, craning their necks for a better look.\n\n Onstage, a JUDGE holds up the phrase written by Shizuko and the \n folded sheet of paper taken from the sealed pot. The phrase on both \n sheets is identical.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJUDGE\t\t\n</b>\t\tMatch.\n\n Cameras begin FLASHING excitedly. Shizukos features melt into a soft \n smile. \n\n The experiment is performed again, and again the phrase written by \n Shizuko corresponds to the sealed sheet of paper.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJUDGE\n</b>\t\tMatch.\n\n Again and again, Shizuko unerringly demonstrates her power to see \n the unseen. Finally, a bearded REPORTER explodes from his chair, \n begins striding angrily towards the stage.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tREPORTER\t\n</b>\t\tFaker! This is nothing but trickery, \n\t\tand the lowest form of trickery at \n\t\tthat. \n\n The reporter stops at the foot of the stage, points his finger \n accusingly at Shizuko.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tREPORTER\t\n</b>\t\tWhat are you trying to pull, woman?\n\n A SECOND REPORTER sitting in the front row also rises to his feet.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tREPORTER #2\t\n</b>\t\tThats right! Professor Ikuma, \n\t\tyoure being fooled!\n\n By now most of the press has risen from their chairs, pointing and \n shouting angrily. Onstage, Shizuko backs away, eyes wide and \n frightened. She covers both ears, trying to block out the increasing \n din. Professor Ikuma holds her protectively by the shoulders. The \n first reporter is still shouting angrily, his voice rising above the \n others. Suddenly, a pained look crosses his face and he collapses to \n the floor. The crowd, and Asakawa as well, see that the reporters \n face is contorted into a grotesque mask of fear.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tREPORTER #3\t\n</b>\t\tWhats happened?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tREPORTER #4\t\n</b>\t\tHes dead!\n\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tREPORTER #5\t\n</b>\t\t\t(to Shizuko) \n\t\tWitch!\n\n Professor Ikuma begins leading Shizuko offstage. They stop as someone \n unseen steps up, blocking their passage. Shizukos eyes widen, her \n head shaking in disbelief.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSHIZUKO\n</b>\t\tSadako? Was it you?\n\n CUT to Ryuji on the beach. He looks up excitedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tSadako?!\n\n He recalls the image from the video, the alien eye with the single \n character SADA reflected in reverse. *\n\n\n >* The majority of girls' names in Japanese end in either -mi (\"beauty\") \n >or -ko (\"child\"). Thus, Sadako means \"Chaste child.\" Sadako is, of \n >course, the mysterious daughter of Shizuko and Professor Ikuma.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tSadako killed him? She can kill \n\t\tjust with a thought?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\t\n</b>\t\tShes... a devil spawn.\n\n CUT back to the demonstration hall. Sadako, her face completely hidden \n by her long hair, runs offstage... and heads directly for Asakawa. \n Asakawa instinctively raises her arm, and Sadako grasps it fiercely. \n All the nails on Sadako hand are stripped away; her fingers are raw, \n bloody stumps.\n\n CUT back to the beach. Asakawa, still caught in the throes of the \n vision, has begun to swoon. Finally her legs give out and she crumples \n to the beach. Ryuji grabs hold of her supportively. He glances down at \n her wrist, sees an ugly, purple BRUISE already beginning to form. \n\n The bruise is in the shape of five long, spindly fingers.\n\n Mr. Yamamura slowly rises to a sitting position, and together the three \n watch the approach of ominous, dark STORM CLOUDS.\n\n<b> INT. MR. HAYATSUS HOUSE DUSK\n</b>\n Asakawa is on the phone, her voice almost frantic.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tThats right. After Yamamura Shizuko \n\t\tcommitted suicide, Professor Ikuma\n\t\ttook the daughter and ran. No, no one\n\t\tknows where they went. Thats why I \n\t\tneed -you- to find out where they are. \n\t\tEven if the professors dead, Sadako \n\t\tshould still be in her forties. Ill \n\t\texplain it all later, but right now \n\t\tjust hurry!\n\n Asakawa slams the phone down. PAN to show Ryuji slumped in one corner \n of the room, his back to the wall.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tSadakos probably already dead. She\n\t\tcould kill people with just a thought, \n\t\tremember? Her mother wasnt even \n\t\tclose to that.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(flustered) \n\t\tWell, what about that video? If \n\t\tSadakos dead then who made it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tNobody made it. It wasnt made at \n\t\tall. That video... is the pure, \n\t\tphysical manifestation of Sadakos \n\t\thatred.\n\n Ryuji turns to regard Asakawa, his eyes blank.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tWeve been cursed.\n\n There is a moment of silence before Mr. Hayatsu slides the door open, \n almost falling into the room. He is out of breath, and speaks rapidly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\t\n</b>\t\tIts no good. With the typhoon \n\t\tcoming in, all ships are \n\t\ttemporarily staying docked.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tWhat about the fishing boats? \n\t\tTell their captains Ill pay.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\n</b>\t\tFishing boats? Sir, without knowing \n\t\twhether this typhoon is going to hit \n\t\tus or not, I think itd be better to \n\t\twait and see how things turn--\n\n Ryuji interrupts him, slamming both palms on the table. Glasses \n rattle wildly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tFine! Ill try searching myself!\n\n Ryuji stands and races past Mr. Hayatsu out into the rain. Hayatsu \n takes pursuit, calling after him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\t\n</b>\t\tMr. Takayama!? Mr. Takayama...\n\n Asakawa, left alone, stares down at the tatami mats.\n\n<b> EXT. OCEAN - NIGHT \n</b>\n White-capped waves roll angrily in a black sea.\n\n<b> INT. MR. HAYATSUS HOUSE NIGHT\n</b>\n Asakawa sits at a table, alone, her hands clasped as if in prayer. Her \n eyes are wide and glassy. The phone RINGS suddenly and Asakawa dives \n for it, wrenching it from the cradle before it can ring a second time.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tHello?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tMrs. Asakawa? Im sorry. I tried, \n\t\tbut I couldnt come up with any \n\t\tleads at all.\n\n A look of abject fear crosses Asakawas face. She begins retreating \n into herself.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tHello?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t\t(softly) \n\t\tThank you...\n\n Asakawa slowly places the phone back in its cradle. Almost immediately, \n her face begins to crumple. She falls to her knees, sobbing into the \n floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tYoichi...\n\n She cries a while longer but suddenly stops. Her face, eyes streaked \n with tears, shoots suddenly up, stares directly at the telephone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t \n</b>\t\t\t(softly) \n\t\tIzu...\n\n<b> EXT. IZU WHARF NIGHT\n</b>\n Asakawa stands looking down on the wharf, scanning. \n\n Several FISHING BOATS are docked. The wind whips her hair crazily \n around. She continues scanning, and suddenly she spies--\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(calling) \n\t\tRyuji!\n\n Asakawa runs down onto the wharf, heading towards Ryuji. He is \n in mid-conversation with Mr. Hayatsu.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tRyuji! The phone in my apartment \n\t\tnever rang! It only ever rang at\n\t\tthe rental cottage! Professor \n\t\tIkuma mustve...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tAnd weve got no way of going back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\t\n</b>\t\tIts too dangerous! The thought of \n\t\tanybody going out in this weather...\n\n The three fall into silence as they realize the powerlessness of their \n situation. Suddenly, a deep VOICE booms from behind them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tIll take you out.\n\n The three spin around to see Mr. Yamamura, his ROBES flapping in the \n gusty night air. He begins walking towards them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\t\n</b>\t\tSadako is callin yall, reckon. \n\t\tMayhap to drag you down under the \n\t\twater.\n\n Short silence. Ryuji shoots a short questioning glance at Asakawa, \n turns back to face Mr. Yamamura.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tPlease. Take us out.\n\n\n\n<b> EXT. OCEAN NIGHT\n</b>\n A tiny FISHING BOAT is tossed about on the waves. Mr. Yamamura stands \n at the wheel, his face expressionless.\n\n<b> INT. MR. YAMAMURAS FISHING BOAT NIGHT\n</b>\n Ryuji and Asakawa are crouched close together in the cabin. Asakawas \n expression is dreamy, faraway.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIts funny. Im not afraid at all. \n\n Ryuji leans over, rubs her hand comfortingly. Suddenly he switches \n back into analytical mode.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tSadako probably died back out there\n\t\tat Izu, before the rental cottages \n\t\twere ever built.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tSo, Sadako was Professor Ikumas \n\t\tdaughter?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(nodding) \n\t\tIkuma smuggled her out in secret. \n\t\tHis relationship with Shizuko was \n\t\talready a scandal, and one of the \n\t\treasons he got drummed out of the \n\t\tuniversity... Weve gotta find \n\t\tSadakos body.\n\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t\t(excitedly) \n\t\tIs that going to break the curse? \n\t\tWill Yoichi be all right?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tIts all weve got left to try.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tJust one more day...\n\n Ryuji puts his arm around Asakawa.\n\n<b> EXT. MR. YAMAMURAS FISHING BOAT - DAWN \n</b>\n Ryuji stands on deck, looking out over the water. He heads down \n below toward the captains area. Mr. Yamamura is at the wheel.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tWe made it. Maybe Sadako doesnt \n\t\thave it out for us after all.\n\n Long pause as Mr. Yamamura says nothing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\n</b>\t\tShizuko... she used to -speak- to \n\t\tthe ocean, just ramble away. One \n\t\ttime I hid, listenin to one of her \n\t\tconversations.\n\n Mr. Yamamura pauses again.\n\n\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA (contd)\t\n\t\tAnd it werent in no human language.\n\n\n<b> EXT. MR. YAMAMURAS FISHING BOAT DAWN\n</b>\n Asakawa has climbed out on deck and is looking up towards the sunrise.\n\n Caption-- September 20th. Monday.\n\n<b> EXT. HARDWARE STORE DAY\n</b>\n Ryuji races out of the store, loaded down with supplies. He holds a \n pair of BUCKETS in one hand and a CROWBAR and SHOVEL in the other. A \n length of ROPE is coiled over his left shoulder. He runs towards a \n RENTAL CAR, passing by Asakawa who stands at a PAYPHONE, receiver in \n hand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tHello?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tYoichi? Its mommy. I just called \n\t\tto say Ill be coming home tomorrow.\n\n Ryuji shoots a look at her over his shoulder.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tIm tired of it here, mom! I wanna\n\t\tgo back to school.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling) \n\t\tYoichi, its rude to your grandpa \n\t\tto talk like that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tHes laughing. You wanna talk to him?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tNo, thats...\n\n Asakawa pauses, her voice hitching. She seems about to lose \n her composure.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tIm sorry, Yoichi. Ill... Ill \n\t\tsee you tomorrow. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI (O.S.)\t\n</b>\t\tWhats wrong?\n\n Asakawas face scrunches up in an effort to hold back tears.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tMommys got something she has to do. \n\t\tSay hello to grandpa for me, OK?\n\n Ryuji stands by the car, scowling over at Asakawa. He shuts the DOOR \n just short of a slam. CUT to Asakawa hanging up the phone. She half-\n runs towards the rental car and enters the passenger side, staring \n blankly into space. Ryuji slides into the drivers seat, buckles his \n<b> SEATBELT. \n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tWhat time was it when you first \n\t\twatched the video?\n\n Asakawa glances at her watch.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tSeven or eight minutes past \n\t\tseven. PM. No more than ten \n\t\tminutes past.\n<b> \t\t\n</b><b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tIf the rumors are true, that \n\t\ttime is gonna be our deadline.\n\n Asakawa buckles up as Ryuji steps on the gas.\n\n<b> INT. RENTAL CAR DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa sits in the passenger side. Her face is almost angelic, \n with the faintest hint of a smile. Ryuji shoots a questioning look \n at her.\n\n<b> EXT. COUNTRY ROAD DAY\n</b>\n The white rental car tears past the SIGN reading Izu Pacific Land. \n The car continues into the LOT, screeching around corners before \n coming to an abrupt halt. Asakawa, her face still oddly expressionless, \n gets out of the passenger side. Ryuji exits as well, the hint of a \n shudder running through him as he regards the series of rental cabins.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\t-Here-.\n\n CUT to Asakawa and Ryuji walking up the gravel PATH towards the rental \n cabins. Ryuji looks back over his shoulder as both he and Asakawa stop \n before cabin B4. The cabin is on STILTS, its underbelly fenced off by \n wooden LATICEWORK. Ryuji drops most of his supplies to the ground, but \n keeps hold of the PICK. He raises the pick over one shoulder and begins \n smashing away at the latticework. When he has cleared enough space for \n passage, he begins picking up supplies and tossing them hastily within. \n When finished, he holds a hand out for Asakawa. The two enter the \n earthen basement.\n\n\n<b> UNDER COTTAGE B4 - DAY \n</b>\n Ryuji pulls a FLASHLIGHT out, flicks it on. The BEAM arcs outwards, \n illuminating what looks more like an old mine shaft than a modern \n rental cottage. The beam halts when it suddenly encounters an old \n STONE WELL. The well is badly chipped on one side, and sealed off \n with a solid-looking stone LID. Ryuji rushes quickly towards it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tI knew it! The well.\n\n He squats down beside the well, setting the flashlight on the \n lid. Asakawa sinks slowly down beside him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tThe well...\n\n Ryuji reaches out and takes Asakawas hand. He sets their enclasped \n hands onto the lid, and together they begin lightly tracing the \n surface of the lid with their free hands. Asakawa closes her eyes in \n concentration... and suddenly, as with the incident on the beach, \n Asakawa finds herself drawn into Ryujis psychometric VISION.\n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n The picture is black and white, grainy like old film. A YOUNG GIRL in \n a WHITE GOWN walks slowly towards an open well. She places her hand on \n the LIP of the well, peers curiously down. \n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n Asakawa looks up, her eyes wide open.\n\n<b> FLASH\n</b><b> \n</b> There is now a second person in the vision, an ELDERLY MAN in an old-\n fashioned tweed SUIT standing behind the young girl. He suddenly \n produces some BLADED OBJECT, and strikes the girl savagely across the \n back of the head. \n\n The girl falls forward. The man drops to the ground, grabbing the girl \n behind the knees and hoisting her limp BODY over the lip and into the \n well. The body falls into its depths.\n\n Panting heavily, the man leans forward and grasps the lip of the well \n with both hands, looking down. He flashes a guilty look in either \n direction, checking that his crime has gone unnoticed, and as he does \n so Asakawa realizes that she knows this face. The image from the \n videotape, like a face in the moon: it had been Sadako inside the well, \n looking up to see this man staring back down at her.\n\n This man whose name is Professor Ikuma Heihachiro.\n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHer own father!\n\n The energy seems to drain out of Asakawa in a rush, and her body \n crumbles. Ryuji catches hold of her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tIt was Ikuma who put this lid on. \n\t\tAnd Sadakos still inside.\n\n Ryuji stands quickly, takes hold of the crowbar. He inserts it under \n the lid and begins trying to pry it off, face scrunched with effort. \n Asakawa digs her fingers in and lends her own strength as well. Slowly,\n the lid begins to move. Ryuji tosses the crowbar aside and the two \n lean the combined weight of their bodies into it. The lid slides off, \n dropping to the earth with a dull THUD. Ryuji sits to one side, winded \n with effort, as Asakawa takes hold of the flashlight. She shines it \n down into the well, but it only seems to intensify the gloom. What \n WATER she can see looks fetid and brackish. Ryuji sees her expression \n and begins removing his JACKET.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tIll go.\n\n He walks off, leaving Asakawa alone.\n\n CUT to an overhead shot of the well. A ROPE is fastened to one side, \n and Ryuji has already begun lowering himself down. His eyes wander \n overthe grime-smeared WALLS, and with a shudder he begins to pick out \n human FINGERNAILS. Torn loose and spattered with blood, countless \n fingernails line the sides of the well. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b> \t\tSadako was alive! Shed tried to \n\t\tclimb her way out.\n\n Ryujis face twists into a grimace as if momentarily experiencing \n Sadakosterrible agony. He waits a moment longer before edging his \n way down the rope again, finally SPLASHING to rest at the bottom of \n the well. He holds his flashlight above the brackish water, calls up \n to Asakawa.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tLower the buckets!\n\n Asakawa nods and lowers two plastic BUCKETS fastened to a rope. Ryuji \n grabs one and scoops up a bucketful of water, tugging on the rope when \n finished.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tTake it up!\n\n Asakawa hoists the bucket up to the rim of the well. She walks a small \n distance and tosses the contents out onto the ground. She happens to \n glance through the wooden lattice to the outside, and with a start \n realizes that the sun has already started to set. A nervous glance at \n her WATCH later and she is back at the well, lowering the empty bucket \n to find another full one already awaiting her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tTake it up!\n\n In the well, Ryuji glances at his watch. He looks at it for a long \n moment, the expression on his face saying Were not going to make it. \n Time passes as Asakawa pulls up bucketload after bucketload, her \n strength beginning to fade. She half-stumbles, glances up... and is \n shocked to realize that NIGHT has fallen.\n\n CUT to Asakawa slowly pulling up yet another bucket, her strength \n almost gone. She looks at her watch and sees that it is now past \n 6:00. She calls frantically down to Ryuji.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIts already six!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(explosively) \n\t\tI know! Hurry up and TAKE IT UP!!\n\n The bucket slowly jerks into motion. Asakawa pulls it up to the rim \n of the well, holds it unsteadily. She takes one faltering step and \n falls, spilling the buckets contents onto the ground. \n\n CUT to Ryuji in the well, standing ready with another bucketful.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b> \t\tTake it up!\n\n Nothing happens. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tAsakawa!\n\n The bucket begins moving, even slower than before. CUT to Asakawa, \n her body trembling with effort. By now its all she can do to simply \n keep her body moving. She glances behind her, sees through the wooden \n lattice that it is now pitch black. A look of resignation crosses her \n face and she releases her hold on the bucket, her body crumpling and \n falling in on itself. \n<b> \n</b> CUT to the bucket splashing back into the well, narrowly missing \n Ryuji.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\t\t(fuming) \n\t\tWhat the hell are you doing? Trying \n\t\tto get me killed?\n\n CUT back to Asakawa, her face dead. Ryuji calls out from the well.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tHey!\n\n Asakawa falls backward onto the ground, arms splayed. CUT to the rim \n of the well. Ryuji pulls himself up over the rim, catches sight of \n Asakawa.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tAsakawa!\n\n She lifts her head up but says nothing as Ryuji walks over to her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tWell change. Youre in no condition \n\t\tto keep this up.\n\n Asakawa suddenly springs into life. Her voice is frantic, fearful.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA:\t\n</b>\t\tNo!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tWho do you expect to pull up these \n\t\tbuckets, then?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tBut, we dont even know if its doing \n\t\tany good...\n\n Ryuji strides forward and slaps Asakawa painfully across the cheek. \n He begins shaking her roughly for good measure.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tAnd what about Yoichi, huh? Is his\n\t\tmother not coming to pick him up \n\t\tafter all?\n\n He releases his hold on her. The two stare at each other a long time, \n saying nothing.\n<b> \n</b> CUT to an overhead shot of Asakawa being lowered into the well. CUT \n now to Asakawa inside the well, her face and clothes covered with \n grime, body simultaneously limp with exhaustion and tense with fright. \n Unable to resist the impulse, Asakawa slowly looks over her shoulder \n and down into the well. The dankness, the claustrophobia seeps in \n and she draws in her breath in the first signs of panic.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tDont look down!\n\n She returns her gaze, cranes her neck upward. CUT to Ryuji leaning \n over the rim of the well, peering down at her. For an instant, \n everything becomes monochrome. Its not Ryuji looking down at her at \n all; its Professor Ikuma, checking to see if shes still alive or \n if the blow to the back of her head has finished her off. CUT to \n Asakawa, her eyes wide with fright.\n\n Asakawa comes to rest at the bottom of the well. A FLASHLIGHT hangs \n from another rope, but its beam has almost no effect on the darkness. \n Asakawa crouches forward, hands moving searchingly through the water. \n She calls out pleadingly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tWhere are you? Please, come out.\n\n Asakawa straightens, unties herself from the rope. A full bucket \n already awaits. She tugs on the rope and Ryuji pulls it up. \n\n She scoops up a second bucket, but something stops her from sending \n it up. Instead, she begins running her arms through the water again, \n her voice close to tears.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tPlease. Where are you?\n\n Asakawa continues her blind fumbling, which sends up little splashes \n of stagnant water. With a start, she realizes that her fingers have \n caught something. Seaweed? Asakawa draws her hands close for a \n better look... and sees that is HAIR. A thick clump of long, black \n hair.\n\n Suddenly a pale, thin ARM shoots out from beneath the water, catching \n Asakawa just below the wrist. Asakawas ears are filled with a SOUND \n like moaning as something slowly rises from its watery slumber. It \n is a GIRL, her face completely hidden by long, black hair. CUT to a \n shot of Asakawas face. Far from being frightened, her features are \n oddly placid. She regards the fearsome thing before her with an \n almost tender look. Asakawa reaches out, lightly strokes that long \n hair. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIts you...\n\n She strokes the hair again, and abruptly it peels right off the head \n with a loud SQUELCH. Revealed is not a face at all but a SKULL. Its \n sockets are at first menacingly empty, but then begin to ooze the \n green SLUDGE it has pulled up from the bottom of the well. Like a \n mother comforting a frightened child, Asakawa pulls the skeletal \n remains to her breast, strokes the bony head comfortingly. Her eyes \n begin to glaze.\n\n CUT to Ryuji racing up to the rim of the well, leaning down intently.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tHey! Asakawa! Its already 10 \n\t\tminutes past seven! We did it!\n\n Down in the well, Asakawa continues staring blankly ahead. Her body \n suddenly falls forward, limp.\n\n<b> EXT. OUTSIDE COTTAGE B4 NIGHT\n</b>\n Three POLICE CARS are parked outside the rental cottages, crimson \n headlights flashing. A few COPS walk by, two of them carrying \n something off in white PLASTIC BAGS. CUT to Ryuji and Asakawa \n sitting on the curb. Asakawa is staring off at something, a BLANKET \n draped over her shoulder. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWhy would Ikuma have killed her? \n\t\tHis own daughter...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tMaybe she wasnt his daughter at all. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tWhat?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tMaybe her father... wasnt even human.\n\n The two exchange glances. Ryujis gaze falls to Asakawas WRIST, \n which he suddenly takes and holds close to his face. The ugly \n bruise where Sadako had grabbed her has disappeared.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tIts gone... \n\n He shakes his head, clearing his analytical mind of their ordeal.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tEnough, already. Its over. Cmon. \n\t\tIll take you home.\n\n Ryuji stands, pulls Asakawa to her feet.\n\n<b> EXT. OUTSIDE ASKAWAS APARTMENT - NIGHT \n</b>\n Ryujis white CAR pulls up into the parking lot. He and Asakawa \n get out, regard each other from opposite sides of the car. There is \n a long moment where neither of them says anything.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tGet some rest. \n\n He flashes her the slightest of grins. \n\n\t\t\t\tRYUJI (contd)\n\t\tI still have a thesis to finish. \n\n CUT to a shot of Ryuji and Asakawa, the car creating an almost \n metaphoric distance between them. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t...thank you.\n\n Ryuji nods silently by way of reply. He gets into his car and \n drives off. Asakawa watches him go, and then walks towards the \n entrance of her apartment.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT BEDROOM MORNING\n</b>\n Asakawa walks into her room, sits on the edge of her bed. It is \n now morning, and she sits dazedly watching the sun come up.\n\n<b> INT. RYUJIS APARTMENT MORNING\n</b>\n Ryuji sits busily scribbling into a NOTEBOOK. He stops writing a \n moment to regard his notes while taking a sip of COFFEE. He \n glances over at his BLACKBOARD for confirmation when a small scowl \n crosses his brow. Its gone a moment later as he chuckles wryly \n to himself.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tThat girl...\n\n Ryuji stands, walks over to the blackboard. He fixes Mais little \n prank with a single chalk stroke. \n\n<b> EXT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT VERANDA MORNING\n</b>\n Asakawa emerges, taking in the dawn. At first her face is calm and \n tranquil... but her features change as the sun almost noticeably \n darkens and a WIND begins to kick up her hair. She now looks very \n anxious.\n\n Caption-- September 21st. Tuesday.\n\n\n NOTE: This next scene is entirely visual. If you are reading this \n translation before watching the movie, do yourself a favor; STOP \n reading this now and watch the scene for itself.\n\n\n<b> INT. RYUJIS APARTMENT MORNING\n</b>\n Ryuji is busy scribbling away at his notes again. His hand suddenly \n ceases, eyes dancing worriedly as he hears a faint...\n\n No.\n\n Breath rattling fearfully in his throat, Ryuji spins around to face \n the TELEVISION SET. He gets out of his seat for a better look, \n falling to his knees on the tatami. \n\n The image that fills the screen is the last scene from the videotape; \n the shot of the well. \n\n The SOUND from before comes louder now, more insistent, a metallic \n screeching that both repulses and beckons him closer. Ryuji crawls on \n all fours towards the SCREEN, stares at its unchanging image with \n terrible foreboding.\n\n There is a flash of MOTION as something shoots out of the well. A \n hand. First one, and then another, as Sadako, still in her grimy white \n dress, face hidden beneath long, oily strands of hair, begins slowly \n pulling herself out. The television screen jumps unsteadily, fills \n with static as if barely able to contain her image. \n\n CUT back and forth between Ryuji, who is beginning to visibly panic, \n and the television, which shows Sadako lurching ever closer.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(almost frantic) \n\t\tWhy?!\n\n The TELEPHONE rings, and Ryuji spins round towards it, breath catching \n in his throat. He looks at the phone, over his shoulder at the \n television, back to the phone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tThats it! Asakawa...\n\n Ryuji scrambles wildly towards the phone. He takes the receiver but \n is unable to do more than clutch it fearfully as his gaze is drawn \n inexorably back to the television. Sadakos shrouded face has filled \n the entire screen... and then, television popping and crackling, she \n jerks forward and emerges from the television onto the floor of \n Ryujis apartment. Ryuji backs away, screaming in terror.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tAaargh!\n\n Sadako lies prone, collapsed, hair splayed out like a drowned corpse. \n Only her FINGERS are active, crawling, feeling. The TIPS of her \n fingers are little more than bloodied stumps, not a single fingernail \n on them. She uses the strength in those fingers to pull herself \n forward, coming jerkily to her feet. The joints of her body twist \n unnaturally, more insect-like than human.\n\n Ryuji flings the phone aside and begins scrambling about the apartment \n as if looking for cover. The strength has already begun to fade from \n his body, however, and his movements are clumsy, exaggerated. He falls \n to the floor, panting heavily. \n\n Sadako turns to regard him, and for just an instant we can see beneath \n her impenetrable shroud of hair; a single EYE burns with manic, \n unbridled hatred. \n\n Its gaze meets Ryujis, and his face twists into a grimace as he \n SCREAMS loudly.\n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n<b> EXT. KOUJIS HOUSE - FRONT YARD DAY\n</b>\n Yoichi sits on the lawn, doodling into a large SKETCHPAD. He \n suddenly stops, eyes registering that he has somehow felt his fathers \n death.\n<b> \n</b><b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa clutches the RECEIVER to her ear. She can still hear the \n sounds of metallic SCREECHING coming from the video, though they are \n now becoming softer.\n\n<b> EXT. OUTSIDE RYUJIS APARTMENT BUILDING DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa comes running down a side street, turning the corner and \n making for the entrance to Ryujis apartment building. There is a \n single GUARD posted at the entrance. He reaches out, catches Asakawa \n lightly by the arm.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGUARD\n</b>\t\tAre you a resident here, maam?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIm Takayama Ryujis wife!\n\n The guard drops his hand, and Asakawa makes for the entrance.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGUARD\n</b>\t\tIm sorry maam, but theyve already \n\t\ttaken the body away.\n\n Asakawas spins around, eyes wide. Body?\n\n<b> INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE RYUJIS APARTMENT DAY\n</b>\n Mai is there, slumped against one wall. Asakawa comes running up, \n dropping to her knees and grasping Mai by the shoulders.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tWhat happened?\n\n Mai shakes her head dreamily.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAI\n</b>\t\tWhen I got here he was just \n\t\tlying there...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tDid he say anything to you? About \n\t\ta videotape?\n\n Mai shakes her head again, shakes it harder until the breath \n catches in her throat.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAI\n</b>\t\tHis face...\n\n Mai falls into silence, curls up on herself. Asakawa leaves her \n and crosses toward the door to Ryujis apartment.\n\n<b> INT. RYUJIS APARTMENT - DAY \n</b>\n The front DOOR opens wildly, noisily forward. Asakawa comes \n rushing in, eyes darting about the apartment. She thinks \n frantically to herself.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA (VO)\n</b>\t\tRyuji... why? Does this mean that\n\t\tYoichi will die, too? Is the curse \n\t\tnot broken yet?\n\n Her gaze falls to the television set. She dives forward, presses \n the eject button on the VCR. Sure enough, the TAPE is still in \n the deck. She takes the tape and leaves.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM NIGHT\n</b>\n Asakawa walks slowly, dreamily forward. She drops the videotape \n loudly onto the coffee table and slouches into a CHAIR. Her eyes \n fall to the framed photographs of Yoichi on one of the shelves. \n This snaps Asakawa out of her daze and she begins whispering \n intently to herself, thinking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tI was the only one to break \n\t\tSadakos curse. Ryuji... why...? \n\t\tSomething I did that you didnt... \n\t\tSomething I did that you didnt... \n\n Asakawa gives up, lowers her face into her hands. When she looks \n up again, she happens to glance at the television screen-- and \n its GLARE reveals that there is someone ELSE in the room with her. \n It is the figure from the videotape, the silent accuser with the \n cloth draped over its face. With a start, Asakawa realizes that \n the figure is wearing Ryujis clothes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tRyuji?!\n\n She spins around, but the room is empty. Asakawas mind races. \n The figure had been pointing towards her BAG. She stands, \n rummages in her bag to produce her copy of the cursed videotape. \n She takes Ryujis COPY in her other hand, her eyes darting \n between the two tapes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tSomething I did that you didnt...\n\n It suddenly clicks home as Asakawa looks full-on at Ryujis \n version of the tape, plainly marked COPY.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tWhat broke the curse was that I copied \n\t\tthe tape and showed it to someone else!\n\n CUT to Asakawa slowly pulling her VCR from the television stand. \n A look of almost frightening resolve etches her face.\n\n<b> EXT. HIGHWAY DAY\n</b>\n ARIAL SHOT of Asakawas car. We hear her VOICE on the cell \n phone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA (O.S.)\n</b> \t\tDad? Its me. Im on my way over.\n \t\tLook, dad, Ive got something to ask. \n\t\tIts for Yoichi...\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS CAR DAY\n</b>\n CLOSEUP on the VCR in the passenger side. CUT to Asakawa at the \n wheel as time spirals forward, the decisions of the present \n already become rumor of the future.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL A (VO) \n</b>\t\tThey say theres a way you can stay \n\t\talive after you watch the video. \n\t\tYouve gotta make a copy of it, and \n\t\tshow it to somebody else inside a week.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL B (VO) \n</b>\t\tBut what about the person you show it \n\t\tto?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL A (VO) \n</b>\t\tWell, then they make a copy and show it \n\t\tto somebody else. Again, inside a week.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL C (VO) \n</b>\t\t\t(laughing)\n\t\tThen theres no end to it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL A (VO) \n</b>\t\tThats just it. There -is- no end. But \n\t\tif it meant not dying... youd do it, \n\t\twouldnt you?\n\n Asakawas eyes begin to well. Her car speeds along the highway, \n to the direction of menacing-looking STORM CLOUDS.\n\n Caption-- September 22nd. Wednesday.\n\n\n\n\n FADE TO BLACK as the CAPTION turns blood red."},"answers":{"kind":"list like","value":["Frolic in brine, goblins be thine"],"string":"[\n \"Frolic in brine, goblins be thine\"\n]","isConversational":false},"length":{"kind":"number","value":17495,"string":"17,495"},"dataset":{"kind":"string","value":"narrativeqa"},"language":{"kind":"string","value":"en"},"all_classes":{"kind":"null"},"_id":{"kind":"string","value":"989c68a5afa115a48dd9edac8b946a517fae775b6062b3be"}}},{"rowIdx":1789,"cells":{"input":{"kind":"string","value":"What is La Grande Breteche?"},"context":{"kind":"string","value":"Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny\n\n\n\n\n\nLA GRANDE BRETECHE\n\n(Sequel to \"Another Study of Woman.\")\n\n\nBy Honore De Balzac\n\n\nTranslated by Ellen Marriage and Clara Bell\n\n\n\n\n\nLA GRANDE BRETECHE\n\n\n\"Ah! madame,\" replied the doctor, \"I have some appalling stories in my\ncollection. But each one has its proper hour in a conversation--you know\nthe pretty jest recorded by Chamfort, and said to the Duc de Fronsac:\n'Between your sally and the present moment lie ten bottles of\nchampagne.'\"\n\n\"But it is two in the morning, and the story of Rosina has prepared us,\"\nsaid the mistress of the house.\n\n\"Tell us, Monsieur Bianchon!\" was the cry on every side.\n\nThe obliging doctor bowed, and silence reigned.\n\n\"At about a hundred paces from Vendome, on the banks of the Loir,\" said\nhe, \"stands an old brown house, crowned with very high roofs, and so\ncompletely isolated that there is nothing near it, not even a fetid\ntannery or a squalid tavern, such as are commonly seen outside small\ntowns. In front of this house is a garden down to the river, where the\nbox shrubs, formerly clipped close to edge the walks, now straggle\nat their own will. A few willows, rooted in the stream, have grown\nup quickly like an enclosing fence, and half hide the house. The\nwild plants we call weeds have clothed the bank with their beautiful\nluxuriance. The fruit-trees, neglected for these ten years past,\nno longer bear a crop, and their suckers have formed a thicket. The\nespaliers are like a copse. The paths, once graveled, are overgrown with\npurslane; but, to be accurate there is no trace of a path.\n\n\"Looking down from the hilltop, to which cling the ruins of the old\ncastle of the Dukes of Vendome, the only spot whence the eye can\nsee into this enclosure, we think that at a time, difficult now to\ndetermine, this spot of earth must have been the joy of some country\ngentleman devoted to roses and tulips, in a word, to horticulture, but\nabove all a lover of choice fruit. An arbor is visible, or rather\nthe wreck of an arbor, and under it a table still stands not entirely\ndestroyed by time. At the aspect of this garden that is no more, the\nnegative joys of the peaceful life of the provinces may be divined as we\ndivine the history of a worthy tradesman when we read the epitaph on his\ntomb. To complete the mournful and tender impressions which seize the\nsoul, on one of the walls there is a sundial graced with this homely\nChristian motto, '_Ultimam cogita_.'\n\n\"The roof of this house is dreadfully dilapidated; the outside shutters\nare always closed; the balconies are hung with swallows' nests; the\ndoors are for ever shut. Straggling grasses have outlined the flagstones\nof the steps with green; the ironwork is rusty. Moon and sun, winter,\nsummer, and snow have eaten into the wood, warped the boards, peeled\noff the paint. The dreary silence is broken only by birds and cats,\npolecats, rats, and mice, free to scamper round, and fight, and eat each\nother. An invisible hand has written over it all: 'Mystery.'\n\n\"If, prompted by curiosity, you go to look at this house from the\nstreet, you will see a large gate, with a round-arched top; the children\nhave made many holes in it. I learned later that this door had been\nblocked for ten years. Through these irregular breaches you will see\nthat the side towards the courtyard is in perfect harmony with the side\ntowards the garden. The same ruin prevails. Tufts of weeds outline\nthe paving-stones; the walls are scored by enormous cracks, and the\nblackened coping is laced with a thousand festoons of pellitory. The\nstone steps are disjointed; the bell-cord is rotten; the gutter-spouts\nbroken. What fire from heaven could have fallen there? By what decree\nhas salt been sown on this dwelling? Has God been mocked here? Or was\nFrance betrayed? These are the questions we ask ourselves. Reptiles\ncrawl over it, but give no reply. This empty and deserted house is a\nvast enigma of which the answer is known to none.\n\n\"It was formerly a little domain, held in fief, and is known as La\nGrande Breteche. During my stay at Vendome, where Despleins had left me\nin charge of a rich patient, the sight of this strange dwelling became\none of my keenest pleasures. Was it not far better than a ruin? Certain\nmemories of indisputable authenticity attach themselves to a ruin; but\nthis house, still standing, though being slowly destroyed by an avenging\nhand, contained a secret, an unrevealed thought. At the very least,\nit testified to a caprice. More than once in the evening I boarded the\nhedge, run wild, which surrounded the enclosure. I braved scratches, I\ngot into this ownerless garden, this plot which was no longer public or\nprivate; I lingered there for hours gazing at the disorder. I would not,\nas the price of the story to which this strange scene no doubt was due,\nhave asked a single question of any gossiping native. On that spot I\nwove delightful romances, and abandoned myself to little debauches of\nmelancholy which enchanted me. If I had known the reason--perhaps quite\ncommonplace--of this neglect, I should have lost the unwritten poetry\nwhich intoxicated me. To me this refuge represented the most various\nphases of human life, shadowed by misfortune; sometimes the peace of the\ngraveyard without the dead, who speak in the language of epitaphs; one\nday I saw in it the home of lepers; another, the house of the Atridae;\nbut, above all, I found there provincial life, with its contemplative\nideas, its hour-glass existence. I often wept there, I never laughed.\n\n\"More than once I felt involuntary terrors as I heard overhead the dull\nhum of the wings of some hurrying wood-pigeon. The earth is dank; you\nmust be on the watch for lizards, vipers, and frogs, wandering about\nwith the wild freedom of nature; above all, you must have no fear\nof cold, for in a few moments you feel an icy cloak settle on your\nshoulders, like the Commendatore's hand on Don Giovanni's neck.\n\n\"One evening I felt a shudder; the wind had turned an old rusty\nweathercock, and the creaking sounded like a cry from the house, at\nthe very moment when I was finishing a gloomy drama to account for\nthis monumental embodiment of woe. I returned to my inn, lost in gloomy\nthoughts. When I had supped, the hostess came into my room with an air\nof mystery, and said, 'Monsieur, here is Monsieur Regnault.'\n\n\"'Who is Monsieur Regnault?'\n\n\"'What, sir, do you not know Monsieur Regnault?--Well, that's odd,' said\nshe, leaving the room.\n\n\"On a sudden I saw a man appear, tall, slim, dressed in black, hat\nin hand, who came in like a ram ready to butt his opponent, showing a\nreceding forehead, a small pointed head, and a colorless face of the hue\nof a glass of dirty water. You would have taken him for an usher. The\nstranger wore an old coat, much worn at the seams; but he had a diamond\nin his shirt frill, and gold rings in his ears.\n\n\"'Monsieur,' said I, 'whom have I the honor of addressing?'--He took a\nchair, placed himself in front of my fire, put his hat on my table,\nand answered while he rubbed his hands: 'Dear me, it is very\ncold.--Monsieur, I am Monsieur Regnault.'\n\n\"I was encouraging myself by saying to myself, '_Il bondo cani!_ Seek!'\n\n\"'I am,' he went on, 'notary at Vendome.'\n\n\"'I am delighted to hear it, monsieur,' I exclaimed. 'But I am not in a\nposition to make a will for reasons best known to myself.'\n\n\"'One moment!' said he, holding up his hand as though to gain silence.\n'Allow me, monsieur, allow me! I am informed that you sometimes go to\nwalk in the garden of la Grande Breteche.'\n\n\"'Yes, monsieur.'\n\n\"'One moment!' said he, repeating his gesture. 'That constitutes a\nmisdemeanor. Monsieur, as executor under the will of the late Comtesse\nde Merret, I come in her name to beg you to discontinue the practice.\nOne moment! I am not a Turk, and do not wish to make a crime of it. And\nbesides, you are free to be ignorant of the circumstances which\ncompel me to leave the finest mansion in Vendome to fall into ruin.\nNevertheless, monsieur, you must be a man of education, and you should\nknow that the laws forbid, under heavy penalties, any trespass on\nenclosed property. A hedge is the same as a wall. But, the state in\nwhich the place is left may be an excuse for your curiosity. For my\npart, I should be quite content to make you free to come and go in the\nhouse; but being bound to respect the will of the testatrix, I have\nthe honor, monsieur, to beg that you will go into the garden no more.\nI myself, monsieur, since the will was read, have never set foot in the\nhouse, which, as I had the honor of informing you, is part of the estate\nof the late Madame de Merret. We have done nothing there but verify the\nnumber of doors and windows to assess the taxes I have to pay annually\nout of the funds left for that purpose by the late Madame de Merret. Ah!\nmy dear sir, her will made a great commotion in the town.'\n\n\"The good man paused to blow his nose. I respected his volubility,\nperfectly understanding that the administration of Madame de Merret's\nestate had been the most important event of his life, his reputation,\nhis glory, his Restoration. As I was forced to bid farewell to my\nbeautiful reveries and romances, I was to reject learning the truth on\nofficial authority.\n\n\"'Monsieur,' said I, 'would it be indiscreet if I were to ask you the\nreasons for such eccentricity?'\n\n\"At these words an expression, which revealed all the pleasure which\nmen feel who are accustomed to ride a hobby, overspread the lawyer's\ncountenance. He pulled up the collar of his shirt with an air, took out\nhis snuffbox, opened it, and offered me a pinch; on my refusing, he took\na large one. He was happy! A man who has no hobby does not know all\nthe good to be got out of life. A hobby is the happy medium between a\npassion and a monomania. At this moment I understood the whole bearing\nof Sterne's charming passion, and had a perfect idea of the delight with\nwhich my uncle Toby, encouraged by Trim, bestrode his hobby-horse.\n\n\"'Monsieur,' said Monsieur Regnault, 'I was head-clerk in Monsieur\nRoguin's office, in Paris. A first-rate house, which you may have heard\nmentioned? No! An unfortunate bankruptcy made it famous.--Not having\nmoney enough to purchase a practice in Paris at the price to which they\nwere run up in 1816, I came here and bought my predecessor's business.\nI had relations in Vendome; among others, a wealthy aunt, who allowed\nme to marry her daughter.--Monsieur,' he went on after a little pause,\n'three months after being licensed by the Keeper of the Seals, one\nevening, as I was going to bed--it was before my marriage--I was sent\nfor by Madame la Comtesse de Merret, to her Chateau of Merret. Her maid,\na good girl, who is now a servant in this inn, was waiting at my door\nwith the Countess' own carriage. Ah! one moment! I ought to tell you\nthat Monsieur le Comte de Merret had gone to Paris to die two months\nbefore I came here. He came to a miserable end, flinging himself into\nevery kind of dissipation. You understand?\n\n\"'On the day when he left, Madame la Comtesse had quitted la Grand\nBreteche, having dismantled it. Some people even say that she had\nburnt all the furniture, the hangings--in short, all the chattels and\nfurniture whatever used in furnishing the premises now let by the\nsaid M.--(Dear, what am I saying? I beg your pardon, I thought I was\ndictating a lease.)--In short, that she burnt everything in the meadow\nat Merret. Have you been to Merret, monsieur?--No,' said he, answering\nhimself, 'Ah, it is a very fine place.'\n\n\"'For about three months previously,' he went on, with a jerk of his\nhead, 'the Count and Countess had lived in a very eccentric way; they\nadmitted no visitors; Madame lived on the ground-floor, and Monsieur on\nthe first floor. When the Countess was left alone, she was never seen\nexcepting at church. Subsequently, at home, at the chateau, she refused\nto see the friends, whether gentlemen or ladies, who went to call on\nher. She was already very much altered when she left la Grande Breteche\nto go to Merret. That dear lady--I say dear lady, for it was she who\ngave me this diamond, but indeed I saw her but once--that kind lady was\nvery ill; she had, no doubt, given up all hope, for she died without\nchoosing to send for a doctor; indeed, many of our ladies fancied she\nwas not quite right in her head. Well, sir, my curiosity was strangely\nexcited by hearing that Madame de Merret had need of my services. Nor\nwas I the only person who took an interest in the affair. That very\nnight, though it was already late, all the town knew that I was going to\nMerret.\n\n\"'The waiting-woman replied but vaguely to the questions I asked her on\nthe way; nevertheless, she told me that her mistress had received the\nSacrament in the course of the day at the hands of the Cure of Merret,\nand seemed unlikely to live through the night. It was about eleven when\nI reached the chateau. I went up the great staircase. After crossing\nsome large, lofty, dark rooms, diabolically cold and damp, I reached the\nstate bedroom where the Countess lay. From the rumors that were current\nconcerning this lady (monsieur, I should never end if I were to repeat\nall the tales that were told about her), I had imagined her a coquette.\nImagine, then, that I had great difficulty in seeing her in the great\nbed where she was lying. To be sure, to light this enormous room, with\nold-fashioned heavy cornices, and so thick with dust that merely to see\nit was enough to make you sneeze, she had only an old Argand lamp. Ah!\nbut you have not been to Merret. Well, the bed is one of those old world\nbeds, with a high tester hung with flowered chintz. A small table stood\nby the bed, on which I saw an \"Imitation of Christ,\" which, by the\nway, I bought for my wife, as well as the lamp. There were also a deep\narmchair for her confidential maid, and two small chairs. There was no\nfire. That was all the furniture, not enough to fill ten lines in an\ninventory.\n\n\"'My dear sir, if you had seen, as I then saw, that vast room, papered\nand hung with brown, you would have felt yourself transported into a\nscene of a romance. It was icy, nay more, funereal,' and he lifted his\nhand with a theatrical gesture and paused.\n\n\"'By dint of seeking, as I approached the bed, at last I saw Madame de\nMerret, under the glimmer of the lamp, which fell on the pillows.\nHer face was as yellow as wax, and as narrow as two folded hands. The\nCountess had a lace cap showing her abundant hair, but as white as linen\nthread. She was sitting up in bed, and seemed to keep upright with\ngreat difficulty. Her large black eyes, dimmed by fever, no doubt,\nand half-dead already, hardly moved under the bony arch of her\neyebrows.--There,' he added, pointing to his own brow. 'Her forehead was\nclammy; her fleshless hands were like bones covered with soft skin;\nthe veins and muscles were perfectly visible. She must have been very\nhandsome; but at this moment I was startled into an indescribable\nemotion at the sight. Never, said those who wrapped her in her shroud,\nhad any living creature been so emaciated and lived. In short, it was\nawful to behold! Sickness so consumed that woman, that she was no more\nthan a phantom. Her lips, which were pale violet, seemed to me not to\nmove when she spoke to me.\n\n\"'Though my profession has familiarized me with such spectacles, by\ncalling me not infrequently to the bedside of the dying to record their\nlast wishes, I confess that families in tears and the agonies I have\nseen were as nothing in comparison with this lonely and silent woman in\nher vast chateau. I heard not the least sound, I did not perceive the\nmovement which the sufferer's breathing ought to have given to the\nsheets that covered her, and I stood motionless, absorbed in looking at\nher in a sort of stupor. In fancy I am there still. At last her large\neyes moved; she tried to raise her right hand, but it fell back on the\nbed, and she uttered these words, which came like a breath, for her\nvoice was no longer a voice: \"I have waited for you with the greatest\nimpatience.\" A bright flush rose to her cheeks. It was a great effort to\nher to speak.\n\n\"'\"Madame,\" I began. She signed to me to be silent. At that moment\nthe old housekeeper rose and said in my ear, \"Do not speak; Madame la\nComtesse is not in a state to bear the slightest noise, and what you say\nmight agitate her.\"\n\n\"'I sat down. A few instants after, Madame de Merret collected all her\nremaining strength to move her right hand, and slipped it, not without\ninfinite difficulty, under the bolster; she then paused a moment. With\na last effort she withdrew her hand; and when she brought out a sealed\npaper, drops of perspiration rolled from her brow. \"I place my will in\nyour hands--Oh! God! Oh!\" and that was all. She clutched a crucifix that\nlay on the bed, lifted it hastily to her lips, and died.\n\n\"'The expression of her eyes still makes me shudder as I think of it.\nShe must have suffered much! There was joy in her last glance, and it\nremained stamped on her dead eyes.\n\n\"'I brought away the will, and when it was opened I found that Madame de\nMerret had appointed me her executor. She left the whole of her property\nto the hospital at Vendome excepting a few legacies. But these were her\ninstructions as relating to la Grande Breteche: She ordered me to leave\nthe place, for fifty years counting from the day of her death, in the\nstate in which it might be at the time of her death, forbidding any one,\nwhoever he might be, to enter the apartments, prohibiting any repairs\nwhatever, and even settling a salary to pay watchmen if it were needful\nto secure the absolute fulfilment of her intentions. At the expiration\nof that term, if the will of the testatrix has been duly carried out,\nthe house is to become the property of my heirs, for, as you know, a\nnotary cannot take a bequest. Otherwise la Grande Breteche reverts to\nthe heirs-at-law, but on condition of fulfilling certain conditions\nset forth in a codicil to the will, which is not to be opened till\nthe expiration of the said term of fifty years. The will has not been\ndisputed, so----' And without finishing his sentence, the lanky notary\nlooked at me with an air of triumph; I made him quite happy by offering\nhim my congratulations.\n\n\"'Monsieur,' I said in conclusion, 'you have so vividly impressed\nme that I fancy I see the dying woman whiter than her sheets; her\nglittering eyes frighten me; I shall dream of her to-night.--But you\nmust have formed some idea as to the instructions contained in that\nextraordinary will.'\n\n\"'Monsieur,' said he, with comical reticence, 'I never allow myself\nto criticise the conduct of a person who honors me with the gift of a\ndiamond.'\n\n\"However, I soon loosened the tongue of the discreet notary of Vendome,\nwho communicated to me, not without long digressions, the opinions of\nthe deep politicians of both sexes whose judgments are law in Vendome.\nBut these opinions were so contradictory, so diffuse, that I was\nnear falling asleep in spite of the interest I felt in this authentic\nhistory. The notary's ponderous voice and monotonous accent, accustomed\nno doubt to listen to himself and to make himself listened to by his\nclients or fellow-townsmen, were too much for my curiosity. Happily, he\nsoon went away.\n\n\"'Ah, ha, monsieur,' said he on the stairs, 'a good many persons would\nbe glad to live five-and-forty years longer; but--one moment!' and he\nlaid the first finger of his right hand to his nostril with a cunning\nlook, as much as to say, 'Mark my words!--To last as long as that--as\nlong as that,' said he, 'you must not be past sixty now.'\n\n\"I closed my door, having been roused from my apathy by this last\nspeech, which the notary thought very funny; then I sat down in my\narmchair, with my feet on the fire-dogs. I had lost myself in a romance\n_a la_ Radcliffe, constructed on the juridical base given me by Monsieur\nRegnault, when the door, opened by a woman's cautious hand, turned on\nthe hinges. I saw my landlady come in, a buxom, florid dame, always\ngood-humored, who had missed her calling in life. She was a Fleming, who\nought to have seen the light in a picture by Teniers.\n\n\"'Well, monsieur,' said she, 'Monsieur Regnault has no doubt been giving\nyou his history of la Grande Breteche?'\n\n\"'Yes, Madame Lepas.'\n\n\"'And what did he tell you?'\n\n\"I repeated in a few words the creepy and sinister story of Madame de\nMerret. At each sentence my hostess put her head forward, looking at\nme with an innkeeper's keen scrutiny, a happy compromise between the\ninstinct of a police constable, the astuteness of a spy, and the cunning\nof a dealer.\n\n\"'My good Madame Lepas,' said I as I ended, 'you seem to know more about\nit. Heh? If not, why have you come up to me?'\n\n\"'On my word, as an honest woman----'\n\n\"'Do not swear; your eyes are big with a secret. You knew Monsieur de\nMerret; what sort of man was he?'\n\n\"'Monsieur de Merret--well, you see he was a man you never could see\nthe top of, he was so tall! A very good gentleman, from Picardy, and who\nhad, as we say, his head close to his cap. He paid for everything down,\nso as never to have difficulties with any one. He was hot-tempered, you\nsee! All our ladies liked him very much.'\n\n\"'Because he was hot-tempered?' I asked her.\n\n\"'Well, may be,' said she; 'and you may suppose, sir, that a man had to\nhave something to show for a figurehead before he could marry Madame de\nMerret, who, without any reflection on others, was the handsomest and\nrichest heiress in our parts. She had about twenty thousand francs\na year. All the town was at the wedding; the bride was pretty and\nsweet-looking, quite a gem of a woman. Oh, they were a handsome couple\nin their day!'\n\n\"'And were they happy together?'\n\n\"'Hm, hm! so-so--so far as can be guessed, for, as you may suppose, we\nof the common sort were not hail-fellow-well-met with them.--Madame de\nMerret was a kind woman and very pleasant, who had no doubt sometimes to\nput up with her husband's tantrums. But though he was rather haughty, we\nwere fond of him. After all, it was his place to behave so. When a man\nis a born nobleman, you see----'\n\n\"'Still, there must have been some catastrophe for Monsieur and Madame\nde Merret to part so violently?'\n\n\"'I did not say there was any catastrophe, sir. I know nothing about\nit.'\n\n\"'Indeed. Well, now, I am sure you know everything.'\n\n\"'Well, sir, I will tell you the whole story.--When I saw Monsieur\nRegnault go up to see you, it struck me that he would speak to you about\nMadame de Merret as having to do with la Grande Breteche. That put it\ninto my head to ask your advice, sir, seeming to me that you are a\nman of good judgment and incapable of playing a poor woman like me\nfalse--for I never did any one a wrong, and yet I am tormented by my\nconscience. Up to now I have never dared to say a word to the people of\nthese parts; they are all chatter-mags, with tongues like knives. And\nnever till now, sir, have I had any traveler here who stayed so long in\nthe inn as you have, and to whom I could tell the history of the fifteen\nthousand francs----'\n\n\"'My dear Madame Lepas, if there is anything in your story of a nature\nto compromise me,' I said, interrupting the flow of her words, 'I would\nnot hear it for all the world.'\n\n\"'You need have no fears,' said she; 'you will see.'\n\n\"Her eagerness made me suspect that I was not the only person to whom\nmy worthy landlady had communicated the secret of which I was to be the\nsole possessor, but I listened.\n\n\"'Monsieur,' said she, 'when the Emperor sent the Spaniards here,\nprisoners of war and others, I was required to lodge at the charge\nof the Government a young Spaniard sent to Vendome on parole.\nNotwithstanding his parole, he had to show himself every day to the\nsub-prefect. He was a Spanish grandee--neither more nor less. He had\na name in _os_ and _dia_, something like Bagos de Feredia. I wrote his\nname down in my books, and you may see it if you like. Ah! he was a\nhandsome young fellow for a Spaniard, who are all ugly they say. He was\nnot more than five feet two or three in height, but so well made; and he\nhad little hands that he kept so beautifully! Ah! you should have\nseen them. He had as many brushes for his hands as a woman has for her\ntoilet. He had thick, black hair, a flame in his eye, a somewhat coppery\ncomplexion, but which I admired all the same. He wore the finest linen\nI have ever seen, though I have had princesses to lodge here, and, among\nothers, General Bertrand, the Duc and Duchesse d'Abrantes, Monsieur\nDescazes, and the King of Spain. He did not eat much, but he had such\npolite and amiable ways that it was impossible to owe him a grudge for\nthat. Oh! I was very fond of him, though he did not say four words to me\nin a day, and it was impossible to have the least bit of talk with him;\nif he was spoken to, he did not answer; it is a way, a mania they all\nhave, it would seem.\n\n\"'He read his breviary like a priest, and went to mass and all the\nservices quite regularly. And where did he post himself?--we found this\nout later.--Within two yards of Madame de Merret's chapel. As he took\nthat place the very first time he entered the church, no one imagined\nthat there was any purpose in it. Besides, he never raised his nose\nabove his book, poor young man! And then, monsieur, of an evening he\nwent for a walk on the hill among the ruins of the old castle. It was\nhis only amusement, poor man; it reminded him of his native land. They\nsay that Spain is all hills!\n\n\"'One evening, a few days after he was sent here, he was out very late.\nI was rather uneasy when he did not come in till just on the stroke of\nmidnight; but we all got used to his whims; he took the key of the door,\nand we never sat up for him. He lived in a house belonging to us in the\nRue des Casernes. Well, then, one of our stable-boys told us one evening\nthat, going down to wash the horses in the river, he fancied he had seen\nthe Spanish Grandee swimming some little way off, just like a fish. When\nhe came in, I told him to be careful of the weeds, and he seemed put out\nat having been seen in the water.\n\n\"'At last, monsieur, one day, or rather one morning, we did not find\nhim in his room; he had not come back. By hunting through his things, I\nfound a written paper in the drawer of his table, with fifty pieces of\nSpanish gold of the kind they call doubloons, worth about five thousand\nfrancs; and in a little sealed box ten thousand francs worth of\ndiamonds. The paper said that in case he should not return, he left us\nthis money and these diamonds in trust to found masses to thank God for\nhis escape and for his salvation.\n\n\"'At that time I still had my husband, who ran off in search of him.\nAnd this is the queer part of the story: he brought back the Spaniard's\nclothes, which he had found under a big stone on a sort of breakwater\nalong the river bank, nearly opposite la Grande Breteche. My husband\nwent so early that no one saw him. After reading the letter, he burnt\nthe clothes, and, in obedience to Count Feredia's wish, we announced\nthat he had escaped.\n\n\"'The sub-prefect set all the constabulary at his heels; but, pshaw! he\nwas never caught. Lepas believed that the Spaniard had drowned himself.\nI, sir, have never thought so; I believe, on the contrary, that he had\nsomething to do with the business about Madame de Merret, seeing that\nRosalie told me that the crucifix her mistress was so fond of that she\nhad it buried with her, was made of ebony and silver; now in the early\ndays of his stay here, Monsieur Feredia had one of ebony and silver\nwhich I never saw later.--And now, monsieur, do not you say that I need\nhave no remorse about the Spaniard's fifteen thousand francs? Are they\nnot really and truly mine?'\n\n\"'Certainly.--But have you never tried to question Rosalie?' said I.\n\n\"'Oh, to be sure I have, sir. But what is to be done? That girl is like\na wall. She knows something, but it is impossible to make her talk.'\n\n\"After chatting with me for a few minutes, my hostess left me a prey\nto vague and sinister thoughts, to romantic curiosity, and a religious\ndread, not unlike the deep emotion which comes upon us when we go into a\ndark church at night and discern a feeble light glimmering under a lofty\nvault--a dim figure glides across--the sweep of a gown or of a priest's\ncassock is audible--and we shiver! La Grande Breteche, with its rank\ngrasses, its shuttered windows, its rusty iron-work, its locked doors,\nits deserted rooms, suddenly rose before me in fantastic vividness. I\ntried to get into the mysterious dwelling to search out the heart of\nthis solemn story, this drama which had killed three persons.\n\n\"Rosalie became in my eyes the most interesting being in Vendome. As\nI studied her, I detected signs of an inmost thought, in spite of the\nblooming health that glowed in her dimpled face. There was in her soul\nsome element of ruth or of hope; her manner suggested a secret, like\nthe expression of devout souls who pray in excess, or of a girl who has\nkilled her child and for ever hears its last cry. Nevertheless, she was\nsimple and clumsy in her ways; her vacant smile had nothing criminal\nin it, and you would have pronounced her innocent only from seeing the\nlarge red and blue checked kerchief that covered her stalwart bust,\ntucked into the tight-laced bodice of a lilac- and white-striped gown.\n'No,' said I to myself, 'I will not quit Vendome without knowing the\nwhole history of la Grande Breteche. To achieve this end, I will make\nlove to Rosalie if it proves necessary.'\n\n\"'Rosalie!' said I one evening.\n\n\"'Your servant, sir?'\n\n\"'You are not married?' She started a little.\n\n\"'Oh! there is no lack of men if ever I take a fancy to be miserable!'\nshe replied, laughing. She got over her agitation at once; for every\nwoman, from the highest lady to the inn-servant inclusive, has a native\npresence of mind.\n\n\"'Yes; you are fresh and good-looking enough never to lack lovers! But\ntell me, Rosalie, why did you become an inn-servant on leaving Madame de\nMerret? Did she not leave you some little annuity?'\n\n\"'Oh yes, sir. But my place here is the best in all the town of\nVendome.'\n\n\"This reply was such an one as judges and attorneys call evasive.\nRosalie, as it seemed to me, held in this romantic affair the place of\nthe middle square of the chess-board: she was at the very centre of the\ninterest and of the truth; she appeared to me to be tied into the knot\nof it. It was not a case for ordinary love-making; this girl contained\nthe last chapter of a romance, and from that moment all my attentions\nwere devoted to Rosalie. By dint of studying the girl, I observed in\nher, as in every woman whom we make our ruling thought, a variety of\ngood qualities; she was clean and neat; she was handsome, I need not\nsay; she soon was possessed of every charm that desire can lend to a\nwoman in whatever rank of life. A fortnight after the notary's visit,\none evening, or rather one morning, in the small hours, I said to\nRosalie:\n\n\"'Come, tell me all you know about Madame de Merret.'\n\n\"'Oh!' she said, 'I will tell you; but keep the secret carefully.'\n\n\"'All right, my child; I will keep all your secrets with a thief's\nhonor, which is the most loyal known.'\n\n\"'If it is all the same to you,' said she, 'I would rather it should be\nwith your own.'\n\n\"Thereupon she set her head-kerchief straight, and settled herself to\ntell the tale; for there is no doubt a particular attitude of confidence\nand security is necessary to the telling of a narrative. The best tales\nare told at a certain hour--just as we are all here at table. No one\never told a story well standing up, or fasting.\n\n\"If I were to reproduce exactly Rosalie's diffuse eloquence, a whole\nvolume would scarcely contain it. Now, as the event of which she gave me\na confused account stands exactly midway between the notary's gossip and\nthat of Madame Lepas, as precisely as the middle term of a rule-of-three\nsum stands between the first and third, I have only to relate it in as\nfew words as may be. I shall therefore be brief.\n\n\"The room at la Grande Breteche in which Madame de Merret slept was on\nthe ground floor; a little cupboard in the wall, about four feet deep,\nserved her to hang her dresses in. Three months before the evening of\nwhich I have to relate the events, Madame de Merret had been seriously\nailing, so much so that her husband had left her to herself, and had his\nown bedroom on the first floor. By one of those accidents which it is\nimpossible to foresee, he came in that evening two hours later than\nusual from the club, where he went to read the papers and talk politics\nwith the residents in the neighborhood. His wife supposed him to have\ncome in, to be in bed and asleep. But the invasion of France had been\nthe subject of a very animated discussion; the game of billiards had\nwaxed vehement; he had lost forty francs, an enormous sum at Vendome,\nwhere everybody is thrifty, and where social habits are restrained\nwithin the bounds of a simplicity worthy of all praise, and the\nfoundation perhaps of a form of true happiness which no Parisian would\ncare for.\n\n\"For some time past Monsieur de Merret had been satisfied to ask Rosalie\nwhether his wife was in bed; on the girl's replying always in the\naffirmative, he at once went to his own room, with the good faith that\ncomes of habit and confidence. But this evening, on coming in, he took\nit into his head to go to see Madame de Merret, to tell her of his\nill-luck, and perhaps to find consolation. During dinner he had observed\nthat his wife was very becomingly dressed; he reflected as he came\nhome from the club that his wife was certainly much better, that\nconvalescence had improved her beauty, discovering it, as husbands\ndiscover everything, a little too late. Instead of calling Rosalie,\nwho was in the kitchen at the moment watching the cook and the coachman\nplaying a puzzling hand at cards, Monsieur de Merret made his way to his\nwife's room by the light of his lantern, which he set down at the lowest\nstep of the stairs. His step, easy to recognize, rang under the vaulted\npassage.\n\n\"At the instant when the gentleman turned the key to enter his wife's\nroom, he fancied he heard the door shut of the closet of which I have\nspoken; but when he went in, Madame de Merret was alone, standing in\nfront of the fireplace. The unsuspecting husband fancied that Rosalie\nwas in the cupboard; nevertheless, a doubt, ringing in his ears like a\npeal of bells, put him on his guard; he looked at his wife, and read in\nher eyes an indescribably anxious and haunted expression.\n\n\"'You are very late,' said she.--Her voice, usually so clear and sweet,\nstruck him as being slightly husky.\n\n\"Monsieur de Merret made no reply, for at this moment Rosalie came in.\nThis was like a thunder-clap. He walked up and down the room, going from\none window to another at a regular pace, his arms folded.\n\n\"'Have you had bad news, or are you ill?' his wife asked him timidly,\nwhile Rosalie helped her to undress. He made no reply.\n\n\"'You can go, Rosalie,' said Madame de Merret to her maid; 'I can put in\nmy curl-papers myself.'--She scented disaster at the mere aspect of her\nhusband's face, and wished to be alone with him. As soon as Rosalie\nwas gone, or supposed to be gone, for she lingered a few minutes in the\npassage, Monsieur de Merret came and stood facing his wife, and said\ncoldly, 'Madame, there is some one in your cupboard!' She looked at her\nhusband calmly, and replied quite simply, 'No, monsieur.'\n\n\"This 'No' wrung Monsieur de Merret's heart; he did not believe it; and\nyet his wife had never appeared purer or more saintly than she seemed\nto be at this moment. He rose to go and open the closet door. Madame de\nMerret took his hand, stopped him, looked at him sadly, and said in a\nvoice of strange emotion, 'Remember, if you should find no one there,\neverything must be at an end between you and me.'\n\n\"The extraordinary dignity of his wife's attitude filled him with deep\nesteem for her, and inspired him with one of those resolves which need\nonly a grander stage to become immortal.\n\n\"'No, Josephine,' he said, 'I will not open it. In either event we\nshould be parted for ever. Listen; I know all the purity of your soul, I\nknow you lead a saintly life, and would not commit a deadly sin to save\nyour life.'--At these words Madame de Merret looked at her husband with\na haggard stare.--'See, here is your crucifix,' he went on. 'Swear to\nme before God that there is no one in there; I will believe you--I will\nnever open that door.'\n\n\"Madame de Merret took up the crucifix and said, 'I swear it.'\n\n\"'Louder,' said her husband; 'and repeat: \"I swear before God that there\nis nobody in that closet.\"' She repeated the words without flinching.\n\n\"'That will do,' said Monsieur de Merret coldly. After a moment's\nsilence: 'You have there a fine piece of work which I never saw before,'\nsaid he, examining the crucifix of ebony and silver, very artistically\nwrought.\n\n\"'I found it at Duvivier's; last year when that troop of Spanish\nprisoners came through Vendome, he bought it of a Spanish monk.'\n\n\"'Indeed,' said Monsieur de Merret, hanging the crucifix on its nail;\nand he rang the bell.\n\n\"He had to wait for Rosalie. Monsieur de Merret went forward quickly\nto meet her, led her into the bay of the window that looked on to the\ngarden, and said to her in an undertone:\n\n\"'I know that Gorenflot wants to marry you, that poverty alone prevents\nyour setting up house, and that you told him you would not be his wife\ntill he found means to become a master mason.--Well, go and fetch him;\ntell him to come here with his trowel and tools. Contrive to wake no one\nin his house but himself. His reward will be beyond your wishes. Above\nall, go out without saying a word--or else!' and he frowned.\n\n\"Rosalie was going, and he called her back. 'Here, take my latch-key,'\nsaid he.\n\n\"'Jean!' Monsieur de Merret called in a voice of thunder down the\npassage. Jean, who was both coachman and confidential servant, left his\ncards and came.\n\n\"'Go to bed, all of you,' said his master, beckoning him to come close;\nand the gentleman added in a whisper, 'When they are all asleep--mind,\n_asleep_--you understand?--come down and tell me.'\n\n\"Monsieur de Merret, who had never lost sight of his wife while giving\nhis orders, quietly came back to her at the fireside, and began to tell\nher the details of the game of billiards and the discussion at the club.\nWhen Rosalie returned she found Monsieur and Madame de Merret conversing\namiably.\n\n\"Not long before this Monsieur de Merret had had new ceilings made to\nall the reception-rooms on the ground floor. Plaster is very scarce at\nVendome; the price is enhanced by the cost of carriage; the gentleman\nhad therefore had a considerable quantity delivered to him, knowing\nthat he could always find purchasers for what might be left. It was this\ncircumstance which suggested the plan he carried out.\n\n\"'Gorenflot is here, sir,' said Rosalie in a whisper.\n\n\"'Tell him to come in,' said her master aloud.\n\n\"Madame de Merret turned paler when she saw the mason.\n\n\"'Gorenflot,' said her husband, 'go and fetch some bricks from the\ncoach-house; bring enough to wall up the door of this cupboard; you can\nuse the plaster that is left for cement.' Then, dragging Rosalie and the\nworkman close to him--'Listen, Gorenflot,' said he, in a low voice,\n'you are to sleep here to-night; but to-morrow morning you shall have a\npassport to take you abroad to a place I will tell you of. I will give\nyou six thousand francs for your journey. You must live in that town for\nten years; if you find you do not like it, you may settle in another,\nbut it must be in the same country. Go through Paris and wait there till\nI join you. I will there give you an agreement for six thousand francs\nmore, to be paid to you on your return, provided you have carried out\nthe conditions of the bargain. For that price you are to keep perfect\nsilence as to what you have to do this night. To you, Rosalie, I will\nsecure ten thousand francs, which will not be paid to you till your\nwedding day, and on condition of your marrying Gorenflot; but, to get\nmarried, you must hold your tongue. If not, no wedding gift!'\n\n\"'Rosalie,' said Madame de Merret, 'come and brush my hair.'\n\n\"Her husband quietly walked up and down the room, keeping an eye on the\ndoor, on the mason, and on his wife, but without any insulting display\nof suspicion. Gorenflot could not help making some noise. Madame de\nMerret seized a moment when he was unloading some bricks, and when her\nhusband was at the other end of the room to say to Rosalie: 'My dear\nchild, I will give you a thousand francs a year if only you will tell\nGorenflot to leave a crack at the bottom.' Then she added aloud quite\ncoolly: 'You had better help him.'\n\n\"Monsieur and Madame de Merret were silent all the time while Gorenflot\nwas walling up the door. This silence was intentional on the husband's\npart; he did not wish to give his wife the opportunity of saying\nanything with a double meaning. On Madame de Merret's side it was pride\nor prudence. When the wall was half built up the cunning mason took\nadvantage of his master's back being turned to break one of the two\npanes in the top of the door with a blow of his pick. By this Madame de\nMerret understood that Rosalie had spoken to Gorenflot. They all three\nthen saw the face of a dark, gloomy-looking man, with black hair and\nflaming eyes.\n\n\"Before her husband turned round again the poor woman had nodded to the\nstranger, to whom the signal was meant to convey, 'Hope.'\n\n\"At four o'clock, as the day was dawning, for it was the month of\nSeptember, the work was done. The mason was placed in charge of Jean,\nand Monsieur de Merret slept in his wife's room.\n\n\"Next morning when he got up he said with apparent carelessness, 'Oh,\nby the way, I must go to the Maire for the passport.' He put on his hat,\ntook two or three steps towards the door, paused, and took the crucifix.\nHis wife was trembling with joy.\n\n\"'He will go to Duvivier's,' thought she.\n\n\"As soon as he had left, Madame de Merret rang for Rosalie, and then in\na terrible voice she cried: 'The pick! Bring the pick! and set to work.\nI saw how Gorenflot did it yesterday; we shall have time to make a gap\nand build it up again.'\n\n\"In an instant Rosalie had brought her mistress a sort of cleaver; she,\nwith a vehemence of which no words can give an idea, set to work to\ndemolish the wall. She had already got out a few bricks, when, turning\nto deal a stronger blow than before, she saw behind her Monsieur de\nMerret. She fainted away.\n\n\"'Lay madame on her bed,' said he coldly.\n\n\"Foreseeing what would certainly happen in his absence, he had laid\nthis trap for his wife; he had merely written to the Maire and sent for\nDuvivier. The jeweler arrived just as the disorder in the room had been\nrepaired.\n\n\"'Duvivier,' asked Monsieur de Merret, 'did not you buy some crucifixes\nof the Spaniards who passed through the town?'\n\n\"'No, monsieur.'\n\n\"'Very good; thank you,' said he, flashing a tiger's glare at his wife.\n'Jean,' he added, turning to his confidential valet, 'you can serve my\nmeals here in Madame de Merret's room. She is ill, and I shall not leave\nher till she recovers.'\n\n\"The cruel man remained in his wife's room for twenty days. During\nthe earlier time, when there was some little noise in the closet,\nand Josephine wanted to intercede for the dying man, he said, without\nallowing her to utter a word, 'You swore on the Cross that there was no\none there.'\"\n\n\nAfter this story all the ladies rose from table, and thus the spell\nunder which Bianchon had held them was broken. But there were some among\nthem who had almost shivered at the last words.\n\n\n\n\nADDENDUM\n\nThe following personage appears in other stories of the Human Comedy.\n\n Bianchon, Horace\n Father Goriot\n The Atheist's Mass\n Cesar Birotteau\n The Commission in Lunacy\n Lost Illusions\n A Distinguished Provincial at Paris\n A Bachelor's Establishment\n The Secrets of a Princess\n The Government Clerks\n Pierrette\n A Study of Woman\n Scenes from a Courtesan's Life\n Honorine\n The Seamy Side of History\n The Magic Skin\n A Second Home\n A Prince of Bohemia\n Letters of Two Brides\n The Muse of the Department\n The Imaginary Mistress\n The Middle Classes\n Cousin Betty\n The Country Parson\n\n In addition, M. Bianchon narrated the following:\n Another Study of Woman\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of La Grande Breteche, by Honore de Balzac"},"answers":{"kind":"list like","value":["The ruins of an abandoned manor. "],"string":"[\n \"The ruins of an abandoned manor. \"\n]","isConversational":false},"length":{"kind":"number","value":8139,"string":"8,139"},"dataset":{"kind":"string","value":"narrativeqa"},"language":{"kind":"string","value":"en"},"all_classes":{"kind":"null"},"_id":{"kind":"string","value":"78e1602679a5ca1b22f32e665e8c31039b1a0c16a099efe5"}}},{"rowIdx":1790,"cells":{"input":{"kind":"string","value":"What happened as a result of Anvoy and her fiance discussing giving the money to Saltram?"},"context":{"kind":"string","value":"Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email\nccx074@pglaf.org\n\n [Picture: Book cover]\n\n\n\n\n\n THE\n COXON FUND\n\n\n BY HENRY JAMES\n\n [Picture: Decorative graphic]\n\n * * * * *\n\n LONDON: MARTIN SECKER\n NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET ADELPHI\n\n * * * * *\n\n This edition first published 1915\n\n The text follows that of the\n Definitive Edition\n\n * * * * *\n\n\n\n\nI\n\n\n“THEY’VE got him for life!” I said to myself that evening on my way back\nto the station; but later on, alone in the compartment (from Wimbledon to\nWaterloo, before the glory of the District Railway) I amended this\ndeclaration in the light of the sense that my friends would probably\nafter all not enjoy a monopoly of Mr. Saltram. I won’t pretend to have\ntaken his vast measure on that first occasion, but I think I had achieved\na glimpse of what the privilege of his acquaintance might mean for many\npersons in the way of charges accepted. He had been a great experience,\nand it was this perhaps that had put me into the frame of foreseeing how\nwe should all, sooner or later, have the honour of dealing with him as a\nwhole. Whatever impression I then received of the amount of this total,\nI had a full enough vision of the patience of the Mulvilles. He was to\nstay all the winter: Adelaide dropped it in a tone that drew the sting\nfrom the inevitable emphasis. These excellent people might indeed have\nbeen content to give the circle of hospitality a diameter of six months;\nbut if they didn’t say he was to stay all summer as well it was only\nbecause this was more than they ventured to hope. I remember that at\ndinner that evening he wore slippers, new and predominantly purple, of\nsome queer carpet-stuff; but the Mulvilles were still in the stage of\nsupposing that he might be snatched from them by higher bidders. At a\nlater time they grew, poor dears, to fear no snatching; but theirs was a\nfidelity which needed no help from competition to make them proud.\nWonderful indeed as, when all was said, you inevitably pronounced Frank\nSaltram, it was not to be overlooked that the Kent Mulvilles were in\ntheir way still more extraordinary: as striking an instance as could\neasily be encountered of the familiar truth that remarkable men find\nremarkable conveniences.\n\nThey had sent for me from Wimbledon to come out and dine, and there had\nbeen an implication in Adelaide’s note—judged by her notes alone she\nmight have been thought silly—that it was a case in which something\nmomentous was to be determined or done. I had never known them not be in\na “state” about somebody, and I dare say I tried to be droll on this\npoint in accepting their invitation. On finding myself in the presence\nof their latest discovery I had not at first felt irreverence droop—and,\nthank heaven, I have never been absolutely deprived of that alternative\nin Mr. Saltram’s company. I saw, however—I hasten to declare it—that\ncompared to this specimen their other phoenixes had been birds of\ninconsiderable feather, and I afterwards took credit to myself for not\nhaving even in primal bewilderments made a mistake about the essence of\nthe man. He had an incomparable gift; I never was blind to it—it dazzles\nme still. It dazzles me perhaps even more in remembrance than in fact,\nfor I’m not unaware that for so rare a subject the imagination goes to\nsome expense, inserting a jewel here and there or giving a twist to a\nplume. How the art of portraiture would rejoice in this figure if the\nart of portraiture had only the canvas! Nature, in truth, had largely\nrounded it, and if memory, hovering about it, sometimes holds her breath,\nthis is because the voice that comes back was really golden.\n\nThough the great man was an inmate and didn’t dress, he kept dinner on\nthis occasion waiting, and the first words he uttered on coming into the\nroom were an elated announcement to Mulville that he had found out\nsomething. Not catching the allusion and gaping doubtless a little at\nhis face, I privately asked Adelaide what he had found out. I shall\nnever forget the look she gave me as she replied: “Everything!” She\nreally believed it. At that moment, at any rate, he had found out that\nthe mercy of the Mulvilles was infinite. He had previously of course\ndiscovered, as I had myself for that matter, that their dinners were\nsoignés. Let me not indeed, in saying this, neglect to declare that I\nshall falsify my counterfeit if I seem to hint that there was in his\nnature any ounce of calculation. He took whatever came, but he never\nplotted for it, and no man who was so much of an absorbent can ever have\nbeen so little of a parasite. He had a system of the universe, but he\nhad no system of sponging—that was quite hand-to-mouth. He had fine\ngross easy senses, but it was not his good-natured appetite that wrought\nconfusion. If he had loved us for our dinners we could have paid with\nour dinners, and it would have been a great economy of finer matter. I\nmake free in these connexions with the plural possessive because if I was\nnever able to do what the Mulvilles did, and people with still bigger\nhouses and simpler charities, I met, first and last, every demand of\nreflexion, of emotion—particularly perhaps those of gratitude and of\nresentment. No one, I think, paid the tribute of giving him up so often,\nand if it’s rendering honour to borrow wisdom I’ve a right to talk of my\nsacrifices. He yielded lessons as the sea yields fish—I lived for a\nwhile on this diet. Sometimes it almost appeared to me that his massive\nmonstrous failure—if failure after all it was—had been designed for my\nprivate recreation. He fairly pampered my curiosity; but the history of\nthat experience would take me too far. This is not the large canvas I\njust now spoke of, and I wouldn’t have approached him with my present\nhand had it been a question of all the features. Frank Saltram’s\nfeatures, for artistic purposes, are verily the anecdotes that are to be\ngathered. Their name is legion, and this is only one, of which the\ninterest is that it concerns even more closely several other persons.\nSuch episodes, as one looks back, are the little dramas that made up the\ninnumerable facets of the big drama—which is yet to be reported.\n\n\n\n\nII\n\n\nIT is furthermore remarkable that though the two stories are distinct—my\nown, as it were, and this other—they equally began, in a manner, the\nfirst night of my acquaintance with Frank Saltram, the night I came back\nfrom Wimbledon so agitated with a new sense of life that, in London, for\nthe very thrill of it, I could only walk home. Walking and swinging my\nstick, I overtook, at Buckingham Gate, George Gravener, and George\nGravener’s story may be said to have begun with my making him, as our\npaths lay together, come home with me for a talk. I duly remember, let\nme parenthesise, that it was still more that of another person, and also\nthat several years were to elapse before it was to extend to a second\nchapter. I had much to say to him, none the less, about my visit to the\nMulvilles, whom he more indifferently knew, and I was at any rate so\namusing that for long afterwards he never encountered me without asking\nfor news of the old man of the sea. I hadn’t said Mr. Saltram was old,\nand it was to be seen that he was of an age to outweather George\nGravener. I had at that time a lodging in Ebury Street, and Gravener was\nstaying at his brother’s empty house in Eaton Square. At Cambridge, five\nyears before, even in our devastating set, his intellectual power had\nseemed to me almost awful. Some one had once asked me privately, with\nblanched cheeks, what it was then that after all such a mind as that left\nstanding. “It leaves itself!” I could recollect devoutly replying. I\ncould smile at present for this remembrance, since before we got to Ebury\nStreet I was struck with the fact that, save in the sense of being well\nset up on his legs, George Gravener had actually ceased to tower. The\nuniverse he laid low had somehow bloomed again—the usual eminences were\nvisible. I wondered whether he had lost his humour, or only, dreadful\nthought, had never had any—not even when I had fancied him most\nAristophanesque. What was the need of appealing to laughter, however, I\ncould enviously enquire, where you might appeal so confidently to\nmeasurement? Mr. Saltram’s queer figure, his thick nose and hanging lip,\nwere fresh to me: in the light of my old friend’s fine cold symmetry they\npresented mere success in amusing as the refuge of conscious ugliness.\nAlready, at hungry twenty-six, Gravener looked as blank and parliamentary\nas if he were fifty and popular. In my scrap of a residence—he had a\nworldling’s eye for its futile conveniences, but never a comrade’s joke—I\nsounded Frank Saltram in his ears; a circumstance I mention in order to\nnote that even then I was surprised at his impatience of my enlivenment.\nAs he had never before heard of the personage it took indeed the form of\nimpatience of the preposterous Mulvilles, his relation to whom, like\nmine, had had its origin in an early, a childish intimacy with the young\nAdelaide, the fruit of multiplied ties in the previous generation. When\nshe married Kent Mulville, who was older than Gravener and I and much\nmore amiable, I gained a friend, but Gravener practically lost one. We\nreacted in different ways from the form taken by what he called their\ndeplorable social action—the form (the term was also his) of nasty\nsecond-rate gush. I may have held in my ‘for intérieur’ that the good\npeople at Wimbledon were beautiful fools, but when he sniffed at them I\ncouldn’t help taking the opposite line, for I already felt that even\nshould we happen to agree it would always be for reasons that differed.\nIt came home to me that he was admirably British as, without so much as a\nsociable sneer at my bookbinder, he turned away from the serried rows of\nmy little French library.\n\n“Of course I’ve never seen the fellow, but it’s clear enough he’s a\nhumbug.”\n\n“Clear ‘enough’ is just what it isn’t,” I replied; “if it only were!”\nThat ejaculation on my part must have been the beginning of what was to\nbe later a long ache for final frivolous rest. Gravener was profound\nenough to remark after a moment that in the first place he couldn’t be\nanything but a Dissenter, and when I answered that the very note of his\nfascination was his extraordinary speculative breadth my friend retorted\nthat there was no cad like your cultivated cad, and that I might depend\nupon discovering—since I had had the levity not already to have\nenquired—that my shining light proceeded, a generation back, from a\nMethodist cheesemonger. I confess I was struck with his insistence, and\nI said, after reflexion: “It may be—I admit it may be; but why on earth\nare you so sure?”—asking the question mainly to lay him the trap of\nsaying that it was because the poor man didn’t dress for dinner. He took\nan instant to circumvent my trap and come blandly out the other side.\n\n“Because the Kent Mulvilles have invented him. They’ve an infallible\nhand for frauds. All their geese are swans. They were born to be duped,\nthey like it, they cry for it, they don’t know anything from anything,\nand they disgust one—luckily perhaps!—with Christian charity.” His\nvehemence was doubtless an accident, but it might have been a strange\nforeknowledge. I forget what protest I dropped; it was at any rate\nsomething that led him to go on after a moment: “I only ask one\nthing—it’s perfectly simple. Is a man, in a given case, a real\ngentleman?”\n\n“A real gentleman, my dear fellow—that’s so soon said!”\n\n“Not so soon when he isn’t! If they’ve got hold of one this time he must\nbe a great rascal!”\n\n“I might feel injured,” I answered, “if I didn’t reflect that they don’t\nrave about me.”\n\n“Don’t be too sure! I’ll grant that he’s a gentleman,” Gravener\npresently added, “if you’ll admit that he’s a scamp.”\n\n“I don’t know which to admire most, your logic or your benevolence.”\n\nMy friend coloured at this, but he didn’t change the subject. “Where did\nthey pick him up?”\n\n“I think they were struck with something he had published.”\n\n“I can fancy the dreary thing!”\n\n“I believe they found out he had all sorts of worries and difficulties.”\n\n“That of course wasn’t to be endured, so they jumped at the privilege of\npaying his debts!” I professed that I knew nothing about his debts, and\nI reminded my visitor that though the dear Mulvilles were angels they\nwere neither idiots nor millionaires. What they mainly aimed at was\nreuniting Mr. Saltram to his wife. “I was expecting to hear he has\nbasely abandoned her,” Gravener went on, at this, “and I’m too glad you\ndon’t disappoint me.”\n\nI tried to recall exactly what Mrs. Mulville had told me. “He didn’t\nleave her—no. It’s she who has left him.”\n\n“Left him to us?” Gravener asked. “The monster—many thanks! I decline\nto take him.”\n\n“You’ll hear more about him in spite of yourself. I can’t, no, I really\ncan’t resist the impression that he’s a big man.” I was already\nmastering—to my shame perhaps be it said—just the tone my old friend\nleast liked.\n\n“It’s doubtless only a trifle,” he returned, “but you haven’t happened to\nmention what his reputation’s to rest on.”\n\n“Why on what I began by boring you with—his extraordinary mind.”\n\n“As exhibited in his writings?”\n\n“Possibly in his writings, but certainly in his talk, which is far and\naway the richest I ever listened to.”\n\n“And what’s it all about?”\n\n“My dear fellow, don’t ask me! About everything!” I pursued, reminding\nmyself of poor Adelaide. “About his ideas of things,” I then more\ncharitably added. “You must have heard him to know what I mean—it’s\nunlike anything that ever was heard.” I coloured, I admit, I overcharged\na little, for such a picture was an anticipation of Saltram’s later\ndevelopment and still more of my fuller acquaintance with him. However,\nI really expressed, a little lyrically perhaps, my actual imagination of\nhim when I proceeded to declare that, in a cloud of tradition, of legend,\nhe might very well go down to posterity as the greatest of all great\ntalkers. Before we parted George Gravener had wondered why such a row\nshould be made about a chatterbox the more and why he should be pampered\nand pensioned. The greater the wind-bag the greater the calamity. Out\nof proportion to everything else on earth had come to be this wagging of\nthe tongue. We were drenched with talk—our wretched age was dying of it.\nI differed from him here sincerely, only going so far as to concede, and\ngladly, that we were drenched with sound. It was not however the mere\nspeakers who were killing us—it was the mere stammerers. Fine talk was\nas rare as it was refreshing—the gift of the gods themselves, the one\nstarry spangle on the ragged cloak of humanity. How many men were there\nwho rose to this privilege, of how many masters of conversation could he\nboast the acquaintance? Dying of talk?—why we were dying of the lack of\nit! Bad writing wasn’t talk, as many people seemed to think, and even\ngood wasn’t always to be compared to it. From the best talk indeed the\nbest writing had something to learn. I fancifully added that we too\nshould peradventure be gilded by the legend, should be pointed at for\nhaving listened, for having actually heard. Gravener, who had glanced at\nhis watch and discovered it was midnight, found to all this a retort\nbeautifully characteristic of him.\n\n“There’s one little fact to be borne in mind in the presence equally of\nthe best talk and of the worst.” He looked, in saying this, as if he\nmeant great things, and I was sure he could only mean once more that\nneither of them mattered if a man wasn’t a real gentleman. Perhaps it\nwas what he did mean; he deprived me however of the exultation of being\nright by putting the truth in a slightly different way. “The only thing\nthat really counts for one’s estimate of a person is his conduct.” He\nhad his watch still in his palm, and I reproached him with unfair play in\nhaving ascertained beforehand that it was now the hour at which I always\ngave in. My pleasantry so far failed to mollify him that he promptly\nadded that to the rule he had just enunciated there was absolutely no\nexception.\n\n“None whatever?”\n\n“None whatever.”\n\n“Trust me then to try to be good at any price!” I laughed as I went with\nhim to the door. “I declare I will be, if I have to be horrible!”\n\n\n\n\nIII\n\n\nIF that first night was one of the liveliest, or at any rate was the\nfreshest, of my exaltations, there was another, four years later, that\nwas one of my great discomposures. Repetition, I well knew by this time,\nwas the secret of Saltram’s power to alienate, and of course one would\nnever have seen him at his finest if one hadn’t seen him in his remorses.\nThey set in mainly at this season and were magnificent, elemental,\norchestral. I was quite aware that one of these atmospheric disturbances\nwas now due; but none the less, in our arduous attempt to set him on his\nfeet as a lecturer, it was impossible not to feel that two failures were\na large order, as we said, for a short course of five. This was the\nsecond time, and it was past nine o’clock; the audience, a muster\nunprecedented and really encouraging, had fortunately the attitude of\nblandness that might have been looked for in persons whom the promise of\n(if I’m not mistaken) An Analysis of Primary Ideas had drawn to the\nneighbourhood of Upper Baker Street. There was in those days in that\nregion a petty lecture-hall to be secured on terms as moderate as the\nfunds left at our disposal by the irrepressible question of the\nmaintenance of five small Saltrams—I include the mother—and one large\none. By the time the Saltrams, of different sizes, were all maintained\nwe had pretty well poured out the oil that might have lubricated the\nmachinery for enabling the most original of men to appear to maintain\nthem.\n\nIt was I, the other time, who had been forced into the breach, standing\nup there for an odious lamplit moment to explain to half a dozen thin\nbenches, where earnest brows were virtuously void of anything so cynical\nas a suspicion, that we couldn’t so much as put a finger on Mr. Saltram.\nThere was nothing to plead but that our scouts had been out from the\nearly hours and that we were afraid that on one of his walks abroad—he\ntook one, for meditation, whenever he was to address such a company—some\naccident had disabled or delayed him. The meditative walks were a\nfiction, for he never, that any one could discover, prepared anything but\na magnificent prospectus; hence his circulars and programmes, of which I\npossess an almost complete collection, are the solemn ghosts of\ngenerations never born. I put the case, as it seemed to me, at the best;\nbut I admit I had been angry, and Kent Mulville was shocked at my want of\npublic optimism. This time therefore I left the excuses to his more\npractised patience, only relieving myself in response to a direct appeal\nfrom a young lady next whom, in the hall, I found myself sitting. My\nposition was an accident, but if it had been calculated the reason would\nscarce have eluded an observer of the fact that no one else in the room\nhad an approach to an appearance. Our philosopher’s “tail” was\ndeplorably limp. This visitor was the only person who looked at her\nease, who had come a little in the spirit of adventure. She seemed to\ncarry amusement in her handsome young head, and her presence spoke, a\nlittle mystifyingly, of a sudden extension of Saltram’s sphere of\ninfluence. He was doing better than we hoped, and he had chosen such an\noccasion, of all occasions, to succumb to heaven knew which of his fond\ninfirmities. The young lady produced an impression of auburn hair and\nblack velvet, and had on her other hand a companion of obscurer type,\npresumably a waiting-maid. She herself might perhaps have been a foreign\ncountess, and before she addressed me I had beguiled our sorry interval\nby finding in her a vague recall of the opening of some novel of Madame\nSand. It didn’t make her more fathomable to pass in a few minutes from\nthis to the certitude that she was American; it simply engendered\ndepressing reflexions as to the possible check to contributions from\nBoston. She asked me if, as a person apparently more initiated, I would\nrecommend further waiting, and I answered that if she considered I was on\nmy honour I would privately deprecate it. Perhaps she didn’t; at any\nrate our talk took a turn that prolonged it till she became aware we were\nleft almost alone. I presently ascertained she knew Mrs. Saltram, and\nthis explained in a manner the miracle. The brotherhood of the friends\nof the husband was as nothing to the brotherhood, or perhaps I should say\nthe sisterhood, of the friends of the wife. Like the Kent Mulvilles I\nbelonged to both fraternities, and even better than they I think I had\nsounded the abyss of Mrs. Saltram’s wrongs. She bored me to extinction,\nand I knew but too well how she had bored her husband; but there were\nthose who stood by her, the most efficient of whom were indeed the\nhandful of poor Saltram’s backers. They did her liberal justice, whereas\nher mere patrons and partisans had nothing but hatred for our\nphilosopher. I’m bound to say it was we, however—we of both camps, as it\nwere—who had always done most for her.\n\nI thought my young lady looked rich—I scarcely knew why; and I hoped she\nhad put her hand in her pocket. I soon made her out, however, not at all\na fine fanatic—she was but a generous, irresponsible enquirer. She had\ncome to England to see her aunt, and it was at her aunt’s she had met the\ndreary lady we had all so much on our mind. I saw she’d help to pass the\ntime when she observed that it was a pity this lady wasn’t intrinsically\nmore interesting. That was refreshing, for it was an article of faith in\nMrs. Saltram’s circle—at least among those who scorned to know her horrid\nhusband—that she was attractive on her merits. She was in truth a most\nordinary person, as Saltram himself would have been if he hadn’t been a\nprodigy. The question of vulgarity had no application to him, but it was\na measure his wife kept challenging you to apply. I hasten to add that\nthe consequences of your doing so were no sufficient reason for his\nhaving left her to starve. “He doesn’t seem to have much force of\ncharacter,” said my young lady; at which I laughed out so loud that my\ndeparting friends looked back at me over their shoulders as if I were\nmaking a joke of their discomfiture. My joke probably cost Saltram a\nsubscription or two, but it helped me on with my interlocutress. “She\nsays he drinks like a fish,” she sociably continued, “and yet she allows\nthat his mind’s wonderfully clear.” It was amusing to converse with a\npretty girl who could talk of the clearness of Saltram’s mind. I\nexpected next to hear she had been assured he was awfully clever. I\ntried to tell her—I had it almost on my conscience—what was the proper\nway to regard him; an effort attended perhaps more than ever on this\noccasion with the usual effect of my feeling that I wasn’t after all very\nsure of it. She had come to-night out of high curiosity—she had wanted\nto learn this proper way for herself. She had read some of his papers\nand hadn’t understood them; but it was at home, at her aunt’s, that her\ncuriosity had been kindled—kindled mainly by his wife’s remarkable\nstories of his want of virtue. “I suppose they ought to have kept me\naway,” my companion dropped, “and I suppose they’d have done so if I\nhadn’t somehow got an idea that he’s fascinating. In fact Mrs. Saltram\nherself says he is.”\n\n“So you came to see where the fascination resides? Well, you’ve seen!”\n\nMy young lady raised fine eyebrows. “Do you mean in his bad faith?”\n\n“In the extraordinary effects of it; his possession, that is, of some\nquality or other that condemns us in advance to forgive him the\nhumiliation, as I may call it, to which he has subjected us.”\n\n“The humiliation?”\n\n“Why mine, for instance, as one of his guarantors, before you as the\npurchaser of a ticket.”\n\nShe let her charming gay eyes rest on me. “You don’t look humiliated a\nbit, and if you did I should let you off, disappointed as I am; for the\nmysterious quality you speak of is just the quality I came to see.”\n\n“Oh, you can’t ‘see’ it!” I cried.\n\n“How then do you get at it?”\n\n“You don’t! You mustn’t suppose he’s good-looking,” I added.\n\n“Why his wife says he’s lovely!”\n\nMy hilarity may have struck her as excessive, but I confess it broke out\nafresh. Had she acted only in obedience to this singular plea, so\ncharacteristic, on Mrs. Saltram’s part, of what was irritating in the\nnarrowness of that lady’s point of view? “Mrs. Saltram,” I explained,\n“undervalues him where he’s strongest, so that, to make up for it\nperhaps, she overpraises him where he’s weak. He’s not, assuredly,\nsuperficially attractive; he’s middle-aged, fat, featureless save for his\ngreat eyes.”\n\n“Yes, his great eyes,” said my young lady attentively. She had evidently\nheard all about his great eyes—the beaux yeux for which alone we had\nreally done it all.\n\n“They’re tragic and splendid—lights on a dangerous coast. But he moves\nbadly and dresses worse, and altogether he’s anything but smart.”\n\nMy companion, who appeared to reflect on this, after a moment appealed.\n“Do you call him a real gentleman?”\n\nI started slightly at the question, for I had a sense of recognising it:\nGeorge Gravener, years before, that first flushed night, had put me face\nto face with it. It had embarrassed me then, but it didn’t embarrass me\nnow, for I had lived with it and overcome it and disposed of it. “A real\ngentleman? Emphatically not!”\n\nMy promptitude surprised her a little, but I quickly felt how little it\nwas to Gravener I was now talking. “Do you say that because he’s—what do\nyou call it in England?—of humble extraction?”\n\n“Not a bit. His father was a country school-master and his mother the\nwidow of a sexton, but that has nothing to do with it. I say it simply\nbecause I know him well.”\n\n“But isn’t it an awful drawback?”\n\n“Awful—quite awful.”\n\n“I mean isn’t it positively fatal?”\n\n“Fatal to what? Not to his magnificent vitality.”\n\nAgain she had a meditative moment. “And is his magnificent vitality the\ncause of his vices?”\n\n“Your questions are formidable, but I’m glad you put them. I was\nthinking of his noble intellect. His vices, as you say, have been much\nexaggerated: they consist mainly after all in one comprehensive defect.”\n\n“A want of will?”\n\n“A want of dignity.”\n\n“He doesn’t recognise his obligations?”\n\n“On the contrary, he recognises them with effusion, especially in public:\nhe smiles and bows and beckons across the street to them. But when they\npass over he turns away, and he speedily loses them in the crowd. The\nrecognition’s purely spiritual—it isn’t in the least social. So he\nleaves all his belongings to other people to take care of. He accepts\nfavours, loans, sacrifices—all with nothing more deterrent than an agony\nof shame. Fortunately we’re a little faithful band, and we do what we\ncan.” I held my tongue about the natural children, engendered, to the\nnumber of three, in the wantonness of his youth. I only remarked that he\ndid make efforts—often tremendous ones. “But the efforts,” I said,\n“never come to much: the only things that come to much are the\nabandonments, the surrenders.”\n\n“And how much do they come to?”\n\n“You’re right to put it as if we had a big bill to pay, but, as I’ve told\nyou before, your questions are rather terrible. They come, these mere\nexercises of genius, to a great sum total of poetry, of philosophy, a\nmighty mass of speculation, notation, quotation. The genius is there,\nyou see, to meet the surrender; but there’s no genius to support the\ndefence.”\n\n“But what is there, after all, at his age, to show?”\n\n“In the way of achievement recognised and reputation established?” I\nasked. “To ‘show’ if you will, there isn’t much, since his writing,\nmostly, isn’t as fine, isn’t certainly as showy, as his talk. Moreover\ntwo-thirds of his work are merely colossal projects and announcements.\n‘Showing’ Frank Saltram is often a poor business,” I went on: “we\nendeavoured, you’ll have observed, to show him to-night! However, if he\nhad lectured he’d have lectured divinely. It would just have been his\ntalk.”\n\n“And what would his talk just have been?”\n\nI was conscious of some ineffectiveness, as well perhaps as of a little\nimpatience, as I replied: “The exhibition of a splendid intellect.” My\nyoung lady looked not quite satisfied at this, but as I wasn’t prepared\nfor another question I hastily pursued: “The sight of a great suspended\nswinging crystal—huge lucid lustrous, a block of light—flashing back\nevery impression of life and every possibility of thought!”\n\nThis gave her something to turn over till we had passed out to the dusky\nporch of the hall, in front of which the lamps of a quiet brougham were\nalmost the only thing Saltram’s treachery hadn’t extinguished. I went\nwith her to the door of her carriage, out of which she leaned a moment\nafter she had thanked me and taken her seat. Her smile even in the\ndarkness was pretty. “I do want to see that crystal!”\n\n“You’ve only to come to the next lecture.”\n\n“I go abroad in a day or two with my aunt.”\n\n“Wait over till next week,” I suggested. “It’s quite worth it.”\n\nShe became grave. “Not unless he really comes!” At which the brougham\nstarted off, carrying her away too fast, fortunately for my manners, to\nallow me to exclaim “Ingratitude!”\n\n\n\n\nIV\n\n\nMRS. SALTRAM made a great affair of her right to be informed where her\nhusband had been the second evening he failed to meet his audience. She\ncame to me to ascertain, but I couldn’t satisfy her, for in spite of my\ningenuity I remained in ignorance. It wasn’t till much later that I\nfound this had not been the case with Kent Mulville, whose hope for the\nbest never twirled the thumbs of him more placidly than when he happened\nto know the worst. He had known it on the occasion I speak of—that is\nimmediately after. He was impenetrable then, but ultimately confessed.\nWhat he confessed was more than I shall now venture to make public. It\nwas of course familiar to me that Saltram was incapable of keeping the\nengagements which, after their separation, he had entered into with\nregard to his wife, a deeply wronged, justly resentful, quite\nirreproachable and insufferable person. She often appeared at my\nchambers to talk over his lapses; for if, as she declared, she had washed\nher hands of him, she had carefully preserved the water of this ablution,\nwhich she handed about for analysis. She had arts of her own of exciting\none’s impatience, the most infallible of which was perhaps her assumption\nthat we were kind to her because we liked her. In reality her personal\nfall had been a sort of social rise—since I had seen the moment when, in\nour little conscientious circle, her desolation almost made her the\nfashion. Her voice was grating and her children ugly; moreover she hated\nthe good Mulvilles, whom I more and more loved. They were the people who\nby doing most for her husband had in the long run done most for herself;\nand the warm confidence with which he had laid his length upon them was a\npressure gentle compared with her stiffer persuadability. I’m bound to\nsay he didn’t criticise his benefactors, though practically he got tired\nof them; she, however, had the highest standards about eleemosynary\nforms. She offered the odd spectacle of a spirit puffed up by\ndependence, and indeed it had introduced her to some excellent society.\nShe pitied me for not knowing certain people who aided her and whom she\ndoubtless patronised in turn for their luck in not knowing me. I dare\nsay I should have got on with her better if she had had a ray of\nimagination—if it had occasionally seemed to occur to her to regard\nSaltram’s expressions of his nature in any other manner than as separate\nsubjects of woe. They were all flowers of his character, pearls strung\non an endless thread; but she had a stubborn little way of challenging\nthem one after the other, as if she never suspected that he had a\ncharacter, such as it was, or that deficiencies might be organic; the\nirritating effect of a mind incapable of a generalisation. One might\ndoubtless have overdone the idea that there was a general licence for\nsuch a man; but if this had happened it would have been through one’s\nfeeling that there could be none for such a woman.\n\nI recognised her superiority when I asked her about the aunt of the\ndisappointed young lady: it sounded like a sentence from an\nEnglish-French or other phrase-book. She triumphed in what she told me\nand she may have triumphed still more in what she withheld. My friend of\nthe other evening, Miss Anvoy, had but lately come to England; Lady\nCoxon, the aunt, had been established here for years in consequence of\nher marriage with the late Sir Gregory of that name. She had a house in\nthe Regent’s Park, a Bath-chair and a fernery; and above all she had\nsympathy. Mrs. Saltram had made her acquaintance through mutual friends.\nThis vagueness caused me to feel how much I was out of it and how large\nan independent circle Mrs. Saltram had at her command. I should have\nbeen glad to know more about the disappointed young lady, but I felt I\nshould know most by not depriving her of her advantage, as she might have\nmysterious means of depriving me of my knowledge. For the present,\nmoreover, this experience was stayed, Lady Coxon having in fact gone\nabroad accompanied by her niece. The niece, besides being immensely\nclever, was an heiress, Mrs. Saltram said; the only daughter and the\nlight of the eyes of some great American merchant, a man, over there, of\nendless indulgences and dollars. She had pretty clothes and pretty\nmanners, and she had, what was prettier still, the great thing of all.\nThe great thing of all for Mrs. Saltram was always sympathy, and she\nspoke as if during the absence of these ladies she mightn’t know where to\nturn for it. A few months later indeed, when they had come back, her\ntone perceptibly changed: she alluded to them, on my leading her up to\nit, rather as to persons in her debt for favours received. What had\nhappened I didn’t know, but I saw it would take only a little more or a\nlittle less to make her speak of them as thankless subjects of social\ncountenance—people for whom she had vainly tried to do something. I\nconfess I saw how it wouldn’t be in a mere week or two that I should rid\nmyself of the image of Ruth Anvoy, in whose very name, when I learnt it,\nI found something secretly to like. I should probably neither see her\nnor hear of her again: the knight’s widow (he had been mayor of\nClockborough) would pass away and the heiress would return to her\ninheritance. I gathered with surprise that she had not communicated to\nhis wife the story of her attempt to hear Mr..Saltram, and I founded this\nreticence on the easy supposition that Mrs. Saltram had fatigued by\noverpressure the spring of the sympathy of which she boasted. The girl\nat any rate would forget the small adventure, be distracted, take a\nhusband; besides which she would lack occasion to repeat her experiment.\n\nWe clung to the idea of the brilliant course, delivered without an\naccident, that, as a lecturer, would still make the paying public aware\nof our great man, but the fact remained that in the case of an\ninspiration so unequal there was treachery, there was fallacy at least,\nin the very conception of a series. In our scrutiny of ways and means we\nwere inevitably subject to the old convention of the synopsis, the\nsyllabus, partly of course not to lose the advantage of his grand free\nhand in drawing up such things; but for myself I laughed at our playbills\neven while I stickled for them. It was indeed amusing work to be\nscrupulous for Frank Saltram, who also at moments laughed about it, so\nfar as the comfort of a sigh so unstudied as to be cheerful might pass\nfor such a sound. He admitted with a candour all his own that he was in\ntruth only to be depended on in the Mulvilles’ drawing-room. “Yes,” he\nsuggestively allowed, “it’s there, I think, that I’m at my best; quite\nlate, when it gets toward eleven—and if I’ve not been too much worried.”\nWe all knew what too much worry meant; it meant too enslaved for the hour\nto the superstition of sobriety. On the Saturdays I used to bring my\nportmanteau, so as not to have to think of eleven o’clock trains. I had\na bold theory that as regards this temple of talk and its altars of\ncushioned chintz, its pictures and its flowers, its large fireside and\nclear lamplight, we might really arrive at something if the Mulvilles\nwould but charge for admission. Here it was, however, that they\nshamelessly broke down; as there’s a flaw in every perfection this was\nthe inexpugnable refuge of their egotism. They declined to make their\nsaloon a market, so that Saltram’s golden words continued the sole coin\nthat rang there. It can have happened to no man, however, to be paid a\ngreater price than such an enchanted hush as surrounded him on his\ngreatest nights. The most profane, on these occasions, felt a presence;\nall minor eloquence grew dumb. Adelaide Mulville, for the pride of her\nhospitality, anxiously watched the door or stealthily poked the fire. I\nused to call it the music-room, for we had anticipated Bayreuth. The\nvery gates of the kingdom of light seemed to open and the horizon of\nthought to flash with the beauty of a sunrise at sea.\n\nIn the consideration of ways and means, the sittings of our little board,\nwe were always conscious of the creak of Mrs. Saltram’s shoes. She\nhovered, she interrupted, she almost presided, the state of affairs being\nmostly such as to supply her with every incentive for enquiring what was\nto be done next. It was the pressing pursuit of this knowledge that, in\nconcatenations of omnibuses and usually in very wet weather, led her so\noften to my door. She thought us spiritless creatures with editors and\npublishers; but she carried matters to no great effect when she\npersonally pushed into back-shops. She wanted all moneys to be paid to\nherself: they were otherwise liable to such strange adventures. They\ntrickled away into the desert—they were mainly at best, alas, a slender\nstream. The editors and the publishers were the last people to take this\nremarkable thinker at the valuation that has now pretty well come to be\nestablished. The former were half-distraught between the desire to “cut”\nhim and the difficulty of finding a crevice for their shears; and when a\nvolume on this or that portentous subject was proposed to the latter they\nsuggested alternative titles which, as reported to our friend, brought\ninto his face the noble blank melancholy that sometimes made it handsome.\nThe title of an unwritten book didn’t after all much matter, but some\nmasterpiece of Saltram’s may have died in his bosom of the shudder with\nwhich it was then convulsed. The ideal solution, failing the fee at Kent\nMulville’s door, would have been some system of subscription to projected\ntreatises with their non-appearance provided for—provided for, I mean, by\nthe indulgence of subscribers. The author’s real misfortune was that\nsubscribers were so wretchedly literal. When they tastelessly enquired\nwhy publication hadn’t ensued I was tempted to ask who in the world had\never been so published. Nature herself had brought him out in voluminous\nform, and the money was simply a deposit on borrowing the work.\n\n\n\n\nV\n\n\nI WAS doubtless often a nuisance to my friends in those years; but there\nwere sacrifices I declined to make, and I never passed the hat to George\nGravener. I never forgot our little discussion in Ebury Street, and I\nthink it stuck in my throat to have to treat him to the avowal I had\nfound so easy to Mss Anvoy. It had cost me nothing to confide to this\ncharming girl, but it would have cost me much to confide to the friend of\nmy youth, that the character of the “real gentleman” wasn’t an attribute\nof the man I took such pains for. Was this because I had already\ngeneralised to the point of perceiving that women are really the\nunfastidious sex? I knew at any rate that Gravener, already quite in\nview but still hungry and frugal, had naturally enough more ambition than\ncharity. He had sharp aims for stray sovereigns, being in view most from\nthe tall steeple of Clockborough. His immediate ambition was to occupy à\nlui seul the field of vision of that smokily-seeing city, and all his\nmovements and postures were calculated for the favouring angle. The\nmovement of the hand as to the pocket had thus to alternate gracefully\nwith the posture of the hand on the heart. He talked to Clockborough in\nshort only less beguilingly than Frank Saltram talked to his electors;\nwith the difference to our credit, however, that we had already voted and\nthat our candidate had no antagonist but himself. He had more than once\nbeen at Wimbledon—it was Mrs. Mulville’s work not mine—and by the time\nthe claret was served had seen the god descend. He took more pains to\nswing his censer than I had expected, but on our way back to town he\nforestalled any little triumph I might have been so artless as to express\nby the observation that such a man was—a hundred times!—a man to use and\nnever a man to be used by. I remember that this neat remark humiliated\nme almost as much as if virtually, in the fever of broken slumbers, I\nhadn’t often made it myself. The difference was that on Gravener’s part\na force attached to it that could never attach to it on mine. He was\nable to use people—he had the machinery; and the irony of Saltram’s being\nmade showy at Clockborough came out to me when he said, as if he had no\nmemory of our original talk and the idea were quite fresh to him: “I hate\nhis type, you know, but I’ll be hanged if I don’t put some of those\nthings in. I can find a place for them: we might even find a place for\nthe fellow himself.” I myself should have had some fear—not, I need\nscarcely say, for the “things” themselves, but for some other things very\nnear them; in fine for the rest of my eloquence.\n\nLater on I could see that the oracle of Wimbledon was not in this case so\nappropriate as he would have been had the polities of the gods only\ncoincided more exactly with those of the party. There was a distinct\nmoment when, without saying anything more definite to me, Gravener\nentertained the idea of annexing Mr. Saltram. Such a project was\ndelusive, for the discovery of analogies between his body of doctrine and\nthat pressed from headquarters upon Clockborough—the bottling, in a word,\nof the air of those lungs for convenient public uncorking in\ncorn-exchanges—was an experiment for which no one had the leisure. The\nonly thing would have been to carry him massively about, paid, caged,\nclipped; to turn him on for a particular occasion in a particular\nchannel. Frank Saltram’s channel, however, was essentially not\ncalculable, and there was no knowing what disastrous floods might have\nensued. For what there would have been to do The Empire, the great\nnewspaper, was there to look to; but it was no new misfortune that there\nwere delicate situations in which The Empire broke down. In fine there\nwas an instinctive apprehension that a clever young journalist\ncommissioned to report on Mr. Saltram might never come back from the\nerrand. No one knew better than George Gravener that that was a time\nwhen prompt returns counted double. If he therefore found our friend an\nexasperating waste of orthodoxy it was because of his being, as he said,\npoor Gravener, up in the clouds, not because he was down in the dust.\nThe man would have been, just as he was, a real enough gentleman if he\ncould have helped to put in a real gentleman. Gravener’s great objection\nto the actual member was that he was not one.\n\nLady Coxon had a fine old house, a house with “grounds,” at Clockborough,\nwhich she had let; but after she returned from abroad I learned from Mrs.\nSaltram that the lease had fallen in and that she had gone down to resume\npossession. I could see the faded red livery, the big square shoulders,\nthe high-walled garden of this decent abode. As the rumble of\ndissolution grew louder the suitor would have pressed his suit, and I\nfound myself hoping the politics of the late Mayor’s widow wouldn’t be\nsuch as to admonish her to ask him to dinner; perhaps indeed I went so\nfar as to pray, they would naturally form a bar to any contact. I tried\nto focus the many-buttoned page, in the daily airing, as he perhaps even\npushed the Bath-chair over somebody’s toes. I was destined to hear, none\nthe less, through Mrs. Saltram—who, I afterwards learned, was in\ncorrespondence with Lady Coxon’s housekeeper—that Gravener was known to\nhave spoken of the habitation I had in my eye as the pleasantest thing at\nClockborough. On his part, I was sure, this was the voice not of envy\nbut of experience. The vivid scene was now peopled, and I could see him\nin the old-time garden with Miss Anvoy, who would be certain, and very\njustly, to think him good-looking. It would be too much to describe\nmyself as troubled by this play of surmise; but I occur to remember the\nrelief, singular enough, of feeling it suddenly brushed away by an\nannoyance really much greater; an annoyance the result of its happening\nto come over me about that time with a rush that I was simply ashamed of\nFrank Saltram. There were limits after all, and my mark at last had been\nreached.\n\nI had had my disgusts, if I may allow myself to-day such an expression;\nbut this was a supreme revolt. Certain things cleared up in my mind,\ncertain values stood out. It was all very well to have an unfortunate\ntemperament; there was nothing so unfortunate as to have, for practical\npurposes, nothing else. I avoided George Gravener at this moment and\nreflected that at such a time I should do so most effectually by leaving\nEngland. I wanted to forget Frank Saltram—that was all. I didn’t want\nto do anything in the world to him but that. Indignation had withered on\nthe stalk, and I felt that one could pity him as much as one ought only\nby never thinking of him again. It wasn’t for anything he had done to\nme; it was for what he had done to the Mulvilles. Adelaide cried about\nit for a week, and her husband, profiting by the example so signally\ngiven him of the fatal effect of a want of character, left the letter,\nthe drop too much, unanswered. The letter, an incredible one, addressed\nby Saltram to Wimbledon during a stay with the Pudneys at Ramsgate, was\nthe central feature of the incident, which, however, had many features,\neach more painful than whichever other we compared it with. The Pudneys\nhad behaved shockingly, but that was no excuse. Base ingratitude, gross\nindecency—one had one’s choice only of such formulas as that the more\nthey fitted the less they gave one rest. These are dead aches now, and I\nam under no obligation, thank heaven, to be definite about the business.\nThere are things which if I had had to tell them—well, would have stopped\nme off here altogether.\n\nI went abroad for the general election, and if I don’t know how much, on\nthe Continent, I forgot, I at least know how much I missed, him. At a\ndistance, in a foreign land, ignoring, abjuring, unlearning him, I\ndiscovered what he had done for me. I owed him, oh unmistakeably,\ncertain noble conceptions; I had lighted my little taper at his smoky\nlamp, and lo it continued to twinkle. But the light it gave me just\nshowed me how much more I wanted. I was pursued of course by letters\nfrom Mrs. Saltram which I didn’t scruple not to read, though quite aware\nher embarrassments couldn’t but be now of the gravest. I sacrificed to\npropriety by simply putting them away, and this is how, one day as my\nabsence drew to an end, my eye, while I rummaged in my desk for another\npaper, was caught by a name on a leaf that had detached itself from the\npacket. The allusion was to Miss Anvoy, who, it appeared, was engaged to\nbe married to Mr. George Gravener; and the news was two months old. A\ndirect question of Mrs. Saltram’s had thus remained unanswered—she had\nenquired of me in a postscript what sort of man this aspirant to such a\nhand might be. The great other fact about him just then was that he had\nbeen triumphantly returned for Clockborough in the interest of the party\nthat had swept the country—so that I might easily have referred Mrs.\nSaltram to the journals of the day. Yet when I at last wrote her that I\nwas coming home and would discharge my accumulated burden by seeing her,\nI but remarked in regard to her question that she must really put it to\nMiss Anvoy.\n\n\n\n\nVI\n\n\nI HAD almost avoided the general election, but some of its consequences,\non my return, had smartly to be faced. The season, in London, began to\nbreathe again and to flap its folded wings. Confidence, under the new\nMinistry, was understood to be reviving, and one of the symptoms, in a\nsocial body, was a recovery of appetite. People once more fed together,\nand it happened that, one Saturday night, at somebody’s house, I fed with\nGeorge Gravener. When the ladies left the room I moved up to where he\nsat and begged to congratulate him. “On my election?” he asked after a\nmoment; so that I could feign, jocosely, not to have heard of that\ntriumph and to be alluding to the rumour of a victory still more\npersonal. I dare say I coloured however, for his political success had\nmomentarily passed out of my mind. What was present to it was that he\nwas to marry that beautiful girl; and yet his question made me conscious\nof some discomposure—I hadn’t intended to put this before everything. He\nhimself indeed ought gracefully to have done so, and I remember thinking\nthe whole man was in this assumption that in expressing my sense of what\nhe had won I had fixed my thoughts on his “seat.” We straightened the\nmatter out, and he was so much lighter in hand than I had lately seen him\nthat his spirits might well have been fed from a twofold source. He was\nso good as to say that he hoped I should soon make the acquaintance of\nMiss Anvoy, who, with her aunt, was presently coming up to town. Lady\nCoxon, in the country, had been seriously unwell, and this had delayed\ntheir arrival. I told him I had heard the marriage would be a splendid\none; on which, brightened and humanised by his luck, he laughed and said\n“Do you mean for her?” When I had again explained what I meant he went\non: “Oh she’s an American, but you’d scarcely know it; unless, perhaps,”\nhe added, “by her being used to more money than most girls in England,\neven the daughters of rich men. That wouldn’t in the least do for a\nfellow like me, you know, if it wasn’t for the great liberality of her\nfather. He really has been most kind, and everything’s quite\nsatisfactory.” He added that his eldest brother had taken a tremendous\nfancy to her and that during a recent visit at Coldfield she had nearly\nwon over Lady Maddock. I gathered from something he dropped later on\nthat the free-handed gentleman beyond the seas had not made a settlement,\nbut had given a handsome present and was apparently to be looked to,\nacross the water, for other favours. People are simplified alike by\ngreat contentments and great yearnings, and, whether or no it was\nGravener’s directness that begot my own, I seem to recall that in some\nturn taken by our talk he almost imposed it on me as an act of decorum to\nask if Miss Anvoy had also by chance expectations from her aunt. My\nenquiry drew out that Lady Coxon, who was the oddest of women, would have\nin any contingency to act under her late husband’s will, which was odder\nstill, saddling her with a mass of queer obligations complicated with\nqueer loopholes. There were several dreary people, Coxon cousins, old\nmaids, to whom she would have more or less to minister. Gravener\nlaughed, without saying no, when I suggested that the young lady might\ncome in through a loophole; then suddenly, as if he suspected my turning\na lantern on him, he declared quite dryly: “That’s all rot—one’s moved by\nother springs!”\n\nA fortnight later, at Lady Coxon’s own house, I understood well enough\nthe springs one was moved by. Gravener had spoken of me there as an old\nfriend, and I received a gracious invitation to dine. The Knight’s widow\nwas again indisposed—she had succumbed at the eleventh hour; so that I\nfound Miss Anvoy bravely playing hostess without even Gravener’s help,\nsince, to make matters worse, he had just sent up word that the House,\nthe insatiable House, with which he supposed he had contracted for easier\nterms, positively declined to release him. I was struck with the\ncourage, the grace and gaiety of the young lady left thus to handle the\nfauna and flora of the Regent’s Park. I did what I could to help her to\nclassify them, after I had recovered from the confusion of seeing her\nslightly disconcerted at perceiving in the guest introduced by her\nintended the gentleman with whom she had had that talk about Frank\nSaltram. I had at this moment my first glimpse of the fact that she was\na person who could carry a responsibility; but I leave the reader to\njudge of my sense of the aggravation, for either of us, of such a burden,\nwhen I heard the servant announce Mrs. Saltram. From what immediately\npassed between the two ladies I gathered that the latter had been sent\nfor post-haste to fill the gap created by the absence of the mistress of\nthe house. “Good!” I remember crying, “she’ll be put by me;” and my\napprehension was promptly justified. Mrs. Saltram taken in to dinner,\nand taken in as a consequence of an appeal to her amiability, was Mrs.\nSaltram with a vengeance. I asked myself what Miss Anvoy meant by doing\nsuch things, but the only answer I arrived at was that Gravener was\nverily fortunate. She hadn’t happened to tell him of her visit to Upper\nBaker Street, but she’d certainly tell him to-morrow; not indeed that\nthis would make him like any better her having had the innocence to\ninvite such a person as Mrs. Saltram on such an occasion. It could only\nstrike me that I had never seen a young woman put such ignorance into her\ncleverness, such freedom into her modesty; this, I think, was when, after\ndinner, she said to me frankly, with almost jubilant mirth: “Oh you don’t\nadmire Mrs. Saltram?” Why should I? This was truly a young person\nwithout guile. I had briefly to consider before I could reply that my\nobjection to the lady named was the objection often uttered about people\nmet at the social board—I knew all her stories. Then as Miss Anvoy\nremained momentarily vague I added: “Those about her husband.”\n\n“Oh yes, but there are some new ones.”\n\n“None for me. Ah novelty would be pleasant!”\n\n“Doesn’t it appear that of late he has been particularly horrid?”\n\n“His fluctuations don’t matter”, I returned, “for at night all cats are\ngrey. You saw the shade of this one the night we waited for him\ntogether. What will you have? He has no dignity.”\n\nMiss Anvoy, who had been introducing with her American distinctness,\nlooked encouragingly round at some of the combinations she had risked.\n“It’s too bad I can’t see him.”\n\n“You mean Gravener won’t let you?”\n\n“I haven’t asked him. He lets me do everything.”\n\n“But you know he knows him and wonders what some of us see in him.”\n\n“We haven’t happened to talk of him,” the girl said.\n\n“Get him to take you some day out to see the Mulvilles.”\n\n“I thought Mr. Saltram had thrown the Mulvilles over.”\n\n“Utterly. But that won’t prevent his being planted there again, to bloom\nlike a rose, within a month or two.”\n\nMiss Anvoy thought a moment. Then, “I should like to see them,” she said\nwith her fostering smile.\n\n“They’re tremendously worth it. You mustn’t miss them.”\n\n“I’ll make George take me,” she went on as Mrs. Saltram came up to\ninterrupt us. She sniffed at this unfortunate as kindly as she had\nsmiled at me and, addressing the question to her, continued: “But the\nchance of a lecture—one of the wonderful lectures? Isn’t there another\ncourse announced?”\n\n“Another? There are about thirty!” I exclaimed, turning away and feeling\nMrs. Saltram’s little eyes in my back. A few days after this I heard\nthat Gravener’s marriage was near at hand—was settled for Whitsuntide;\nbut as no invitation had reached me I had my doubts, and there presently\ncame to me in fact the report of a postponement. Something was the\nmatter; what was the matter was supposed to be that Lady Coxon was now\ncritically ill. I had called on her after my dinner in the Regent’s\nPark, but I had neither seen her nor seen Miss Anvoy. I forget to-day\nthe exact order in which, at this period, sundry incidents occurred and\nthe particular stage at which it suddenly struck me, making me catch my\nbreath a little, that the progression, the acceleration, was for all the\nworld that of fine drama. This was probably rather late in the day, and\nthe exact order doesn’t signify. What had already occurred was some\naccident determining a more patient wait. George Gravener, whom I met\nagain, in fact told me as much, but without signs of perturbation. Lady\nCoxon had to be constantly attended to, and there were other good reasons\nas well. Lady Coxon had to be so constantly attended to that on the\noccasion of a second attempt in the Regent’s Park I equally failed to\nobtain a sight of her niece. I judged it discreet in all the conditions\nnot to make a third; but this didn’t matter, for it was through Adelaide\nMulville that the side-wind of the comedy, though I was at first\nunwitting, began to reach me. I went to Wimbledon at times because\nSaltram was there, and I went at others because he wasn’t. The Pudneys,\nwho had taken him to Birmingham, had already got rid of him, and we had a\nhorrible consciousness of his wandering roofless, in dishonour, about the\nsmoky Midlands, almost as the injured Lear wandered on the storm-lashed\nheath. His room, upstairs, had been lately done up (I could hear the\ncrackle of the new chintz) and the difference only made his smirches and\nbruises, his splendid tainted genius, the more tragic. If he wasn’t\nbarefoot in the mire he was sure to be unconventionally shod. These were\nthe things Adelaide and I, who were old enough friends to stare at each\nother in silence, talked about when we didn’t speak. When we spoke it\nwas only about the brilliant girl George Gravener was to marry and whom\nhe had brought out the other Sunday. I could see that this presentation\nhad been happy, for Mrs. Mulville commemorated it after her sole fashion\nof showing confidence in a new relation. “She likes me—she likes me”:\nher native humility exulted in that measure of success. We all knew for\nourselves how she liked those who liked her, and as regards Ruth Anvoy\nshe was more easily won over than Lady Maddock.\n\n\n\n\nVII\n\n\nONE of the consequences, for the Mulvilles, of the sacrifices they made\nfor Frank Saltram was that they had to give up their carriage. Adelaide\ndrove gently into London in a one-horse greenish thing, an early\nVictorian landau, hired, near at hand, imaginatively, from a broken-down\njobmaster whose wife was in consumption—a vehicle that made people turn\nround all the more when her pensioner sat beside her in a soft white hat\nand a shawl, one of the dear woman’s own. This was his position and I\ndare say his costume when on an afternoon in July she went to return Miss\nAnvoy’s visit. The wheel of fate had now revolved, and amid silences\ndeep and exhaustive, compunctions and condonations alike unutterable,\nSaltram was reinstated. Was it in pride or in penance that Mrs. Mulville\nhad begun immediately to drive him about? If he was ashamed of his\ningratitude she might have been ashamed of her forgiveness; but she was\nincorrigibly capable of liking him to be conspicuous in the landau while\nshe was in shops or with her acquaintance. However, if he was in the\npillory for twenty minutes in the Regent’s Park—I mean at Lady Coxon’s\ndoor while his companion paid her call—it wasn’t to the further\nhumiliation of any one concerned that she presently came out for him in\nperson, not even to show either of them what a fool she was that she drew\nhim in to be introduced to the bright young American. Her account of the\nintroduction I had in its order, but before that, very late in the\nseason, under Gravener’s auspices, I met Miss Anvoy at tea at the House\nof Commons. The member for Clockborough had gathered a group of pretty\nladies, and the Mulvilles were not of the party. On the great terrace,\nas I strolled off with her a little, the guest of honour immediately\nexclaimed to me: “I’ve seen him, you know—I’ve seen him!” She told me\nabout Saltram’s call.\n\n“And how did you find him?”\n\n“Oh so strange!”\n\n“You didn’t like him?”\n\n“I can’t tell till I see him again.”\n\n“You want to do that?”\n\nShe had a pause. “Immensely.”\n\nWe went no further; I fancied she had become aware Gravener was looking\nat us. She turned back toward the knot of the others, and I said:\n“Dislike him as much as you will—I see you’re bitten.”\n\n“Bitten?” I thought she coloured a little.\n\n“Oh it doesn’t matter!” I laughed; “one doesn’t die of it.”\n\n“I hope I shan’t die of anything before I’ve seen more of Mrs. Mulville.”\nI rejoiced with her over plain Adelaide, whom she pronounced the\nloveliest woman she had met in England; but before we separated I\nremarked to her that it was an act of mere humanity to warn her that if\nshe should see more of Frank Saltram—which would be likely to follow on\nany increase of acquaintance with Mrs. Mulville—she might find herself\nflattening her nose against the clear hard pane of an eternal\nquestion—that of the relative, that of the opposed, importances of virtue\nand brains. She replied that this was surely a subject on which one took\neverything for granted; whereupon I admitted that I had perhaps expressed\nmyself ill. What I referred to was what I had referred to the night we\nmet in Upper Baker Street—the relative importance (relative to virtue) of\nother gifts. She asked me if I called virtue a gift—a thing handed to us\nin a parcel on our first birthday; and I declared that this very enquiry\nproved to me the problem had already caught her by the skirt. She would\nhave help however, the same help I myself had once had, in resisting its\ntendency to make one cross.\n\n“What help do you mean?”\n\n“That of the member for Clockborough.”\n\nShe stared, smiled, then returned: “Why my idea has been to help him!”\n\nShe had helped him—I had his own word for it that at Clockborough her\nbedevilment of the voters had really put him in. She would do so\ndoubtless again and again, though I heard the very next month that this\nfine faculty had undergone a temporary eclipse. News of the catastrophe\nfirst came to me from Mrs. Saltram, and it was afterwards confirmed at\nWimbledon: poor Miss Anvoy was in trouble—great disasters in America had\nsuddenly summoned her home. Her father, in New York, had suffered\nreverses, lost so much money that it was really vexatious as showing how\nmuch he had had. It was Adelaide who told me she had gone off alone at\nless than a week’s notice.\n\n“Alone? Gravener has permitted that?”\n\n“What will you have? The House of Commons!”\n\nI’m afraid I cursed the House of Commons: I was so much interested. Of\ncourse he’d follow her as soon as he was free to make her his wife; only\nshe mightn’t now be able to bring him anything like the marriage-portion\nof which he had begun by having the virtual promise. Mrs. Mulville let\nme know what was already said: she was charming, this American girl, but\nreally these American fathers—! What was a man to do? Mr. Saltram,\naccording to Mrs. Mulville, was of opinion that a man was never to suffer\nhis relation to money to become a spiritual relation—he was to keep it\nexclusively material. “Moi pas comprendre!” I commented on this; in\nrejoinder to which Adelaide, with her beautiful sympathy, explained that\nshe supposed he simply meant that the thing was to use it, don’t you\nknow? but not to think too much about it. “To take it, but not to thank\nyou for it?” I still more profanely enquired. For a quarter of an hour\nafterwards she wouldn’t look at me, but this didn’t prevent my asking her\nwhat had been the result, that afternoon—in the Regent’s Park, of her\ntaking our friend to see Miss Anvoy.\n\n“Oh so charming!” she answered, brightening. “He said he recognised in\nher a nature he could absolutely trust.”\n\n“Yes, but I’m speaking of the effect on herself.”\n\nMrs. Mulville had to remount the stream. “It was everything one could\nwish.”\n\nSomething in her tone made me laugh. “Do you mean she gave him—a dole?”\n\n“Well, since you ask me!”\n\n“Right there on the spot?”\n\nAgain poor Adelaide faltered. “It was to me of course she gave it.”\n\nI stared; somehow I couldn’t see the scene. “Do you mean a sum of\nmoney?”\n\n“It was very handsome.” Now at last she met my eyes, though I could see\nit was with an effort. “Thirty pounds.”\n\n“Straight out of her pocket?”\n\n“Out of the drawer of a table at which she had been writing. She just\nslipped the folded notes into my hand. He wasn’t looking; it was while\nhe was going back to the carriage.” “Oh,” said Adelaide reassuringly, “I\ntake care of it for him!” The dear practical soul thought my agitation,\nfor I confess I was agitated, referred to the employment of the money.\nHer disclosure made me for a moment muse violently, and I dare say that\nduring that moment I wondered if anything else in the world makes people\nso gross as unselfishness. I uttered, I suppose, some vague synthetic\ncry, for she went on as if she had had a glimpse of my inward amaze at\nsuch passages. “I assure you, my dear friend, he was in one of his happy\nhours.”\n\nBut I wasn’t thinking of that. “Truly indeed these Americans!” I said.\n“With her father in the very act, as it were, of swindling her\nbetrothed!”\n\nMrs. Mulville stared. “Oh I suppose Mr. Anvoy has scarcely gone\nbankrupt—or whatever he has done—on purpose. Very likely they won’t be\nable to keep it up, but there it was, and it was a very beautiful\nimpulse.”\n\n“You say Saltram was very fine?”\n\n“Beyond everything. He surprised even me.”\n\n“And I know what you’ve enjoyed.” After a moment I added: “Had he\nperadventure caught a glimpse of the money in the table-drawer?”\n\nAt this my companion honestly flushed. “How can you be so cruel when you\nknow how little he calculates?”\n\n“Forgive me, I do know it. But you tell me things that act on my nerves.\nI’m sure he hadn’t caught a glimpse of anything but some splendid idea.”\n\nMrs. Mulville brightly concurred. “And perhaps even of her beautiful\nlistening face.”\n\n“Perhaps even! And what was it all about?”\n\n“His talk? It was apropos of her engagement, which I had told him about:\nthe idea of marriage, the philosophy, the poetry, the sublimity of it.”\nIt was impossible wholly to restrain one’s mirth at this, and some rude\nripple that I emitted again caused my companion to admonish me. “It\nsounds a little stale, but you know his freshness.”\n\n“Of illustration? Indeed I do!”\n\n“And how he has always been right on that great question.”\n\n“On what great question, dear lady, hasn’t he been right?”\n\n“Of what other great men can you equally say it?—and that he has never,\nbut never, had a deflexion?” Mrs. Mulville exultantly demanded.\n\nI tried to think of some other great man, but I had to give it up.\n“Didn’t Miss Anvoy express her satisfaction in any less diffident way\nthan by her charming present?” I was reduced to asking instead.\n\n“Oh yes, she overflowed to me on the steps while he was getting into the\ncarriage.” These words somehow brushed up a picture of Saltram’s big\nshawled back as he hoisted himself into the green landau. “She said she\nwasn’t disappointed,” Adelaide pursued.\n\nI turned it over. “Did he wear his shawl?”\n\n“His shawl?” She hadn’t even noticed.\n\n“I mean yours.”\n\n“He looked very nice, and you know he’s really clean. Miss Anvoy used\nsuch a remarkable expression—she said his mind’s like a crystal!”\n\nI pricked up my ears. “A crystal?”\n\n“Suspended in the moral world—swinging and shining and flashing there.\nShe’s monstrously clever, you know.”\n\nI thought again. “Monstrously!”\n\n\n\n\nVIII\n\n\nGEORGE GRAVENER didn’t follow her, for late in September, after the House\nhad risen, I met him in a railway-carriage. He was coming up from\nScotland and I had just quitted some relations who lived near Durham.\nThe current of travel back to London wasn’t yet strong; at any rate on\nentering the compartment I found he had had it for some time to himself.\nWe fared in company, and though he had a blue-book in his lap and the\nopen jaws of his bag threatened me with the white teeth of confused\npapers, we inevitably, we even at last sociably conversed. I saw things\nweren’t well with him, but I asked no question till something dropped by\nhimself made, as it had made on another occasion, an absence of curiosity\ninvidious. He mentioned that he was worried about his good old friend\nLady Coxon, who, with her niece likely to be detained some time in\nAmerica, lay seriously ill at Clockborough, much on his mind and on his\nhands.\n\n“Ah Miss Anvoy’s in America?”\n\n“Her father has got into horrid straits—has lost no end of money.”\n\nI waited, after expressing due concern, but I eventually said: “I hope\nthat raises no objection to your marriage.”\n\n“None whatever; moreover it’s my trade to meet objections. But it may\ncreate tiresome delays, of which there have been too many, from various\ncauses, already. Lady Coxon got very bad, then she got much better.\nThen Mr. Anvoy suddenly began to totter, and now he seems quite on his\nback. I’m afraid he’s really in for some big reverse. Lady Coxon’s\nworse again, awfully upset by the news from America, and she sends me\nword that she _must_ have Ruth. How can I supply her with Ruth? I\nhaven’t got Ruth myself!”\n\n“Surely you haven’t lost her?” I returned.\n\n“She’s everything to her wretched father. She writes me every\npost—telling me to smooth her aunt’s pillow. I’ve other things to\nsmooth; but the old lady, save for her servants, is really alone. She\nwon’t receive her Coxon relations—she’s angry at so much of her money\ngoing to them. Besides, she’s hopelessly mad,” said Gravener very\nfrankly.\n\nI don’t remember whether it was this, or what it was, that made me ask if\nshe hadn’t such an appreciation of Mrs. Saltram as might render that\nactive person of some use.\n\nHe gave me a cold glance, wanting to know what had put Mrs. Saltram into\nmy head, and I replied that she was unfortunately never out of it. I\nhappened to remember the wonderful accounts she had given me of the\nkindness Lady Coxon had shown her. Gravener declared this to be false;\nLady Coxon, who didn’t care for her, hadn’t seen her three times. The\nonly foundation for it was that Miss Anvoy, who used, poor girl, to chuck\nmoney about in a manner she must now regret, had for an hour seen in the\nmiserable woman—you could never know what she’d see in people—an\ninteresting pretext for the liberality with which her nature overflowed.\nBut even Miss Anvoy was now quite tired of her. Gravener told me more\nabout the crash in New York and the annoyance it had been to him, and we\nalso glanced here and there in other directions; but by the time we got\nto Doncaster the principal thing he had let me see was that he was\nkeeping something back. We stopped at that station, and, at the\ncarriage-door, some one made a movement to get in. Gravener uttered a\nsound of impatience, and I felt sure that but for this I should have had\nthe secret. Then the intruder, for some reason, spared us his company;\nwe started afresh, and my hope of a disclosure returned. My companion\nheld his tongue, however, and I pretended to go to sleep; in fact I\nreally dozed for discouragement. When I reopened my eyes he was looking\nat me with an injured air. He tossed away with some vivacity the remnant\nof a cigarette and then said: “If you’re not too sleepy I want to put you\na case.” I answered that I’d make every effort to attend, and welcomed\nthe note of interest when he went on: “As I told you a while ago, Lady\nCoxon, poor dear, is demented.” His tone had much behind it—was full of\npromise. I asked if her ladyship’s misfortune were a trait of her malady\nor only of her character, and he pronounced it a product of both. The\ncase he wanted to put to me was a matter on which it concerned him to\nhave the impression—the judgement, he might also say—of another person.\n“I mean of the average intelligent man, but you see I take what I can\nget.” There would be the technical, the strictly legal view; then there\nwould be the way the question would strike a man of the world. He had\nlighted another cigarette while he talked, and I saw he was glad to have\nit to handle when he brought out at last, with a laugh slightly\nartificial: “In fact it’s a subject on which Miss Anvoy and I are pulling\ndifferent ways.”\n\n“And you want me to decide between you? I decide in advance for Miss\nAnvoy.”\n\n“In advance—that’s quite right. That’s how I decided when I proposed to\nher. But my story will interest you only so far as your mind isn’t made\nup.” Gravener puffed his cigarette a minute and then continued: “Are you\nfamiliar with the idea of the Endowment of Research?”\n\n“Of Research?” I was at sea a moment.\n\n“I give you Lady Coxon’s phrase. She has it on the brain.”\n\n“She wishes to endow—?”\n\n“Some earnest and ‘loyal’ seeker,” Gravener said. “It was a sketchy\ndesign of her late husband’s, and he handed it on to her; setting apart\nin his will a sum of money of which she was to enjoy the interest for\nlife, but of which, should she eventually see her opportunity—the matter\nwas left largely to her discretion—she would best honour his memory by\ndetermining the exemplary public use. This sum of money, no less than\nthirteen thousand pounds, was to be called The Coxon Fund; and poor Sir\nGregory evidently proposed to himself that The Coxon Fund should cover\nhis name with glory—be universally desired and admired. He left his wife\na full declaration of his views, so far at least as that term may be\napplied to views vitiated by a vagueness really infantine. A little\nlearning’s a dangerous thing, and a good citizen who happens to have been\nan ass is worse for a community than bad sewerage. He’s worst of all\nwhen he’s dead, because then he can’t be stopped. However, such as they\nwere, the poor man’s aspirations are now in his wife’s bosom, or\nfermenting rather in her foolish brain: it lies with her to carry them\nout. But of course she must first catch her hare.”\n\n“Her earnest loyal seeker?”\n\n“The flower that blushes unseen for want of such a pecuniary independence\nas may aid the light that’s in it to shine upon the human race. The\nindividual, in a word, who, having the rest of the machinery, the\nspiritual, the intellectual, is most hampered in his search.”\n\n“His search for what?”\n\n“For Moral Truth. That’s what Sir Gregory calls it.”\n\nI burst out laughing. “Delightful munificent Sir Gregory! It’s a\ncharming idea.”\n\n“So Miss Anvoy thinks.”\n\n“Has she a candidate for the Fund?”\n\n“Not that I know of—and she’s perfectly reasonable about it. But Lady\nCoxon has put the matter before her, and we’ve naturally had a lot of\ntalk.”\n\n“Talk that, as you’ve so interestingly intimated, has landed you in a\ndisagreement.”\n\n“She considers there’s something in it,” Gravener said.\n\n“And you consider there’s nothing?”\n\n“It seems to me a piece of solemn twaddle—which can’t fail to be attended\nwith consequences certainly grotesque and possibly immoral. To begin\nwith, fancy constituting an endowment without establishing a tribunal—a\nbench of competent people, of judges.”\n\n“The sole tribunal is Lady Coxon?”\n\n“And any one she chooses to invite.”\n\n“But she has invited you,” I noted.\n\n“I’m not competent—I hate the thing. Besides, she hasn’t,” my friend\nwent on. “The real history of the matter, I take it, is that the\ninspiration was originally Lady Coxon’s own, that she infected him with\nit, and that the flattering option left her is simply his tribute to her\nbeautiful, her aboriginal enthusiasm. She came to England forty years\nago, a thin transcendental Bostonian, and even her odd happy frumpy\nClockborough marriage never really materialised her. She feels indeed\nthat she has become very British—as if that, as a process, as a ‘Werden,’\nas anything but an original sign of grace, were conceivable; but it’s\nprecisely what makes her cling to the notion of the ‘Fund’—cling to it as\nto a link with the ideal.”\n\n“How can she cling if she’s dying?”\n\n“Do you mean how can she act in the matter?” Gravener asked. “That’s\nprecisely the question. She can’t! As she has never yet caught her\nhare, never spied out her lucky impostor—how should she, with the life\nshe has led?—her husband’s intention has come very near lapsing. His\nidea, to do him justice, was that it _should_ lapse if exactly the right\nperson, the perfect mixture of genius and chill penury, should fail to\nturn up. Ah the poor dear woman’s very particular—she says there must be\nno mistake.”\n\nI found all this quite thrilling—I took it in with avidity. “And if she\ndies without doing anything, what becomes of the money?” I demanded.\n\n“It goes back to his family, if she hasn’t made some other disposition of\nit.”\n\n“She may do that then—she may divert it?”\n\n“Her hands are not tied. She has a grand discretion. The proof is that\nthree months ago she offered to make the proceeds over to her niece.”\n\n“For Miss Anvoy’s own use?”\n\n“For Miss Anvoy’s own use—on the occasion of her prospective marriage.\nShe was discouraged—the earnest seeker required so earnest a search. She\nwas afraid of making a mistake; every one she could think of seemed\neither not earnest enough or not poor enough. On the receipt of the\nfirst bad news about Mr. Anvoy’s affairs she proposed to Ruth to make the\nsacrifice for her. As the situation in New York got worse she repeated\nher proposal.”\n\n“Which Miss Anvoy declined?”\n\n“Except as a formal trust.”\n\n“You mean except as committing herself legally to place the money?”\n\n“On the head of the deserving object, the great man frustrated,” said\nGravener. “She only consents to act in the spirit of Sir Gregory’s\nscheme.”\n\n“And you blame her for that?” I asked with some intensity.\n\nMy tone couldn’t have been harsh, but he coloured a little and there was\na queer light in his eye. “My dear fellow, if I ‘blamed’ the young lady\nI’m engaged to I shouldn’t immediately say it even to so old a friend as\nyou.” I saw that some deep discomfort, some restless desire to be sided\nwith, reassuringly, approvingly mirrored, had been at the bottom of his\ndrifting so far, and I was genuinely touched by his confidence. It was\ninconsistent with his habits; but being troubled about a woman was not,\nfor him, a habit: that itself was an inconsistency. George Gravener\ncould stand straight enough before any other combination of forces. It\namused me to think that the combination he had succumbed to had an\nAmerican accent, a transcendental aunt and an insolvent father; but all\nmy old loyalty to him mustered to meet this unexpected hint that I could\nhelp him. I saw that I could from the insincere tone in which he\npursued: “I’ve criticised her of course, I’ve contended with her, and it\nhas been great fun.” Yet it clearly couldn’t have been such great fun as\nto make it improper for me presently to ask if Miss Anvoy had nothing at\nall settled on herself. To this he replied that she had only a trifle\nfrom her mother—a mere four hundred a year, which was exactly why it\nwould be convenient to him that she shouldn’t decline, in the face of\nthis total change in her prospects, an accession of income which would\ndistinctly help them to marry. When I enquired if there were no other\nway in which so rich and so affectionate an aunt could cause the weight\nof her benevolence to be felt, he answered that Lady Coxon was\naffectionate indeed, but was scarcely to be called rich. She could let\nher project of the Fund lapse for her niece’s benefit, but she couldn’t\ndo anything else. She had been accustomed to regard her as tremendously\nprovided for, and she was up to her eyes in promises to anxious Coxons.\nShe was a woman of an inordinate conscience, and her conscience was now a\ndistress to her, hovering round her bed in irreconcilable forms of\nresentful husbands, portionless nieces and undiscoverable philosophers.\n\nWe were by this time getting into the whirr of fleeting platforms, the\nmultiplication of lights. “I think you’ll find,” I said with a laugh,\n“that your predicament will disappear in the very fact that the\nphilosopher _is_ undiscoverable.”\n\nHe began to gather up his papers. “Who can set a limit to the ingenuity\nof an extravagant woman?”\n\n“Yes, after all, who indeed?” I echoed as I recalled the extravagance\ncommemorated in Adelaide’s anecdote of Miss Anvoy and the thirty pounds.\n\n\n\n\nIX\n\n\nTHE thing I had been most sensible of in that talk with George Gravener\nwas the way Saltram’s name kept out of it. It seemed to me at the time\nthat we were quite pointedly silent about him; but afterwards it appeared\nmore probable there had been on my companion’s part no conscious\navoidance. Later on I was sure of this, and for the best of reasons—the\nsimple reason of my perceiving more completely that, for evil as well as\nfor good, he said nothing to Gravener’s imagination. That honest man\ndidn’t fear him—he was too much disgusted with him. No more did I,\ndoubtless, and for very much the same reason. I treated my friend’s\nstory as an absolute confidence; but when before Christmas, by Mrs.\nSaltram, I was informed of Lady Coxon’s death without having had news of\nMiss Anvoy’s return, I found myself taking for granted we should hear no\nmore of these nuptials, in which, as obscurely unnatural, I now saw I had\nnever _too_ disconcertedly believed. I began to ask myself how people\nwho suited each other so little could please each other so much. The\ncharm was some material charm, some afffinity, exquisite doubtless, yet\nsuperficial some surrender to youth and beauty and passion, to force and\ngrace and fortune, happy accidents and easy contacts. They might dote on\neach other’s persons, but how could they know each other’s souls? How\ncould they have the same prejudices, how could they have the same\nhorizon? Such questions, I confess, seemed quenched but not answered\nwhen, one day in February, going out to Wimbledon, I found our young lady\nin the house. A passion that had brought her back across the wintry\nocean was as much of a passion as was needed. No impulse equally strong\nindeed had drawn George Gravener to America; a circumstance on which,\nhowever, I reflected only long enough to remind myself that it was none\nof my business. Ruth Anvoy was distinctly different, and I felt that the\ndifference was not simply that of her marks of mourning. Mrs. Mulville\ntold me soon enough what it was: it was the difference between a handsome\ngirl with large expectations and a handsome girl with only four hundred a\nyear. This explanation indeed didn’t wholly content me, not even when I\nlearned that her mourning had a double cause—learned that poor Mr. Anvoy,\ngiving way altogether, buried under the ruins of his fortune and leaving\nnext to nothing, had died a few weeks before.\n\n“So she has come out to marry George Gravener?” I commented. “Wouldn’t\nit have been prettier of him to have saved her the trouble?”\n\n“Hasn’t the House just met?” Adelaide replied. “And for Mr. Gravener the\nHouse—!” Then she added: “I gather that her having come is exactly a\nsign that the marriage is a little shaky. If it were quite all right a\nself-respecting girl like Ruth would have waited for him over there.”\n\nI noted that they were already Ruth and Adelaide, but what I said was:\n“Do you mean she’ll have had to return to _make_ it so?”\n\n“No, I mean that she must have come out for some reason independent of\nit.” Adelaide could only surmise, however, as yet, and there was more,\nas we found, to be revealed. Mrs. Mulville, on hearing of her arrival,\nhad brought the young lady out in the green landau for the Sunday. The\nCoxons were in possession of the house in Regent’s Park, and Miss Anvoy\nwas in dreary lodgings. George Gravener had been with her when Adelaide\ncalled, but had assented graciously enough to the little visit at\nWimbledon. The carriage, with Mr. Saltram in it but not mentioned, had\nbeen sent off on some errand from which it was to return and pick the\nladies up. Gravener had left them together, and at the end of an hour,\non the Saturday afternoon, the party of three had driven out to\nWimbledon. This was the girl’s second glimpse of our great man, and I\nwas interested in asking Mrs. Mulville if the impression made by the\nfirst appeared to have been confirmed. On her replying after\nconsideration, that of course with time and opportunity it couldn’t fail\nto be, but that she was disappointed, I was sufficiently struck with her\nuse of this last word to question her further.\n\n“Do you mean you’re disappointed because you judge Miss Anvoy to be?”\n\n“Yes; I hoped for a greater effect last evening. We had two or three\npeople, but he scarcely opened his mouth.”\n\n“He’ll be all the better to-night,” I opined after a moment. Then I\npursued: “What particular importance do you attach to the idea of her\nbeing impressed?”\n\nAdelaide turned her mild pale eyes on me as for rebuke of my levity.\n“Why the importance of her being as happy as _we_ are!”\n\nI’m afraid that at this my levity grew. “Oh that’s a happiness almost\ntoo great to wish a person!” I saw she hadn’t yet in her mind what I had\nin mine, and at any rate the visitor’s actual bliss was limited to a walk\nin the garden with Kent Mulville. Later in the afternoon I also took\none, and I saw nothing of Miss Anvoy till dinner, at which we failed of\nthe company of Saltram, who had caused it to be reported that he was\nindisposed and lying down. This made us, most of us—for there were other\nfriends present—convey to each other in silence some of the unutterable\nthings that in those years our eyes had inevitably acquired the art of\nexpressing. If a fine little American enquirer hadn’t been there we\nwould have expressed them otherwise, and Adelaide would have pretended\nnot to hear. I had seen her, before the very fact, abstract herself\nnobly; and I knew that more than once, to keep it from the servants,\nmanaging, dissimulating cleverly, she had helped her husband to carry him\nbodily to his room. Just recently he had been so wise and so deep and so\nhigh that I had begun to get nervous—to wonder if by chance there were\nsomething behind it, if he were kept straight for instance by the\nknowledge that the hated Pudneys would have more to tell us if they\nchose. He was lying low, but unfortunately it was common wisdom with us\nin this connexion that the biggest splashes took place in the quietest\npools. We should have had a merry life indeed if all the splashes had\nsprinkled us as refreshingly as the waters we were even then to feel\nabout our ears. Kent Mulville had been up to his room, but had come back\nwith a face that told as few tales as I had seen it succeed in telling on\nthe evening I waited in the lecture-room with Miss Anvoy. I said to\nmyself that our friend had gone out, but it was a comfort that the\npresence of a comparative stranger deprived us of the dreary duty of\nsuggesting to each other, in respect of his errand, edifying\npossibilities in which we didn’t ourselves believe. At ten o’clock he\ncame into the drawing-room with his waistcoat much awry but his eyes\nsending out great signals. It was precisely with his entrance that I\nceased to be vividly conscious of him. I saw that the crystal, as I had\ncalled it, had begun to swing, and I had need of my immediate attention\nfor Miss Anvoy.\n\nEven when I was told afterwards that he had, as we might have said\nto-day, broken the record, the manner in which that attention had been\nrewarded relieved me of a sense of loss. I had of course a perfect\ngeneral consciousness that something great was going on: it was a little\nlike having been etherised to hear Herr Joachim play. The old music was\nin the air; I felt the strong pulse of thought, the sink and swell, the\nflight, the poise, the plunge; but I knew something about one of the\nlisteners that nobody else knew, and Saltram’s monologue could reach me\nonly through that medium. To this hour I’m of no use when, as a witness,\nI’m appealed to—for they still absurdly contend about it—as to whether or\nno on that historic night he was drunk; and my position is slightly\nridiculous, for I’ve never cared to tell them what it really was I was\ntaken up with. What I got out of it is the only morsel of the total\nexperience that is quite my own. The others were shared, but this is\nincommunicable. I feel that now, I’m bound to say, even in thus roughly\nevoking the occasion, and it takes something from my pride of clearness.\nHowever, I shall perhaps be as clear as is absolutely needful if I remark\nthat our young lady was too much given up to her own intensity of\nobservation to be sensible of mine. It was plainly not the question of\nher marriage that had brought her back. I greatly enjoyed this discovery\nand was sure that had that question alone been involved she would have\nstirred no step. In this case doubtless Gravener would, in spite of the\nHouse of Commons, have found means to rejoin her. It afterwards made me\nuncomfortable for her that, alone in the lodging Mrs. Mulville had put\nbefore me as dreary, she should have in any degree the air of waiting for\nher fate; so that I was presently relieved at hearing of her having gone\nto stay at Coldfield. If she was in England at all while the engagement\nstood the only proper place for her was under Lady Maddock’s wing. Now\nthat she was unfortunate and relatively poor, perhaps her prospective\nsister-in-law would be wholly won over.\n\nThere would be much to say, if I had space, about the way her behaviour,\nas I caught gleams of it, ministered to the image that had taken birth in\nmy mind, to my private amusement, while that other night I listened to\nGeorge Gravener in the railway-carriage. I watched her in the light of\nthis queer possibility—a formidable thing certainly to meet—and I was\naware that it coloured, extravagantly perhaps, my interpretation of her\nvery looks and tones. At Wimbledon for instance it had appeared to me\nshe was literally afraid of Saltram, in dread of a coercion that she had\nbegun already to feel. I had come up to town with her the next day and\nhad been convinced that, though deeply interested, she was immensely on\nher guard. She would show as little as possible before she should be\nready to show everything. What this final exhibition might be on the\npart of a girl perceptibly so able to think things out I found it great\nsport to forecast. It would have been exciting to be approached by her,\nappealed to by her for advice; but I prayed to heaven I mightn’t find\nmyself in such a predicament. If there was really a present rigour in\nthe situation of which Gravener had sketched for me the elements, she\nwould have to get out of her difficulty by herself. It wasn’t I who had\nlaunched her and it wasn’t I who could help her. I didn’t fail to ask\nmyself why, since I couldn’t help her, I should think so much about her.\nIt was in part my suspense that was responsible for this; I waited\nimpatiently to see whether she wouldn’t have told Mrs. Mulville a portion\nat least of what I had learned from Gravener. But I saw Mrs. Mulville\nwas still reduced to wonder what she had come out again for if she hadn’t\ncome as a conciliatory bride. That she had come in some other character\nwas the only thing that fitted all the appearances. Having for family\nreasons to spend some time that spring in the west of England, I was in a\nmanner out of earshot of the great oceanic rumble—I mean of the\ncontinuous hum of Saltram’s thought—and my uneasiness tended to keep me\nquiet. There was something I wanted so little to have to say that my\nprudence surmounted my curiosity. I only wondered if Ruth Anvoy talked\nover the idea of The Coxon Fund with Lady Maddock, and also somewhat why\nI didn’t hear from Wimbledon. I had a reproachful note about something\nor other from Mrs. Saltram, but it contained no mention of Lady Coxon’s\nniece, on whom her eyes had been much less fixed since the recent\nuntoward events.\n\n\n\n\nX\n\n\nPOOR Adelaide’s silence was fully explained later—practically explained\nwhen in June, returning to London, I was honoured by this admirable woman\nwith an early visit. As soon as she arrived I guessed everything, and as\nsoon as she told me that darling Ruth had been in her house nearly a\nmonth I had my question ready. “What in the name of maidenly modesty is\nshe staying in England for?”\n\n“Because she loves me so!” cried Adelaide gaily. But she hadn’t come to\nsee me only to tell me Miss Anvoy loved her: that was quite sufficiently\nestablished, and what was much more to the point was that Mr. Gravener\nhad now raised an objection to it. He had protested at least against her\nbeing at Wimbledon, where in the innocence of his heart he had originally\nbrought her himself; he called on her to put an end to their engagement\nin the only proper, the only happy manner.\n\n“And why in the world doesn’t she do do?” I asked.\n\nAdelaide had a pause. “She says you know.”\n\nThen on my also hesitating she added: “A condition he makes.”\n\n“The Coxon Fund?” I panted.\n\n“He has mentioned to her his having told you about it.”\n\n“Ah but so little! Do you mean she has accepted the trust?”\n\n“In the most splendid spirit—as a duty about which there can be no two\nopinions.” To which my friend added: “Of course she’s thinking of Mr.\nSaltram.”\n\nI gave a quick cry at this, which, in its violence, made my visitor turn\npale. “How very awful!”\n\n“Awful?”\n\n“Why, to have anything to do with such an idea one’s self.”\n\n“I’m sure _you_ needn’t!” and Mrs. Mulville tossed her head.\n\n“He isn’t good enough!” I went on; to which she opposed a sound almost as\ncontentious as my own had been. This made me, with genuine immediate\nhorror, exclaim: “You haven’t influenced her, I hope!” and my emphasis\nbrought back the blood with a rush to poor Adelaide’s face. She declared\nwhile she blushed—for I had frightened her again—that she had never\ninfluenced anybody and that the girl had only seen and heard and judged\nfor herself. _He_ had influenced her, if I would, as he did every one\nwho had a soul: that word, as we knew, even expressed feebly the power of\nthe things he said to haunt the mind. How could she, Adelaide, help it\nif Miss Anvoy’s mind was haunted? I demanded with a groan what right a\npretty girl engaged to a rising M.P. had to _have_ a mind; but the only\nexplanation my bewildered friend could give me was that she was so\nclever. She regarded Mr. Saltram naturally as a tremendous force for\ngood. She was intelligent enough to understand him and generous enough\nto admire.\n\n“She’s many things enough, but is she, among them, rich enough?” I\ndemanded. “Rich enough, I mean, to sacrifice such a lot of good money?”\n\n“That’s for herself to judge. Besides, it’s not her own money; she\ndoesn’t in the least consider it so.”\n\n“And Gravener does, if not _his_ own; and that’s the whole difficulty?”\n\n“The difficulty that brought her back, yes: she had absolutely to see her\npoor aunt’s solicitor. It’s clear that by Lady Coxon’s will she may have\nthe money, but it’s still clearer to her conscience that the original\ncondition, definite, intensely implied on her uncle’s part, is attached\nto the use of it. She can only take one view of it. It’s for the\nEndowment or it’s for nothing.”\n\n“The Endowment,” I permitted myself to observe, “is a conception\nsuperficially sublime, but fundamentally ridiculous.”\n\n“Are you repeating Mr. Gravener’s words?” Adelaide asked.\n\n“Possibly, though I’ve not seen him for months. It’s simply the way it\nstrikes me too. It’s an old wife’s tale. Gravener made some reference\nto the legal aspect, but such an absurdly loose arrangement has _no_\nlegal aspect.”\n\n“Ruth doesn’t insist on that,” said Mrs. Mulville; “and it’s, for her,\nexactly this technical weakness that constitutes the force of the moral\nobligation.”\n\n“Are you repeating _her_ words?” I enquired. I forget what else Adelaide\nsaid, but she said she was magnificent. I thought of George Gravener\nconfronted with such magnificence as that, and I asked what could have\nmade two such persons ever suppose they understood each other. Mrs.\nMulville assured me the girl loved him as such a woman could love and\nthat she suffered as such a woman could suffer. Nevertheless she wanted\nto see _me_. At this I sprang up with a groan. “Oh I’m so sorry!—when?”\nSmall though her sense of humour, I think Adelaide laughed at my\nsequence. We discussed the day, the nearest it would be convenient I\nshould come out; but before she went I asked my visitor how long she had\nbeen acquainted with these prodigies.\n\n“For several weeks, but I was pledged to secrecy.”\n\n“And that’s why you didn’t write?”\n\n“I couldn’t very well tell you she was with me without telling you that\nno time had even yet been fixed for her marriage. And I couldn’t very\nwell tell you as much as that without telling you what I knew of the\nreason of it. It was not till a day or two ago,” Mrs. Mulville went on,\n“that she asked me to ask you if you wouldn’t come and see her. Then at\nlast she spoke of your knowing about the idea of the Endowment.”\n\nI turned this over. “Why on earth does she want to see me?”\n\n“To talk with you, naturally, about Mr. Saltram.”\n\n“As a subject for the prize?” This was hugely obvious, and I presently\nreturned: “I think I’ll sail to-morrow for Australia.”\n\n“Well then—sail!” said Mrs. Mulville, getting up.\n\nBut I frivolously, continued. “On Thursday at five, we said?” The\nappointment was made definite and I enquired how, all this time, the\nunconscious candidate had carried himself.\n\n“In perfection, really, by the happiest of chances: he has positively\nbeen a dear. And then, as to what we revere him for, in the most\nwonderful form. His very highest—pure celestial light. You _won’t_ do\nhim an ill turn?” Adelaide pleaded at the door.\n\n“What danger can equal for him the danger to which he’s exposed from\nhimself?” I asked. “Look out sharp, if he has lately been too prim.\nHe’ll presently take a day off, treat us to some exhibition that will\nmake an Endowment a scandal.”\n\n“A scandal?” Mrs. Mulville dolorously echoed.\n\n“Is Miss Anvoy prepared for that?”\n\nMy visitor, for a moment, screwed her parasol into my carpet. “He grows\nbigger every day.”\n\n“So do you!” I laughed as she went off.\n\nThat girl at Wimbledon, on the Thursday afternoon, more than justified my\napprehensions. I recognised fully now the cause of the agitation she had\nproduced in me from the first—the faint foreknowledge that there was\nsomething very stiff I should have to do for her. I felt more than ever\ncommitted to my fate as, standing before her in the big drawing-room\nwhere they had tactfully left us to ourselves, I tried with a smile to\nstring together the pearls of lucidity which, from her chair, she\nsuccessively tossed me. Pale and bright, in her monotonous mourning, she\nwas an image of intelligent purpose, of the passion of duty; but I asked\nmyself whether any girl had ever had so charming an instinct as that\nwhich permitted her to laugh out, as for the joy of her difficulty, into\nthe priggish old room. This remarkable young woman could be earnest\nwithout being solemn, and at moments when I ought doubtless to have\ncursed her obstinacy I found myself watching the unstudied play of her\neyebrows or the recurrence of a singularly intense whiteness produced by\nthe parting of her lips. These aberrations, I hasten to add, didn’t\nprevent my learning soon enough why she had wished to see me. Her reason\nfor this was as distinct as her beauty: it was to make me explain what I\nhad meant, on the occasion of our first meeting, by Mr. Saltram’s want of\ndignity. It wasn’t that she couldn’t imagine, but she desired it there\nfrom my lips. What she really desired of course was to know whether\nthere was worse about him than what she had found out for herself. She\nhadn’t been a month so much in the house with him without discovering\nthat he wasn’t a man of monumental bronze. He was like a jelly minus its\nmould, he had to be embanked; and that was precisely the source of her\ninterest in him and the ground of her project. She put her project\nboldly before me: there it stood in its preposterous beauty. She was as\nwilling to take the humorous view of it as I could be: the only\ndifference was that for her the humorous view of a thing wasn’t\nnecessarily prohibitive, wasn’t paralysing.\n\nMoreover she professed that she couldn’t discuss with me the primary\nquestion—the moral obligation: that was in her own breast. There were\nthings she couldn’t go into—injunctions, impressions she had received.\nThey were a part of the closest intimacy of her intercourse with her\naunt, they were absolutely clear to her; and on questions of delicacy,\nthe interpretation of a fidelity, of a promise, one had always in the\nlast resort to make up one’s mind for one’s self. It was the idea of the\napplication to the particular case, such a splendid one at last, that\ntroubled her, and she admitted that it stirred very deep things. She\ndidn’t pretend that such a responsibility was a simple matter; if it\n_had_ been she wouldn’t have attempted to saddle me with any portion of\nit. The Mulvilles were sympathy itself, but were they absolutely candid?\nCould they indeed be, in their position—would it even have been to be\ndesired? Yes, she had sent for me to ask no less than that of me—whether\nthere was anything dreadful kept back. She made no allusion whatever to\nGeorge Gravener—I thought her silence the only good taste and her gaiety\nperhaps a part of the very anxiety of that discretion, the effect of a\ndetermination that people shouldn’t know from herself that her relations\nwith the man she was to marry were strained. All the weight, however,\nthat she left me to throw was a sufficient implication of the weight _he_\nhad thrown in vain. Oh she knew the question of character was immense,\nand that one couldn’t entertain any plan for making merit comfortable\nwithout running the gauntlet of that terrible procession of\ninterrogation-points which, like a young ladies’ school out for a walk,\nhooked their uniform noses at the tail of governess Conduct. But were we\nabsolutely to hold that there was never, never, never an exception,\nnever, never, never an occasion for liberal acceptance, for clever\ncharity, for suspended pedantry—for letting one side, in short,\noutbalance another? When Miss Anvoy threw off this appeal I could have\nembraced her for so delightfully emphasising her unlikeness to Mrs.\nSaltram. “Why not have the courage of one’s forgiveness,” she asked, “as\nwell as the enthusiasm of one’s adhesion?”\n\n“Seeing how wonderfully you’ve threshed the whole thing out,” I evasively\nreplied, “gives me an extraordinary notion of the point your enthusiasm\nhas reached.”\n\nShe considered this remark an instant with her eyes on mine, and I\ndivined that it struck her I might possibly intend it as a reference to\nsome personal subjection to our fat philosopher, to some aberration of\nsensibility, some perversion of taste. At least I couldn’t interpret\notherwise the sudden flash that came into her face. Such a\nmanifestation, as the result of any word of mine, embarrassed me; but\nwhile I was thinking how to reassure her the flush passed away in a smile\nof exquisite good nature. “Oh you see one forgets so wonderfully how one\ndislikes him!” she said; and if her tone simply extinguished his strange\nfigure with the brush of its compassion, it also rings in my ear to-day\nas the purest of all our praises. But with what quick response of fine\npity such a relegation of the man himself made me privately sigh “Ah poor\nSaltram!” She instantly, with this, took the measure of all I didn’t\nbelieve, and it enabled her to go on: “What can one do when a person has\ngiven such a lift to one’s interest in life?”\n\n“Yes, what can one do?” If I struck her as a little vague it was because\nI was thinking of another person. I indulged in another inarticulate\nmurmur—“Poor George Gravener!” What had become of the lift _he_ had\ngiven that interest? Later on I made up my mind that she was sore and\nstricken at the appearance he presented of wanting the miserable money.\nThis was the hidden reason of her alienation. The probable sincerity, in\nspite of the illiberality, of his scruples about the particular use of it\nunder discussion didn’t efface the ugliness of his demand that they\nshould buy a good house with it. Then, as for _his_ alienation, he\ndidn’t, pardonably enough, grasp the lift Frank Saltram had given her\ninterest in life. If a mere spectator could ask that last question, with\nwhat rage in his heart the man himself might! He wasn’t, like her, I was\nto see, too proud to show me why he was disappointed.\n\n\n\n\nXI\n\n\nI WAS unable this time to stay to dinner: such at any rate was the plea\non which I took leave. I desired in truth to get away from my young\nlady, for that obviously helped me not to pretend to satisfy her. How\n_could_ I satisfy her? I asked myself—how could I tell her how much had\nbeen kept back? I didn’t even know and I certainly didn’t desire to\nknow. My own policy had ever been to learn the least about poor\nSaltram’s weaknesses—not to learn the most. A great deal that I had in\nfact learned had been forced upon me by his wife. There was something\neven irritating in Miss Anvoy’s crude conscientiousness, and I wondered\nwhy, after all, she couldn’t have let him alone and been content to\nentrust George Gravener with the purchase of the good house. I was sure\nhe would have driven a bargain, got something excellent and cheap. I\nlaughed louder even than she, I temporised, I failed her; I told her I\nmust think over her case. I professed a horror of responsibilities and\ntwitted her with her own extravagant passion for them. It wasn’t really\nthat I was afraid of the scandal, the moral discredit for the Fund; what\ntroubled me most was a feeling of a different order. Of course, as the\nbeneficiary of the Fund was to enjoy a simple life-interest, as it was\nhoped that new beneficiaries would arise and come up to new standards, it\nwouldn’t be a trifle that the first of these worthies shouldn’t have been\na striking example of the domestic virtues. The Fund would start badly,\nas it were, and the laurel would, in some respects at least, scarcely be\ngreener from the brows of the original wearer. That idea, however, was\nat that hour, as I have hinted, not the source of solicitude it ought\nperhaps to have been, for I felt less the irregularity of Saltram’s\ngetting the money than that of this exalted young woman’s giving it up.\nI wanted her to have it for herself, and I told her so before I went\naway. She looked graver at this than she had looked at all, saying she\nhoped such a preference wouldn’t make me dishonest.\n\nIt made me, to begin with, very restless—made me, instead of going\nstraight to the station, fidget a little about that many-coloured Common\nwhich gives Wimbledon horizons. There was a worry for me to work off, or\nrather keep at a distance, for I declined even to admit to myself that I\nhad, in Miss Anvoy’s phrase, been saddled with it. What could have been\nclearer indeed than the attitude of recognising perfectly what a world of\ntrouble The Coxon Fund would in future save us, and of yet liking better\nto face a continuance of that trouble than see, and in fact contribute\nto, a deviation from attainable bliss in the life of two other persons in\nwhom I was deeply interested? Suddenly, at the end of twenty minutes,\nthere was projected across this clearness the image of a massive\nmiddle-aged man seated on a bench under a tree, with sad far-wandering\neyes and plump white hands folded on the head of a stick—a stick I\nrecognised, a stout gold-headed staff that I had given him in devoted\ndays. I stopped short as he turned his face to me, and it happened that\nfor some reason or other I took in as I had perhaps never done before the\nbeauty of his rich blank gaze. It was charged with experience as the sky\nis charged with light, and I felt on the instant as if we had been\noverspanned and conjoined by the great arch of a bridge or the great dome\nof a temple. Doubtless I was rendered peculiarly sensitive to it by\nsomething in the way I had been giving him up and sinking him. While I\nmet it I stood there smitten, and I felt myself responding to it with a\nsort of guilty grimace. This brought back his attention in a smile which\nexpressed for me a cheerful weary patience, a bruised noble gentleness.\nI had told Miss Anvoy that he had no dignity, but what did he seem to me,\nall unbuttoned and fatigued as he waited for me to come up, if he didn’t\nseem unconcerned with small things, didn’t seem in short majestic? There\nwas majesty in his mere unconsciousness of our little conferences and\npuzzlements over his maintenance and his reward.\n\nAfter I had sat by him a few minutes I passed my arm over his big soft\nshoulder—wherever you touched him you found equally little firmness—and\nsaid in a tone of which the suppliance fell oddly on my own ear: “Come\nback to town with me, old friend—come back and spend the evening.” I\nwanted to hold him, I wanted to keep him, and at Waterloo, an hour later,\nI telegraphed possessively to the Mulvilles. When he objected, as\nregards staying all night, that he had no things, I asked him if he\nhadn’t everything of mine. I had abstained from ordering dinner, and it\nwas too late for preliminaries at a club; so we were reduced to tea and\nfried fish at my rooms—reduced also to the transcendent. Something had\ncome up which made me want him to feel at peace with me—and which,\nprecisely, was all the dear man himself wanted on any occasion. I had\ntoo often had to press upon him considerations irrelevant, but it gives\nme pleasure now to think that on that particular evening I didn’t even\nmention Mrs. Saltram and the children. Late into the night we smoked and\ntalked; old shames and old rigours fell away from us; I only let him see\nthat I was conscious of what I owed him. He was as mild as contrition\nand as copious as faith; he was never so fine as on a shy return, and\neven better at forgiving than at being forgiven. I dare say it was a\nsmaller matter than that famous night at Wimbledon, the night of the\nproblematical sobriety and of Miss Anvoy’s initiation; but I was as much\nin it on this occasion as I had been out of it then. At about 1.30 he\nwas sublime.\n\nHe never, in whatever situation, rose till all other risings were over,\nand his breakfasts, at Wimbledon, had always been the principal reason\nmentioned by departing cooks. The coast was therefore clear for me to\nreceive her when, early the next morning, to my surprise, it was\nannounced to me his wife had called. I hesitated, after she had come up,\nabout telling her Saltram was in the house, but she herself settled the\nquestion, kept me reticent by drawing forth a sealed letter which,\nlooking at me very hard in the eyes, she placed, with a pregnant absence\nof comment, in my hand. For a single moment there glimmered before me\nthe fond hope that Mrs. Saltram had tendered me, as it were, her\nresignation and desired to embody the act in an unsparing form. To bring\nthis about I would have feigned any humiliation; but after my eyes had\ncaught the superscription I heard myself say with a flatness that\nbetrayed a sense of something very different from relief: “Oh the\nPudneys!” I knew their envelopes though they didn’t know mine. They\nalways used the kind sold at post-offices with the stamp affixed, and as\nthis letter hadn’t been posted they had wasted a penny on me. I had seen\ntheir horrid missives to the Mulvilles, but hadn’t been in direct\ncorrespondence with them.\n\n“They enclosed it to me, to be delivered. They doubtless explain to you\nthat they hadn’t your address.”\n\nI turned the thing over without opening it. “Why in the world should\nthey write to me?”\n\n“Because they’ve something to tell you. The worst,” Mrs. Saltram dryly\nadded.\n\nIt was another chapter, I felt, of the history of their lamentable\nquarrel with her husband, the episode in which, vindictively,\ndisingenuously as they themselves had behaved, one had to admit that he\nhad put himself more grossly in the wrong than at any moment of his life.\nHe had begun by insulting the matchless Mulvilles for these more specious\nprotectors, and then, according to his wont at the end of a few months,\nhad dug a still deeper ditch for his aberration than the chasm left\nyawning behind. The chasm at Wimbledon was now blessedly closed; but the\nPudneys, across their persistent gulf, kept up the nastiest fire. I\nnever doubted they had a strong case, and I had been from the first for\nnot defending him—reasoning that if they weren’t contradicted they’d\nperhaps subside. This was above all what I wanted, and I so far\nprevailed that I did arrest the correspondence in time to save our little\ncircle an infliction heavier than it perhaps would have borne. I knew,\nthat is I divined, that their allegations had gone as yet only as far as\ntheir courage, conscious as they were in their own virtue of an exposed\nplace in which Saltram could have planted a blow. It was a question with\nthem whether a man who had himself so much to cover up would dare his\nblow; so that these vessels of rancour were in a manner afraid of each\nother. I judged that on the day the Pudneys should cease for some reason\nor other to be afraid they would treat us to some revelation more\ndisconcerting than any of its predecessors. As I held Mrs. Saltram’s\nletter in my hand it was distinctly communicated to me that the day had\ncome—they had ceased to be afraid. “I don’t want to know the worst,” I\npresently declared.\n\n“You’ll have to open the letter. It also contains an enclosure.”\n\nI felt it—it was fat and uncanny. “Wheels within wheels!” I exclaimed.\n“There’s something for me too to deliver.”\n\n“So they tell me—to Miss Anvoy.”\n\nI stared; I felt a certain thrill. “Why don’t they send it to her\ndirectly?”\n\nMrs. Saltram hung fire. “Because she’s staying with Mr. and Mrs.\nMulville.”\n\n“And why should that prevent?”\n\nAgain my visitor faltered, and I began to reflect on the grotesque, the\nunconscious perversity of her action. I was the only person save George\nGravener and the Mulvilles who was aware of Sir Gregory Coxon’s and of\nMiss Anvoy’s strange bounty. Where could there have been a more signal\nillustration of the clumsiness of human affairs than her having\ncomplacently selected this moment to fly in the face of it? “There’s the\nchance of their seeing her letters. They know Mr. Pudney’s hand.”\n\nStill I didn’t understand; then it flashed upon me. “You mean they might\nintercept it? How can you imply anything so base?” I indignantly\ndemanded.\n\n“It’s not I—it’s Mr. Pudney!” cried Mrs. Saltram with a flush. “It’s his\nown idea.”\n\n“Then why couldn’t he send the letter to you to be delivered?”\n\nMrs. Saltram’s embarrassment increased; she gave me another hard look.\n“You must make that out for yourself.”\n\nI made it out quickly enough. “It’s a denunciation?”\n\n“A real lady doesn’t betray her husband!” this virtuous woman exclaimed.\n\nI burst out laughing, and I fear my laugh may have had an effect of\nimpertinence. “Especially to Miss Anvoy, who’s so easily shocked? Why do\nsuch things concern _her_?” I asked, much at a loss.\n\n“Because she’s there, exposed to all his craft. Mr. and Mrs. Pudney have\nbeen watching this: they feel she may be taken in.”\n\n“Thank you for all the rest of us! What difference can it make when she\nhas lost her power to contribute?”\n\nAgain Mrs. Saltram considered; then very nobly: “There are other things\nin the world than money.” This hadn’t occurred to her so long as the\nyoung lady had any; but she now added, with a glance at my letter, that\nMr. and Mrs. Pudney doubtless explained their motives. “It’s all in\nkindness,” she continued as she got up.\n\n“Kindness to Miss Anvoy? You took, on the whole, another view of\nkindness before her reverses.”\n\nMy companion smiled with some acidity “Perhaps you’re no safer than the\nMulvilles!”\n\nI didn’t want her to think that, nor that she should report to the\nPudneys that they had not been happy in their agent; and I well remember\nthat this was the moment at which I began, with considerable emotion, to\npromise myself to enjoin upon Miss Anvoy never to open any letter that\nshould come to her in one of those penny envelopes. My emotion, and I\nfear I must add my confusion, quickly deepened; I presently should have\nbeen as glad to frighten Mrs. Saltram as to think I might by some\ndiplomacy restore the Pudneys to a quieter vigilance.\n\n“It’s best you should take _my_ view of my safety,” I at any rate soon\nresponded. When I saw she didn’t know what I meant by this I added: “You\nmay turn out to have done, in bringing me this letter, a thing you’ll\nprofoundly regret.” My tone had a significance which, I could see, did\nmake her uneasy, and there was a moment, after I had made two or three\nmore remarks of studiously bewildering effect, at which her eyes followed\nso hungrily the little flourish of the letter with which I emphasised\nthem that I instinctively slipped Mr. Pudney’s communication into my\npocket. She looked, in her embarrassed annoyance, capable of grabbing it\nto send it back to him. I felt, after she had gone, as if I had almost\ngiven her my word I wouldn’t deliver the enclosure. The passionate\nmovement, at any rate, with which, in solitude, I transferred the whole\nthing, unopened, from my pocket to a drawer which I double-locked would\nhave amounted, for an initiated observer, to some such pledge.\n\n\n\n\nXII\n\n\nMRS. SALTRAM left me drawing my breath more quickly and indeed almost in\npain—as if I had just perilously grazed the loss of something precious.\nI didn’t quite know what it was—it had a shocking resemblance to my\nhonour. The emotion was the livelier surely in that my pulses even yet\nvibrated to the pleasure with which, the night before, I had rallied to\nthe rare analyst, the great intellectual adventurer and pathfinder. What\nhad dropped from me like a cumbersome garment as Saltram appeared before\nme in the afternoon on the heath was the disposition to haggle over his\nvalue. Hang it, one had to choose, one had to put that value somewhere;\nso I would put it really high and have done with it. Mrs. Mulville drove\nin for him at a discreet hour—the earliest she could suppose him to have\ngot up; and I learned that Miss Anvoy would also have come had she not\nbeen expecting a visit from Mr. Gravener. I was perfectly mindful that I\nwas under bonds to see this young lady, and also that I had a letter to\nhand to her; but I took my time, I waited from day to day. I left Mrs.\nSaltram to deal as her apprehensions should prompt with the Pudneys. I\nknew at last what I meant—I had ceased to wince at my responsibility. I\ngave this supreme impression of Saltram time to fade if it would; but it\ndidn’t fade, and, individually, it hasn’t faded even now. During the\nmonth that I thus invited myself to stiffen again, Adelaide Mulville,\nperplexed by my absence, wrote to me to ask why I _was_ so stiff. At\nthat season of the year I was usually oftener “with” them. She also\nwrote that she feared a real estrangement had set in between Mr. Gravener\nand her sweet young friend—a state of things but half satisfactory to her\nso long as the advantage resulting to Mr. Saltram failed to disengage\nitself from the merely nebulous state. She intimated that her sweet\nyoung friend was, if anything, a trifle too reserved; she also intimated\nthat there might now be an opening for another clever young man. There\nnever was the slightest opening, I may here parenthesise, and of course\nthe question can’t come up to-day. These are old frustrations now. Ruth\nAnvoy hasn’t married, I hear, and neither have I. During the month,\ntoward the end, I wrote to George Gravener to ask if, on a special\nerrand, I might come to see him, and his answer was to knock the very\nnext day at my door. I saw he had immediately connected my enquiry with\nthe talk we had had in the railway-carriage, and his promptitude showed\nthat the ashes of his eagerness weren’t yet cold. I told him there was\nsomething I felt I ought in candour to let him know—I recognised the\nobligation his friendly confidence had laid on me.\n\n“You mean Miss Anvoy has talked to you? She has told me so herself,” he\nsaid.\n\n“It wasn’t to tell you so that I wanted to see you,” I replied; “for it\nseemed to me that such a communication would rest wholly with herself.\nIf however she did speak to you of our conversation she probably told you\nI was discouraging.”\n\n“Discouraging?”\n\n“On the subject of a present application of The Coxon Fund.”\n\n“To the case of Mr. Saltram? My dear fellow, I don’t know what you call\ndiscouraging!” Gravener cried.\n\n“Well I thought I was, and I thought she thought I was.”\n\n“I believe she did, but such a thing’s measured by the effect. She’s not\n‘discouraged,’” he said.\n\n“That’s her own affair. The reason I asked you to see me was that it\nappeared to me I ought to tell you frankly that—decidedly!—I can’t\nundertake to produce that effect. In fact I don’t want to!”\n\n“It’s very good of you, damn you!” my visitor laughed, red and really\ngrave. Then he said: “You’d like to see that scoundrel publicly\nglorified—perched on the pedestal of a great complimentary pension?”\n\nI braced myself. “Taking one form of public recognition with another it\nseems to me on the whole I should be able to bear it. When I see the\ncompliments that _are_ paid right and left I ask myself why this one\nshouldn’t take its course. This therefore is what you’re entitled to\nhave looked to me to mention to you. I’ve some evidence that perhaps\nwould be really dissuasive, but I propose to invite Mss Anvoy to remain\nin ignorance of it.”\n\n“And to invite me to do the same?”\n\n“Oh you don’t require it—you’ve evidence enough. I speak of a sealed\nletter that I’ve been requested to deliver to her.”\n\n“And you don’t mean to?”\n\n“There’s only one consideration that would make me,” I said.\n\nGravener’s clear handsome eyes plunged into mine a minute, but evidently\nwithout fishing up a clue to this motive—a failure by which I was almost\nwounded. “What does the letter contain?”\n\n“It’s sealed, as I tell you, and I don’t know what it contains.”\n\n“Why is it sent through you?”\n\n“Rather than you?” I wondered how to put the thing. “The only\nexplanation I can think of is that the person sending it may have\nimagined your relations with Miss Anvoy to be at an end—may have been\ntold this is the case by Mrs. Saltram.”\n\n“My relations with Miss Anvoy are not at an end,” poor Gravener\nstammered.\n\nAgain for an instant I thought. “The offer I propose to make you gives\nme the right to address you a question remarkably direct. Are you still\nengaged to Miss Anvoy?”\n\n“No, I’m not,” he slowly brought out. “But we’re perfectly good\nfriends.”\n\n“Such good friends that you’ll again become prospective husband and wife\nif the obstacle in your path be removed?”\n\n“Removed?” he anxiously repeated.\n\n“If I send Miss Anvoy the letter I speak of she may give up her idea.”\n\n“Then for God’s sake send it!”\n\n“I’ll do so if you’re ready to assure me that her sacrifice would now\npresumably bring about your marriage.”\n\n“I’d marry her the next day!” my visitor cried.\n\n“Yes, but would she marry _you_? What I ask of you of course is nothing\nless than your word of honour as to your conviction of this. If you give\nit me,” I said, “I’ll engage to hand her the letter before night.”\n\nGravener took up his hat; turning it mechanically round he stood looking\na moment hard at its unruffled perfection. Then very angrily honestly\nand gallantly, “Hand it to the devil!” he broke out; with which he\nclapped the hat on his head and left me.\n\n“Will you read it or not?” I said to Ruth Anvoy, at Wimbledon, when I had\ntold her the story of Mrs. Saltram’s visit.\n\nShe debated for a time probably of the briefest, but long enough to make\nme nervous. “Have you brought it with you?”\n\n“No indeed. It’s at home, locked up.”\n\nThere was another great silence, and then she said “Go back and destroy\nit.”\n\nI went back, but I didn’t destroy it till after Saltram’s death, when I\nburnt it unread. The Pudneys approached her again pressingly, but,\nprompt as they were, The Coxon Fund had already become an operative\nbenefit and a general amaze: Mr. Saltram, while we gathered about, as it\nwere, to watch the manna descend, had begun to draw the magnificent\nincome. He drew it as he had always drawn everything, with a grand\nabstracted gesture. Its magnificence, alas, as all the world now knows,\nquite quenched him; it was the beginning of his decline. It was also\nnaturally a new grievance for his wife, who began to believe in him as\nsoon as he was blighted, and who at this hour accuses us of having bribed\nhim, on the whim of a meddlesome American, to renounce his glorious\noffice, to become, as she says, like everybody else. The very day he\nfound himself able to publish he wholly ceased to produce. This deprived\nus, as may easily be imagined, of much of our occupation, and especially\ndeprived the Mulvilles, whose want of self-support I never measured till\nthey lost their great inmate. They’ve no one to live on now. Adelaide’s\nmost frequent reference to their destitution is embodied in the remark\nthat dear far-away Ruth’s intentions were doubtless good. She and Kent\nare even yet looking for another prop, but no one presents a true sphere\nof usefulness. They complain that people are self-sufficing. With\nSaltram the fine type of the child of adoption was scattered, the\ngrander, the elder style. They’ve got their carriage back, but what’s an\nempty carriage? In short I think we were all happier as well as poorer\nbefore; even including George Gravener, who by the deaths of his brother\nand his nephew has lately become Lord Maddock. His wife, whose fortune\nclears the property, is criminally dull; he hates being in the Upper\nHouse, and hasn’t yet had high office. But what are these accidents,\nwhich I should perhaps apologise for mentioning, in the light of the\ngreat eventual boon promised the patient by the rate at which The Coxon\nFund must be rolling up?"},"answers":{"kind":"list like","value":["They broke off their engagement."],"string":"[\n \"They broke off their engagement.\"\n]","isConversational":false},"length":{"kind":"number","value":22703,"string":"22,703"},"dataset":{"kind":"string","value":"narrativeqa"},"language":{"kind":"string","value":"en"},"all_classes":{"kind":"null"},"_id":{"kind":"string","value":"d41198bdebd7b9472ae77beecbe8b7e1b7a46dca92d2d8f2"}}},{"rowIdx":1791,"cells":{"input":{"kind":"string","value":"What is the name of the character who is from New York?"},"context":{"kind":"string","value":"Transcribed from the 1887 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email\nccx074@coventry.ac.uk. Proofing by Andy McLauchan and David Stapleton.\n\n\n\n\n\nA BUNDLE OF LETTERS\nby Henry James\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\n\nFROM MISS MIRANDA MOPE, IN PARIS, TO MRS. ABRAHAM C. MOPE, AT BANGOR,\nMAINE.\n\nSeptember 5th, 1879.\n\nMy dear mother--I have kept you posted as far as Tuesday week last, and,\nalthough my letter will not have reached you yet, I will begin another\nbefore my news accumulates too much. I am glad you show my letters round\nin the family, for I like them all to know what I am doing, and I can't\nwrite to every one, though I try to answer all reasonable expectations.\nBut there are a great many unreasonable ones, as I suppose you know--not\nyours, dear mother, for I am bound to say that you never required of me\nmore than was natural. You see you are reaping your reward: I write to\nyou before I write to any one else.\n\nThere is one thing, I hope--that you don't show any of my letters to\nWilliam Platt. If he wants to see any of my letters, he knows the right\nway to go to work. I wouldn't have him see one of these letters, written\nfor circulation in the family, for anything in the world. If he wants\none for himself, he has got to write to me first. Let him write to me\nfirst, and then I will see about answering him. You can show him this if\nyou like; but if you show him anything more, I will never write to you\nagain.\n\nI told you in my last about my farewell to England, my crossing the\nChannel, and my first impressions of Paris. I have thought a great deal\nabout that lovely England since I left it, and all the famous historic\nscenes I visited; but I have come to the conclusion that it is not a\ncountry in which I should care to reside. The position of woman does not\nseem to me at all satisfactory, and that is a point, you know, on which I\nfeel very strongly. It seems to me that in England they play a very\nfaded-out part, and those with whom I conversed had a kind of depressed\nand humiliated tone; a little dull, tame look, as if they were used to\nbeing snubbed and bullied, which made me want to give them a good\nshaking. There are a great many people--and a great many things,\ntoo--over here that I should like to perform that operation upon. I\nshould like to shake the starch out of some of them, and the dust out of\nthe others. I know fifty girls in Bangor that come much more up to my\nnotion of the stand a truly noble woman should take, than those young\nladies in England. But they had a most lovely way of speaking (in\nEngland), and the men are _remarkably handsome_. (You can show this to\nWilliam Platt, if you like.)\n\nI gave you my first impressions of Paris, which quite came up to my\nexpectations, much as I had heard and read about it. The objects of\ninterest are extremely numerous, and the climate is remarkably cheerful\nand sunny. I should say the position of woman here was considerably\nhigher, though by no means coming up to the American standard. The\nmanners of the people are in some respects extremely peculiar, and I feel\nat last that I am indeed in _foreign parts_. It is, however, a truly\nelegant city (very superior to New York), and I have spent a great deal\nof time in visiting the various monuments and palaces. I won't give you\nan account of all my wanderings, though I have been most indefatigable;\nfor I am keeping, as I told you before, a most _exhaustive_ journal,\nwhich I will allow you the _privilege_ of reading on my return to Bangor.\nI am getting on remarkably well, and I must say I am sometimes surprised\nat my universal good fortune. It only shows what a little energy and\ncommon-sense will accomplish. I have discovered none of these objections\nto a young lady travelling in Europe by herself of which we heard so much\nbefore I left, and I don't expect I ever shall, for I certainly don't\nmean to look for them. I know what I want, and I always manage to get\nit.\n\nI have received a great deal of politeness--some of it really most\npressing, and I have experienced no drawbacks whatever. I have made a\ngreat many pleasant acquaintances in travelling round (both ladies and\ngentlemen), and had a great many most interesting talks. I have\ncollected a great deal of information, for which I refer you to my\njournal. I assure you my journal is going to be a splendid thing. I do\njust exactly as I do in Bangor, and I find I do perfectly right; and at\nany rate, I don't care if I don't. I didn't come to Europe to lead a\nmerely conventional life; I could do that at Bangor. You know I never\n_would_ do it at Bangor, so it isn't likely I am going to make myself\nmiserable over here. So long as I accomplish what I desire, and make my\nmoney hold out, I shall regard the thing as a success. Sometimes I feel\nrather lonely, especially in the evening; but I generally manage to\ninterest myself in something or in some one. In the evening I usually\nread up about the objects of interest I have visited during the day, or I\npost up my journal. Sometimes I go to the theatre; or else I play the\npiano in the public parlour. The public parlour at the hotel isn't much;\nbut the piano is better than that fearful old thing at the Sebago House.\nSometimes I go downstairs and talk to the lady who keeps the books--a\nFrench lady, who is remarkably polite. She is very pretty, and always\nwears a black dress, with the most beautiful fit; she speaks a little\nEnglish; she tells me she had to learn it in order to converse with the\nAmericans who come in such numbers to this hotel. She has given me a\ngreat deal of information about the position of woman in France, and much\nof it is very encouraging. But she has told me at the same time some\nthings that I should not like to write to you (I am hesitating even about\nputting them into my journal), especially if my letters are to be handed\nround in the family. I assure you they appear to talk about things here\nthat we never think of mentioning at Bangor, or even of thinking about.\nShe seems to think she can tell me everything, because I told her I was\ntravelling for general culture. Well, I _do_ want to know so much that\nit seems sometimes as if I wanted to know everything; and yet there are\nsome things that I think I don't want to know. But, as a general thing,\neverything is intensely interesting; I don't mean only everything that\nthis French lady tells me, but everything I see and hear for myself. I\nfeel really as if I should gain all I desire.\n\nI meet a great many Americans, who, as a general thing, I must say, are\nnot as polite to me as the people over here. The people over\nhere--especially the gentlemen--are much more what I should call\n_attentive_. I don't know whether Americans are more _sincere_; I\nhaven't yet made up my mind about that. The only drawback I experience\nis when Americans sometimes express surprise that I should be travelling\nround alone; so you see it doesn't come from Europeans. I always have my\nanswer ready; \"For general culture, to acquire the languages, and to see\nEurope for myself;\" and that generally seems to satisfy them. Dear\nmother, my money holds out very well, and it _is_ real interesting.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\n\nFROM THE SAME TO THE SAME.\n\nSeptember 16th.\n\nSince I last wrote to you I have left that hotel, and come to live in a\nFrench family. It's a kind of boarding-house combined with a kind of\nschool; only it's not like an American hoarding-house, nor like an\nAmerican school either. There are four or five people here that have\ncome to learn the language--not to take lessons, but to have an\nopportunity for conversation. I was very glad to come to such a place,\nfor I had begun to realise that I was not making much progress with the\nFrench. It seemed to me that I should feel ashamed to have spent two\nmonths in Paris, and not to have acquired more insight into the language.\nI had always heard so much of French conversation, and I found I was\nhaving no more opportunity to practise it than if I had remained at\nBangor. In fact, I used to hear a great deal more at Bangor, from those\nFrench Canadians that came down to cut the ice, than I saw I should ever\nhear at that hotel. The lady that kept the books seemed to want so much\nto talk to me in English (for the sake of practice, too, I suppose), that\nI couldn't bear to let her know I didn't like it. The chambermaid was\nIrish, and all the waiters were German, so that I never heard a word of\nFrench spoken. I suppose you might hear a great deal in the shops; only,\nas I don't buy anything--I prefer to spend my money for purposes of\nculture--I don't have that advantage.\n\nI have been thinking some of taking a teacher, but I am well acquainted\nwith the grammar already, and teachers always keep you bothering over the\nverbs. I was a good deal troubled, for I felt as if I didn't want to go\naway without having, at least, got a general idea of French conversation.\nThe theatre gives you a good deal of insight, and as I told you in my\nlast, I go a good deal to places of amusement. I find no difficulty\nwhatever in going to such places alone, and am always treated with the\npoliteness which, as I told you before, I encounter everywhere. I see\nplenty of other ladies alone (mostly French), and they generally seem to\nbe enjoying themselves as much as I. But at the theatre every one talks\nso fast that I can scarcely make out what they say; and, besides, there\nare a great many vulgar expressions which it is unnecessary to learn. But\nit was the theatre, nevertheless, that put me on the track. The very\nnext day after I wrote to you last I went to the Palais Royal, which is\none of the principal theatres in Paris. It is very small, but it is very\ncelebrated, and in my guide-book it is marked with _two stars_, which is\na sign of importance attached only to _first-class_ objects of interest.\nBut after I had been there half an hour I found I couldn't understand a\nsingle word of the play, they gabbled it off so fast, and they made use\nof such peculiar expressions. I felt a good deal disappointed and\ntroubled--I was afraid I shouldn't gain all I had come for. But while I\nwas thinking it over--thinking what I _should_ do--I heard two gentlemen\ntalking behind me. It was between the acts, and I couldn't help\nlistening to what they said. They were talking English, but I guess they\nwere Americans.\n\n\"Well,\" said one of them, \"it all depends on what you are after. I'm\nFrench; that's what I'm after.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the other, \"I'm after Art.\"\n\n\"Well,\" said the first, \"I'm after Art too; but I'm after French most.\"\n\nThen, dear mother, I am sorry to say the second one swore a little. He\nsaid, \"Oh, damn French!\"\n\n\"No, I won't damn French,\" said his friend. \"I'll acquire it--that's\nwhat I'll do with it. I'll go right into a family.\"\n\n\"What family'll you go into?\"\n\n\"Into some French family. That's the only way to do--to go to some place\nwhere you can talk. If you're after Art, you want to stick to the\ngalleries; you want to go right through the Louvre, room by room; you\nwant to take a room a day, or something of that sort. But, if you want\nto acquire French, the thing is to look out for a family. There are lots\nof French families here that take you to board and teach you. My second\ncousin--that young lady I told you about--she got in with a crowd like\nthat, and they booked her right up in three months. They just took her\nright in and they talked to her. That's what they do to you; they set\nyou right down and they talk _at_ you. You've got to understand them;\nyou can't help yourself. That family my cousin was with has moved away\nsomewhere, or I should try and get in with them. They were very smart\npeople, that family; after she left, my cousin corresponded with them in\nFrench. But I mean to find some other crowd, if it takes a lot of\ntrouble!\"\n\nI listened to all this with great interest, and when he spoke about his\ncousin I was on the point of turning around to ask him the address of the\nfamily that she was with; but the next moment he said they had moved\naway; so I sat still. The other gentleman, however, didn't seem to be\naffected in the same way as I was.\n\n\"Well,\" he said, \"you may follow up that if you like; I mean to follow up\nthe pictures. I don't believe there is ever going to be any considerable\ndemand in the United States for French; but I can promise you that in\nabout ten years there'll be a big demand for Art! And it won't be\ntemporary either.\"\n\nThat remark may be very true, but I don't care anything about the demand;\nI want to know French for its own sake. I don't want to think I have\nbeen all this while without having gained an insight . . . The very next\nday, I asked the lady who kept the books at the hotel whether she knew of\nany family that could take me to board and give me the benefit of their\nconversation. She instantly threw up her hands, with several little\nshrill cries (in their French way, you know), and told me that her\ndearest friend kept a regular place of that kind. If she had known I was\nlooking out for such a place she would have told me before; she had not\nspoken of it herself, because she didn't wish to injure the hotel by\nbeing the cause of my going away. She told me this was a charming\nfamily, who had often received American ladies (and others as well) who\nwished to follow up the language, and she was sure I should be delighted\nwith them. So she gave me their address, and offered to go with me to\nintroduce me. But I was in such a hurry that I went off by myself; and I\nhad no trouble in finding these good people. They were delighted to\nreceive me, and I was very much pleased with what I saw of them. They\nseemed to have plenty of conversation, and there will be no trouble about\nthat.\n\nI came here to stay about three days ago, and by this time I have seen a\ngreat deal of them. The price of board struck me as rather high; but I\nmust remember that a quantity of conversation is thrown in. I have a\nvery pretty little room--without any carpet, but with seven mirrors, two\nclocks, and five curtains. I was rather disappointed after I arrived to\nfind that there are several other Americans here for the same purpose as\nmyself. At least there are three Americans and two English people; and\nalso a German gentleman. I am afraid, therefore, our conversation will\nbe rather mixed, but I have not yet time to judge. I try to talk with\nMadame de Maisonrouge all I can (she is the lady of the house, and the\n_real_ family consists only of herself and her two daughters). They are\nall most elegant, interesting women, and I am sure we shall become\nintimate friends. I will write you more about them in my next. Tell\nWilliam Platt I don't care what he does.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\n\nFROM MISS VIOLET RAY, IN PARIS, TO MISS AGNES RICH, IN NEW YORK.\n\nSeptember 21st.\n\nWe had hardly got here when father received a telegram saying he would\nhave to come right back to New York. It was for something about his\nbusiness--I don't know exactly what; you know I never understand those\nthings, never want to. We had just got settled at the hotel, in some\ncharming rooms, and mother and I, as you may imagine, were greatly\nannoyed. Father is extremely fussy, as you know, and his first idea, as\nsoon as he found he should have to go back, was that we should go back\nwith him. He declared he would never leave us in Paris alone, and that\nwe must return and come out again. I don't know what he thought would\nhappen to us; I suppose he thought we should be too extravagant. It's\nfather's theory that we are always running up bills, whereas a little\nobservation would show him that we wear the same old _rags_ FOR MONTHS.\nBut father has no observation; he has nothing but theories. Mother and\nI, however, have, fortunately, a great deal of _practice_, and we\nsucceeded in making him understand that we wouldn't budge from Paris, and\nthat we would rather be chopped into small pieces than cross that\ndreadful ocean again. So, at last, he decided to go back alone, and to\nleave us here for three months. But, to show you how fussy he is, he\nrefused to let us stay at the hotel, and insisted that we should go into\na _family_. I don't know what put such an idea into his head, unless it\nwas some advertisement that he saw in one of the American papers that are\npublished here.\n\nThere are families here who receive American and English people to live\nwith them, under the pretence of teaching them French. You may imagine\nwhat people they are--I mean the families themselves. But the Americans\nwho choose this peculiar manner of seeing Paris must be actually just as\nbad. Mother and I were horrified, and declared that main force should\nnot remove us from the hotel. But father has a way of arriving at his\nends which is more efficient than violence. He worries and fusses; he\n\"nags,\" as we used to say at school; and, when mother and I are quite\nworn out, his triumph is assured. Mother is usually worn out more easily\nthan I, and she ends by siding with father; so that, at last, when they\ncombine their forces against poor little me, I have to succumb. You\nshould have heard the way father went on about this \"family\" plan; he\ntalked to every one he saw about it; he used to go round to the banker's\nand talk to the people there--the people in the post-office; he used to\ntry and exchange ideas about it with the waiters at the hotel. He said\nit would be more safe, more respectable, more economical; that I should\nperfect my French; that mother would learn how a French household is\nconducted; that he should feel more easy, and five hundred reasons more.\nThey were none of them good, but that made no difference. It's all\nhumbug, his talking about economy, when every one knows that business in\nAmerica has completely recovered, that the prostration is all over, and\nthat immense fortunes are being made. We have been economising for the\nlast five years, and I supposed we came abroad to reap the benefits of\nit.\n\nAs for my French, it is quite as perfect as I want it to be. (I assure\nyou I am often surprised at my own fluency, and, when I get a little more\npractice in the genders and the idioms, I shall do very well in this\nrespect.) To make a long story short, however, father carried his point,\nas usual; mother basely deserted me at the last moment, and, after\nholding out alone for three days, I told them to do with me what they\npleased! Father lost three steamers in succession by remaining in Paris\nto argue with me. You know he is like the schoolmaster in Goldsmith's\n\"Deserted Village\"--\"e'en though vanquished, he would argue still.\" He\nand mother went to look at some seventeen families (they had got the\naddresses somewhere), while I retired to my sofa, and would have nothing\nto do with it. At last they made arrangements, and I was transported to\nthe establishment from which I now write you. I write you from the bosom\nof a Parisian menage--from the depths of a second-rate boarding-house.\n\nFather only left Paris after he had seen us what he calls comfortably\nsettled here, and had informed Madame de Maisonrouge (the mistress of the\nestablishment--the head of the \"family\") that he wished my French\npronunciation especially attended to. The pronunciation, as it happens,\nis just what I am most at home in; if he had said my genders or my idioms\nthere would have been some sense. But poor father has no tact, and this\ndefect is especially marked since he has been in Europe. He will be\nabsent, however, for three months, and mother and I shall breathe more\nfreely; the situation will be less intense. I must confess that we\nbreathe more freely than I expected, in this place, where we have been\nfor about a week. I was sure, before we came, that it would prove to be\nan establishment of the _lowest description_; but I must say that, in\nthis respect, I am agreeably disappointed. The French are so clever that\nthey know even how to manage a place of this kind. Of course it is very\ndisagreeable to live with strangers, but as, after all, if I were not\nstaying with Madame de Maisonrouge I should not be living in the Faubourg\nSt. Germain, I don't know that from the point of view of exclusiveness it\nis any great loss to be here.\n\nOur rooms are very prettily arranged, and the table is remarkably good.\nMamma thinks the whole thing--the place and the people, the manners and\ncustoms--very amusing; but mamma is very easily amused. As for me, you\nknow, all that I ask is to be let alone, and not to have people's society\nforced upon me. I have never wanted for society of my own choosing, and,\nso long as I retain possession of my faculties, I don't suppose I ever\nshall. As I said, however, the place is very well managed, and I succeed\nin doing as I please, which, you know, is my most cherished pursuit.\nMadame de Maisonrouge has a great deal of tact--much more than poor\nfather. She is what they call here a belle femme, which means that she\nis a tall, ugly woman, with style. She dresses very well, and has a\ngreat deal of talk; but, though she is a very good imitation of a lady, I\nnever see her behind the dinner-table, in the evening, smiling and\nbowing, as the people come in, and looking all the while at the dishes\nand the servants, without thinking of a _dame de comptoir_ blooming in a\ncorner of a shop or a restaurant. I am sure that, in spite of her fine\nname, she was once a _dame de comptoir_. I am also sure that, in spite\nof her smiles and the pretty things she says to every one, she hates us\nall, and would like to murder us. She is a hard, clever Frenchwoman, who\nwould like to amuse herself and enjoy her Paris, and she must be bored to\ndeath at passing all her time in the midst of stupid English people who\nmumble broken French at her. Some day she will poison the soup or the\n_vin rouge_; but I hope that will not be until after mother and I shall\nhave left her. She has two daughters, who, except that one is decidedly\npretty, are meagre imitations of herself.\n\nThe \"family,\" for the rest, consists altogether of our beloved\ncompatriots, and of still more beloved Englanders. There is an\nEnglishman here, with his sister, and they seem to be rather nice people.\nHe is remarkably handsome, but excessively affected and patronising,\nespecially to us Americans; and I hope to have a chance of biting his\nhead off before long. The sister is very pretty, and, apparently, very\nnice; but, in costume, she is Britannia incarnate. There is a very\npleasant little Frenchman--when they are nice they are charming--and a\nGerman doctor, a big blonde man, who looks like a great white bull; and\ntwo Americans, besides mother and me. One of them is a young man from\nBoston,--an aesthetic young man, who talks about its being \"a real Corot\nday,\" etc., and a young woman--a girl, a female, I don't know what to\ncall her--from Vermont, or Minnesota, or some such place. This young\nwoman is the most extraordinary specimen of artless Yankeeism that I ever\nencountered; she is really too horrible. I have been three times to\nClementine about your underskirt, etc.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\n\nFROM LOUIS LEVERETT, IN PARIS, TO HARVARD TREMONT, IN BOSTON.\n\nSeptember 25th.\n\nMy dear Harvard--I have carried out my plan, of which I gave you a hint\nin my last, and I only regret that I should not have done it before. It\nis human nature, after all, that is the most interesting thing in the\nworld, and it only reveals itself to the truly earnest seeker. There is\na want of earnestness in that life of hotels and railroad trains, which\nso many of our countrymen are content to lead in this strange Old World,\nand I was distressed to find how far I, myself; had been led along the\ndusty, beaten track. I had, however, constantly wanted to turn aside\ninto more unfrequented ways; to plunge beneath the surface and see what I\nshould discover. But the opportunity had always been missing; somehow, I\nnever meet those opportunities that we hear about and read about--the\nthings that happen to people in novels and biographies. And yet I am\nalways on the watch to take advantage of any opening that may present\nitself; I am always looking out for experiences, for sensations--I might\nalmost say for adventures.\n\nThe great thing is to _live_, you know--to feel, to be conscious of one's\npossibilities; not to pass through life mechanically and insensibly, like\na letter through the post-office. There are times, my dear Harvard, when\nI feel as if I were really capable of everything--capable _de tout_, as\nthey say here--of the greatest excesses as well as the greatest heroism.\nOh, to be able to say that one has lived--_qu'on a vecu_, as they say\nhere--that idea exercises an indefinable attraction for me. You will,\nperhaps, reply, it is easy to say it; but the thing is to make people\nbelieve you! And, then, I don't want any second-hand, spurious\nsensations; I want the knowledge that leaves a trace--that leaves strange\nscars and stains and reveries behind it! But I am afraid I shock you,\nperhaps even frighten you.\n\nIf you repeat my remarks to any of the West Cedar Street circle, be sure\nyou tone them down as your discretion will suggest. For yourself; you\nwill know that I have always had an intense desire to see something of\n_real French life_. You are acquainted with my great sympathy with the\nFrench; with my natural tendency to enter into the French way of looking\nat life. I sympathise with the artistic temperament; I remember you used\nsometimes to hint to me that you thought my own temperament too artistic.\nI don't think that in Boston there is any real sympathy with the artistic\ntemperament; we tend to make everything a matter of right and wrong. And\nin Boston one can't _live--on ne peut pas vivre_, as they say here. I\ndon't mean one can't reside--for a great many people manage that; but one\ncan't live aesthetically--I may almost venture to say, sensuously. This\nis why I have always been so much drawn to the French, who are so\naesthetic, so sensuous. I am so sorry that Theophile Gautier has passed\naway; I should have liked so much to go and see him, and tell him all\nthat I owe him. He was living when I was here before; but, you know, at\nthat time I was travelling with the Johnsons, who are not aesthetic, and\nwho used to make me feel rather ashamed of my artistic temperament. If I\nhad gone to see the great apostle of beauty, I should have had to go\nclandestinely--_en cachette_, as they say here; and that is not my\nnature; I like to do everything frankly, freely, _naivement, au grand\njour_. That is the great thing--to be free, to be frank, to be _naif_.\nDoesn't Matthew Arnold say that somewhere--or is it Swinburne, or Pater?\n\nWhen I was with the Johnsons everything was superficial; and, as regards\nlife, everything was brought down to the question of right and wrong.\nThey were too didactic; art should never be didactic; and what is life\nbut an art? Pater has said that so well, somewhere. With the Johnsons I\nam afraid I lost many opportunities; the tone was gray and cottony, I\nmight almost say woolly. But now, as I tell you, I have determined to\ntake right hold for myself; to look right into European life, and judge\nit without Johnsonian prejudices. I have taken up my residence in a\nFrench family, in a real Parisian house. You see I have the courage of\nmy opinions; I don't shrink from carrying out my theory that the great\nthing is to _live_.\n\nYou know I have always been intensely interested in Balzac, who never\nshrank from the reality, and whose almost _lurid_ pictures of Parisian\nlife have often haunted me in my wanderings through the old\nwicked-looking streets on the other side of the river. I am only sorry\nthat my new friends--my French family--do not live in the old city--_au\ncoeur du vieux Paris_, as they say here. They live only in the Boulevard\nHaussman, which is less picturesque; but in spite of this they have a\ngreat deal of the Balzac tone. Madame de Maisonrouge belongs to one of\nthe oldest and proudest families in France; but she has had reverses\nwhich have compelled her to open an establishment in which a limited\nnumber of travellers, who are weary of the beaten track, who have the\nsense of local colour--she explains it herself; she expresses it so\nwell--in short, to open a sort of boarding-house. I don't see why I\nshould not, after all, use that expression, for it is the correlative of\nthe term _pension bourgeoise_, employed by Balzac in the _Pere Goriot_.\nDo you remember the _pension bourgeoise_ of Madame Vauquer _nee_ de\nConflans? But this establishment is not at all like that: and indeed it\nis not at all _bourgeois_; there is something distinguished, something\naristocratic, about it. The Pension Vauquer was dark, brown, sordid,\n_graisseuse_; but this is in quite a different tone, with high, clear,\nlightly-draped windows, tender, subtle, almost morbid, colours, and\nfurniture in elegant, studied, reed-like lines. Madame de Maisonrouge\nreminds me of Madame Hulot--do you remember \"la belle Madame Hulot?\"--in\n_Les Barents Pauvres_. She has a great charm; a little artificial, a\nlittle fatigued, with a little suggestion of hidden things in her life;\nbut I have always been sensitive to the charm of fatigue, of duplicity.\n\nI am rather disappointed, I confess, in the society I find here; it is\nnot so local, so characteristic, as I could have desired. Indeed, to\ntell the truth, it is not local at all; but, on the other hand, it is\ncosmopolitan, and there is a great advantage in that. We are French, we\nare English, we are American, we are German; and, I believe, there are\nsome Russians and Hungarians expected. I am much interested in the study\nof national types; in comparing, contrasting, seizing the strong points,\nthe weak points, the point of view of each. It is interesting to shift\none's point of view--to enter into strange, exotic ways of looking at\nlife.\n\nThe American types here are not, I am sorry to say, so interesting as\nthey might be, and, excepting myself; are exclusively feminine. We are\n_thin_, my dear Harvard; we are pale, we are sharp. There is something\nmeagre about us; our line is wanting in roundness, our composition in\nrichness. We lack temperament; we don't know how to live; _nous ne\nsavons pas vivre_, as they say here. The American temperament is\nrepresented (putting myself aside, and I often think that my temperament\nis not at all American) by a young girl and her mother, and another young\ngirl without her mother--without her mother or any attendant or appendage\nwhatever. These young girls are rather curious types; they have a\ncertain interest, they have a certain grace, but they are disappointing\ntoo; they don't go far; they don't keep all they promise; they don't\nsatisfy the imagination. They are cold, slim, sexless; the physique is\nnot generous, not abundant; it is only the drapery, the skirts and\nfurbelows (that is, I mean in the young lady who has her mother) that are\nabundant. They are very different: one of them all elegance, all\nexpensiveness, with an air of high fashion, from New York; the other a\nplain, pure, clear-eyed, straight-waisted, straight-stepping maiden from\nthe heart of New England. And yet they are very much alike too--more\nalike than they would care to think themselves for they eye each other\nwith cold, mistrustful, deprecating looks. They are both specimens of\nthe emancipated young American girl--practical, positive, passionless,\nsubtle, and knowing, as you please, either too much or too little. And\nyet, as I say, they have a certain stamp, a certain grace; I like to talk\nwith them, to study them.\n\nThe fair New Yorker is, sometimes, very amusing; she asks me if every one\nin Boston talks like me--if every one is as \"intellectual\" as your poor\ncorrespondent. She is for ever throwing Boston up at me; I can't get rid\nof Boston. The other one rubs it into me too; but in a different way;\nshe seems to feel about it as a good Mahommedan feels toward Mecca, and\nregards it as a kind of focus of light for the whole human race. Poor\nlittle Boston, what nonsense is talked in thy name! But this New England\nmaiden is, in her way, a strange type: she is travelling all over Europe\nalone--\"to see it,\" she says, \"for herself.\" For herself! What can that\nstiff slim self of hers do with such sights, such visions! She looks at\neverything, goes everywhere, passes her way, with her clear quiet eyes\nwide open; skirting the edge of obscene abysses without suspecting them;\npushing through brambles without tearing her robe; exciting, without\nknowing it, the most injurious suspicions; and always holding her course,\npassionless, stainless, fearless, charmless! It is a little figure in\nwhich, after all, if you can get the right point of view, there is\nsomething rather striking.\n\nBy way of contrast, there is a lovely English girl, with eyes as shy as\nviolets, and a voice as sweet! She has a sweet Gainsborough head, and a\ngreat Gainsborough hat, with a mighty plume in front of it, which makes a\nshadow over her quiet English eyes. Then she has a sage-green robe,\n\"mystic, wonderful,\" all embroidered with subtle devices and flowers, and\nbirds of tender tint; very straight and tight in front, and adorned\nbehind, along the spine, with large, strange, iridescent buttons. The\nrevival of taste, of the sense of beauty, in England, interests me\ndeeply; what is there in a simple row of spinal buttons to make one\ndream--to _donnor a rever_, as they say here? I think that a great\naesthetic renascence is at hand, and that a great light will be kindled\nin England, for all the world to see. There are spirits there that I\nshould like to commune with; I think they would understand me.\n\nThis gracious English maiden, with her clinging robes, her amulets and\ngirdles, with something quaint and angular in her step, her carriage\nsomething mediaeval and Gothic, in the details of her person and dress,\nthis lovely Evelyn Vane (isn't it a beautiful name?) is deeply,\ndelightfully picturesque. She is much a woman--elle _est bien femme_, as\nthey say here; simpler, softer, rounder, richer than the young girls I\nspoke of just now. Not much talk--a great, sweet silence. Then the\nviolet eye--the very eye itself seems to blush; the great shadowy hat,\nmaking the brow so quiet; the strange, clinging, clutching, pictured\nraiment! As I say, it is a very gracious, tender type. She has her\nbrother with her, who is a beautiful, fair-haired, gray-eyed young\nEnglishman. He is purely objective; and he, too, is very plastic.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\n\nFROM MIRANDA HOPE TO HER MOTHER.\n\nSeptember 26th.\n\nYou must not be frightened at not hearing from me oftener; it is not\nbecause I am in any trouble, but because I am getting on so well. If I\nwere in any trouble I don't think I should write to you; I should just\nkeep quiet and see it through myself. But that is not the case at\npresent and, if I don't write to you, it is because I am so deeply\ninterested over here that I don't seem to find time. It was a real\nprovidence that brought me to this house, where, in spite of all\nobstacles, I am able to do much good work. I wonder how I find the time\nfor all I do; but when I think that I have only got a year in Europe, I\nfeel as if I wouldn't sacrifice a single hour.\n\nThe obstacles I refer to are the disadvantages I have in learning French,\nthere being so many persons around me speaking English, and that, as you\nmay say, in the very bosom of a French family. It seems as if you heard\nEnglish everywhere; but I certainly didn't expect to find it in a place\nlike this. I am not discouraged, however, and I talk French all I can,\neven with the other English boarders. Then I have a lesson every day\nfrom Miss Maisonrouge (the elder daughter of the lady of the house), and\nFrench conversation every evening in the salon, from eight to eleven,\nwith Madame herself, and some friends of hers that often come in. Her\ncousin, Mr. Verdier, a young French gentleman, is fortunately staying\nwith her, and I make a point of talking with him as much as possible. I\nhave _extra private lessons_ from him, and I often go out to walk with\nhim. Some night, soon, he is to accompany me to the opera. We have also\na most interesting plan of visiting all the galleries in Paris together.\nLike most of the French, he converses with great fluency, and I feel as\nif I should really gain from him. He is remarkably handsome, and\nextremely polite--paying a great many compliments, which, I am afraid,\nare not always _sincere_. When I return to Bangor I will tell you some\nof the things he has said to me. I think you will consider them\nextremely curious, and very beautiful _in their way_.\n\nThe conversation in the parlour (from eight to eleven) is often\nremarkably brilliant, and I often wish that you, or some of the Bangor\nfolks, could be there to enjoy it. Even though you couldn't understand\nit I think you would like to hear the way they go on; they seem to\nexpress so much. I sometimes think that at Bangor they don't express\nenough (but it seems as if over there, there was less to express). It\nseems as if; at Bangor, there were things that folks never _tried_ to\nsay; but here, I have learned from studying French that you have no idea\nwhat you _can_ say, before you try. At Bangor they seem to give it up\nbeforehand; they don't make any effort. (I don't say this in the least\nfor William Platt, _in particular_.)\n\nI am sure I don't know what they will think of me when I get back. It\nseems as if; over here, I had learned to come out with everything. I\nsuppose they will think I am not sincere; but isn't it more sincere to\ncome out with things than to conceal them? I have become very good\nfriends with every one in the house--that is (you see, I _am_ sincere),\nwith _almost_ every one. It is the most interesting circle I ever was\nin. There's a girl here, an American, that I don't like so much as the\nrest; but that is only because she won't let me. I should like to like\nher, ever so much, because she is most lovely and most attractive; but\nshe doesn't seem to want to know me or to like me. She comes from New\nYork, and she is remarkably pretty, with beautiful eyes and the most\ndelicate features; she is also remarkably elegant--in this respect would\nbear comparison with any one I have seen over here. But it seems as if\nshe didn't want to recognise me or associate with me; as if she wanted to\nmake a difference between us. It is like people they call \"haughty\" in\nbooks. I have never seen any one like that before--any one that wanted\nto make a difference; and at first I was right down interested, she\nseemed to me so like a proud young lady in a novel. I kept saying to\nmyself all day, \"haughty, haughty,\" and I wished she would keep on so.\nBut she did keep on; she kept on too long; and then I began to feel hurt.\nI couldn't think what I have done, and I can't think yet. It's as if she\nhad got some idea about me, or had heard some one say something. If some\ngirls should behave like that I shouldn't make any account of it; but\nthis one is so refined, and looks as if she might be so interesting if I\nonce got to know her, that I think about it a good deal. I am bound to\nfind out what her reason is--for of course she has got some reason; I am\nright down curious to know.\n\nI went up to her to ask her the day before yesterday; I thought that was\nthe best way. I told her I wanted to know her better, and would like to\ncome and see her in her room--they tell me she has got a lovely room--and\nthat if she had heard anything against me, perhaps she would tell me when\nI came. But she was more distant than ever, and she just turned it off;\nsaid that she had never heard me mentioned, and that her room was too\nsmall to receive visitors. I suppose she spoke the truth, but I am sure\nshe has got some reason, all the same. She has got some idea, and I am\nbound to find out before I go, if I have to ask everybody in the house. I\n_am_ right down curious. I wonder if she doesn't think me refined--or if\nshe had ever heard anything against Bangor? I can't think it is that.\nDon't you remember when Clara Barnard went to visit New York, three years\nago, how much attention she received? And you know Clara _is_ Bangor, to\nthe soles of her shoes. Ask William Platt--so long as he isn't a\nnative--if he doesn't consider Clara Barnard refined.\n\nApropos, as they say here, of refinement, there is another American in\nthe house--a gentleman from Boston--who is just crowded with it. His\nname is Mr. Louis Leverett (such a beautiful name, I think), and he is\nabout thirty years old. He is rather small, and he looks pretty sick; he\nsuffers from some affection of the liver. But his conversation is\nremarkably interesting, and I delight to listen to him--he has such\nbeautiful ideas. I feel as if it were hardly right, not being in French;\nbut, fortunately, he uses a great many French expressions. It's in a\ndifferent style from the conversation of Mr. Verdier--not so\ncomplimentary, but more intellectual. He is intensely fond of pictures,\nand has given me a great many ideas about them which I should never have\ngained without him; I shouldn't have known where to look for such ideas.\nHe thinks everything of pictures; he thinks we don't make near enough of\nthem. They seem to make a good deal of them here; but I couldn't help\ntelling him the other day that in Bangor I really don't think we do.\n\nIf I had any money to spend I would buy some and take them back, to hang\nup. Mr. Leverett says it would do them good--not the pictures, but the\nBangor folks. He thinks everything of the French, too, and says we don't\nmake nearly enough of _them_. I couldn't help telling him the other day\nthat at any rate they make enough of themselves. But it is very\ninteresting to hear him go on about the French, and it is so much gain to\nme, so long as that is what I came for. I talk to him as much as I dare\nabout Boston, but I do feel as if this were right down wrong--a stolen\npleasure.\n\nI can get all the Boston culture I want when I go back, if I carry out my\nplan, my happy vision, of going there to reside. I ought to direct all\nmy efforts to European culture now, and keep Boston to finish off. But\nit seems as if I couldn't help taking a peep now and then, in\nadvance--with a Bostonian. I don't know when I may meet one again; but\nif there are many others like Mr. Leverett there, I shall be certain not\nto want when I carry out my dream. He is just as full of culture as he\ncan live. But it seems strange how many different sorts there are.\n\nThere are two of the English who I suppose are very cultivated too; but\nit doesn't seem as if I could enter into theirs so easily, though I try\nall I can. I do love their way of speaking, and sometimes I feel almost\nas if it would be right to give up trying to learn French, and just try\nto learn to speak our own tongue as these English speak it. It isn't the\nthings they say so much, though these are often rather curious, but it is\nin the way they pronounce, and the sweetness of their voice. It seems as\nif they must _try_ a good deal to talk like that; but these English that\nare here don't seem to try at all, either to speak or do anything else.\nThey are a young lady and her brother. I believe they belong to some\nnoble family. I have had a good deal of intercourse with them, because I\nhave felt more free to talk to them than to the Americans--on account of\nthe language. It seems as if in talking with them I was almost learning\na new one.\n\nI never supposed, when I left Bangor, that I was coming to Europe to\nlearn _English_! If I do learn it, I don't think you will understand me\nwhen I get back, and I don't think you'll like it much. I should be a\ngood deal criticised if I spoke like that at Bangor. However, I verily\nbelieve Bangor is the most critical place on earth; I have seen nothing\nlike it over here. Tell them all I have come to the conclusion that they\nare _a great deal too fastidious_. But I was speaking about this English\nyoung lady and her brother. I wish I could put them before you. She is\nlovely to look at; she seems so modest and retiring. In spite of this,\nhowever, she dresses in a way that attracts great attention, as I\ncouldn't help noticing when one day I went out to walk with her. She was\never so much looked at; but she didn't seem to notice it, until at last I\ncouldn't help calling attention to it. Mr. Leverett thinks everything of\nit; he calls it the \"costume of the future.\" I should call it rather the\ncostume of the past--you know the English have such an attachment to the\npast. I said this the other day to Madame do Maisonrouge--that Miss Vane\ndressed in the costume of the past. _De l'an passe, vous voulez dire_?\nsaid Madame, with her little French laugh (you can get William Platt to\ntranslate this, he used to tell me he knew so much French).\n\nYou know I told you, in writing some time ago, that I had tried to get\nsome insight into the position of woman in England, and, being here with\nMiss Vane, it has seemed to me to be a good opportunity to get a little\nmore. I have asked her a great deal about it; but she doesn't seem able\nto give me much information. The first time I asked her she told me the\nposition of a lady depended upon the rank of her father, her eldest\nbrother, her husband, etc. She told me her own position was very good,\nbecause her father was some relation--I forget what--to a lord. She\nthinks everything of this; and that proves to me that the position of\nwoman in her country cannot be satisfactory; because, if it were, it\nwouldn't depend upon that of your relations, even your nearest. I don't\nknow much about lords, and it does try my patience (though she is just as\nsweet as she can live) to hear her talk as if it were a matter of course\nthat I should.\n\nI feel as if it were right to ask her as often as I can if she doesn't\nconsider every one equal; but she always says she doesn't, and she\nconfesses that she doesn't think she is equal to \"Lady\nSomething-or-other,\" who is the wife of that relation of her father. I\ntry and persuade her all I can that she is; but it seems as if she didn't\nwant to be persuaded; and when I ask her if Lady So-and-so is of the same\nopinion (that Miss Vane isn't her equal), she looks so soft and pretty\nwith her eyes, and says, \"Of course she is!\" When I tell her that this\nis right down bad for Lady So-and-so, it seems as if she wouldn't believe\nme, and the only answer she will make is that Lady So-and-so is\n\"extremely nice.\" I don't believe she is nice at all; if she were nice,\nshe wouldn't have such ideas as that. I tell Miss Vane that at Bangor we\nthink such ideas vulgar; but then she looks as though she had never heard\nof Bangor. I often want to shake her, though she _is_ so sweet. If she\nisn't angry with the people who make her feel that way, I am angry for\nher. I am angry with her brother too, for she is evidently very much\nafraid of him, and this gives me some further insight into the subject.\nShe thinks everything of her brother, and thinks it natural that she\nshould be afraid of him, not only physically (for this _is_ natural, as\nhe is enormously tall and strong, and has very big fists), but morally\nand intellectually. She seems unable, however, to take in any argument,\nand she makes me realise what I have often heard--that if you are timid\nnothing will reason you out of it.\n\nMr. Vane, also (the brother), seems to have the same prejudices, and when\nI tell him, as I often think it right to do, that his sister is not his\nsubordinate, even if she does think so, but his equal, and, perhaps in\nsome respects his superior, and that if my brother, in Bangor, were to\ntreat me as he treates this poor young girl, who has not spirit enough to\nsee the question in its true light, there would be an indignation,\nmeeting of the citizens to protest against such an outrage to the\nsanctity of womanhood--when I tell him all this, at breakfast or dinner,\nhe bursts out laughing so loud that all the plates clatter on the table.\n\nBut at such a time as this there is always one person who seems\ninterested in what I say--a German gentleman, a professor, who sits next\nto me at dinner, and whom I must tell you more about another time. He is\nvery learned, and has a great desire for information; he appreciates a\ngreat many of my remarks, and after dinner, in the salon, he often comes\nto me to ask me questions about them. I have to think a little,\nsometimes, to know what I did say, or what I do think. He takes you\nright up where you left off; and he is almost as fond of discussing\nthings as William Platt is. He is splendidly educated, in the German\nstyle, and he told me the other day that he was an \"intellectual broom.\"\nWell, if he is, he sweeps clean; I told him that. After he has been\ntalking to me I feel as if I hadn't got a speck of dust left in my mind\nanywhere. It's a most delightful feeling. He says he's an observer; and\nI am sure there is plenty over here to observe. But I have told you\nenough for to-day. I don't know how much longer I shall stay here; I am\ngetting on so fast that it sometimes seems as if I shouldn't need all the\ntime I have laid out. I suppose your cold weather has promptly begun, as\nusual; it sometimes makes me envy you. The fall weather here is very\ndull and damp, and I feel very much as if I should like to be braced up.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\n\nFROM MISS EVELYN VANE, IN PARIS, TO THE LADY AUGUSTA FLEMING, AT\nBRIGHTON.\n\nParis, September 30th.\n\nDear Lady Augusta--I am afraid I shall not be able to come to you on\nJanuary 7th, as you kindly proposed at Homburg. I am so very, very\nsorry; it is a great disappointment to me. But I have just heard that it\nhas been settled that mamma and the children are coming abroad for a part\nof the winter, and mamma wishes me to go with them to Hyeres, where\nGeorgina has been ordered for her lungs. She has not been at all well\nthese three months, and now that the damp weather has begun she is very\npoorly indeed; so that last week papa decided to have a consultation, and\nhe and mamma went with her up to town and saw some three or four doctors.\nThey all of them ordered the south of France, but they didn't agree about\nthe place; so that mamma herself decided for Hyeres, because it is the\nmost economical. I believe it is very dull, but I hope it will do\nGeorgina good. I am afraid, however, that nothing will do her good until\nshe consents to take more care of herself; I am afraid she is very wild\nand wilful, and mamma tells me that all this month it has taken papa's\npositive orders to make her stop in-doors. She is very cross (mamma\nwrites me) about coming abroad, and doesn't seem at all to mind the\nexpense that papa has been put to--talks very ill-naturedly about losing\nthe hunting, etc. She expected to begin to hunt in December, and wants\nto know whether anybody keeps hounds at Hyeres. Fancy a girl wanting to\nfollow the hounds when her lungs are so bad! But I daresay that when she\ngets there she will he glad enough to keep quiet, as they say that the\nheat is intense. It may cure Georgina, but I am sure it will make the\nrest of us very ill.\n\nMamma, however, is only going to bring Mary and Gus and Fred and Adelaide\nabroad with her; the others will remain at Kingscote until February\n(about the 3d), when they will go to Eastbourne for a month with Miss\nTurnover, the new governess, who has turned out such a very nice person.\nShe is going to take Miss Travers, who has been with us so long, but who\nis only qualified for the younger children, to Hyeres, and I believe some\nof the Kingscote servants. She has perfect confidence in Miss T.; it is\nonly a pity she has such an odd name. Mamma thought of asking her if she\nwould mind taking another when she came; but papa thought she might\nobject. Lady Battledown makes all her governesses take the same name;\nshe gives 5 pounds more a year for the purpose. I forget what it is she\ncalls them; I think it's Johnson (which to me always suggests a lady's\nmaid). Governesses shouldn't have too pretty a name; they shouldn't have\na nicer name than the family.\n\nI suppose you heard from the Desmonds that I did not go back to England\nwith them. When it began to be talked about that Georgina should be\ntaken abroad, mamma wrote to me that I had better stop in Paris for a\nmonth with Harold, so that she could pick me up on their way to Hyeres.\nIt saves the expense of my journey to Kingscote and back, and gives me\nthe opportunity to \"finish\" a little in French.\n\nYou know Harold came here six weeks ago, to get up his French for those\ndreadful examinations that he has to pass so soon. He came to live with\nsome French people that take in young men (and others) for this purpose;\nit's a kind of coaching place, only kept by women. Mamma had heard it\nwas very nice; so she wrote to me that I was to come and stop here with\nHarold. The Desmonds brought me and made the arrangement, or the\nbargain, or whatever you call it. Poor Harold was naturally not at all\npleased; but he has been very kind, and has treated me like an angel. He\nis getting on beautifully with his French; for though I don't think the\nplace is so good as papa supposed, yet Harold is so immensely clever that\nhe can scarcely help learning. I am afraid I learn much less, but,\nfortunately, I have not to pass an examination--except if mamma takes it\ninto her head to examine me. But she will have so much to think of with\nGeorgina that I hope this won't occur to her. If it does, I shall be, as\nHarold says, in a dreadful funk.\n\nThis is not such a nice place for a girl as for a young man, and the\nDesmonds thought it _exceedingly odd_ that mamma should wish me to come\nhere. As Mrs. Desmond said, it is because she is so very unconventional.\nBut you know Paris is so very amusing, and if only Harold remains good-\nnatured about it, I shall be content to wait for the caravan (that's what\nhe calls mamma and the children). The person who keeps the\nestablishment, or whatever they call it, is rather odd, and _exceedingly\nforeign_; but she is wonderfully civil, and is perpetually sending to my\ndoor to see if I want anything. The servants are not at all like English\nservants, and come bursting in, the footman (they have only one) and the\nmaids alike, at all sorts of hours, in the _most sudden way_. Then when\none rings, it is half an hour before they come. All this is very\nuncomfortable, and I daresay it will be worse at Hyeres. There, however,\nfortunately, we shall have our own people.\n\nThere are some very odd Americans here, who keep throwing Harold into\nfits of laughter. One is a dreadful little man who is always sitting\nover the fire, and talking about the colour of the sky. I don't believe\nhe ever saw the sky except through the window--pane. The other day he\ntook hold of my frock (that green one you thought so nice at Homburg) and\ntold me that it reminded him of the texture of the Devonshire turf. And\nthen he talked for half an hour about the Devonshire turf; which I\nthought such a very extraordinary subject. Harold says he is mad. It is\nvery strange to be living in this way with people one doesn't know. I\nmean that one doesn't know as one knows them in England.\n\nThe other Americans (beside the madman) are two girls, about my own age,\none of whom is rather nice. She has a mother; but the mother is always\nsitting in her bedroom, which seems so very odd. I should like mamma to\nask them to Kingscote, but I am afraid mamma wouldn't like the mother,\nwho is rather vulgar. The other girl is rather vulgar too, and is\ntravelling about quite alone. I think she is a kind of schoolmistress;\nbut the other girl (I mean the nicer one, with the mother) tells me she\nis more respectable than she seems. She has, however, the most\nextraordinary opinions--wishes to do away with the aristocracy, thinks it\nwrong that Arthur should have Kingscote when papa dies, etc. I don't see\nwhat it signifies to her that poor Arthur should come into the property,\nwhich will be so delightful--except for papa dying. But Harold says she\nis mad. He chaffs her tremendously about her radicalism, and he is so\nimmensely clever that she can't answer him, though she is rather clever\ntoo.\n\nThere is also a Frenchman, a nephew, or cousin, or something, of the\nperson of the house, who is extremely nasty; and a German professor, or\ndoctor, who eats with his knife and is a great bore. I am so very sorry\nabout giving up my visit. I am afraid you will never ask me again.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\n\nFROM LEON VERDIER, IN PARIS, TO PROSPER GOBAIN, AT LILLE.\n\nSeptember 28th.\n\nMy Dear Prosper--It is a long time since I have given you of my news, and\nI don't know what puts it into my head to-night to recall myself to your\naffectionate memory. I suppose it is that when we are happy the mind\nreverts instinctively to those with whom formerly we shared our\nexaltations and depressions, and _je t'eu ai trop dit, dans le bon temps,\nmon gros Prosper_, and you always listened to me too imperturbably, with\nyour pipe in your mouth, your waistcoat unbuttoned, for me not to feel\nthat I can count upon your sympathy to-day. _Nous en sommes nous\nflanquees des confidences_--in those happy days when my first thought in\nseeing an adventure _poindre a l'horizon_ was of the pleasure I should\nhave in relating it to the great Prosper. As I tell thee, I am happy;\ndecidedly, I am happy, and from this affirmation I fancy you can\nconstruct the rest. Shall I help thee a little? Take three adorable\ngirls . . . three, my good Prosper--the mystic number--neither more nor\nless. Take them and place thy insatiable little Leon in the midst of\nthem! Is the situation sufficiently indicated, and do you apprehend the\nmotives of my felicity?\n\nYou expected, perhaps, I was going to tell you that I had made my\nfortune, or that the Uncle Blondeau had at last decided to return into\nthe breast of nature, after having constituted me his universal legatee.\nBut I needn't remind you that women are always for something in the\nhappiness of him who writes to thee--for something in his happiness, and\nfor a good deal more in his misery. But don't let me talk of misery now;\ntime enough when it comes; _ces demoiselles_ have gone to join the\nserried ranks of their amiable predecessors. Excuse me--I comprehend\nyour impatience. I will tell you of whom _ces demoiselles_ consist.\n\nYou have heard me speak of my _cousine_ de Maisonrouge, that grande\n_belle femme_, who, after having married, _en secondes_ noces--there had\nbeen, to tell the truth, some irregularity about her first union--a\nvenerable relic of the old noblesse of Poitou, was left, by the death of\nher husband, complicated by the indulgence of expensive tastes on an\nincome of 17,000 francs, on the pavement of Paris, with two little demons\nof daughters to bring up in the path of virtue. She managed to bring\nthem up; my little cousins are rigidly virtuous. If you ask me how she\nmanaged it, I can't tell you; it's no business of mine, and, _a fortiori_\nnone of yours. She is now fifty years old (she confesses to\nthirty-seven), and her daughters, whom she has never been able to marry,\nare respectively twenty-seven and twenty-three (they confess to twenty\nand to seventeen). Three years ago she had the thrice-blessed idea of\nopening a sort of _pension_ for the entertainment and instruction of the\nblundering barbarians who come to Paris in the hope of picking up a few\nstray particles of the language of Voltaire--or of Zola. The idea _lui a\nporte bonheur_; the shop does a very good business. Until within a few\nmonths ago it was carried on by my cousins alone; but lately the need of\na few extensions and embellishments has caused itself to be felt. My\ncousin has undertaken them, regardless of expense; she has asked me to\ncome and stay with her--board and lodging gratis--and keep an eye on the\ngrammatical eccentricities of her _pensionnaires_. I am the extension,\nmy good Prosper; I am the embellishment! I live for nothing, and I\nstraighten up the accent of the prettiest English lips. The English lips\nare not all pretty, heaven knows, but enough of them are so to make it a\ngaining bargain for me.\n\nJust now, as I told you, I am in daily conversation with three separate\npairs. The owner of one of them has private lessons; she pays extra. My\ncousin doesn't give me a sou of the money; but I make bold, nevertheless,\nto say that my trouble is remunerated. But I am well, very well, with\nthe proprietors of the two other pairs. One of them is a little\nAnglaise, of about twenty--a little _figure de keepsake_; the most\nadorable miss that you ever, or at least that I ever beheld. She is\ndecorated all over with beads and bracelets and embroidered dandelions;\nbut her principal decoration consists of the softest little gray eyes in\nthe world, which rest upon you with a profundity of confidence--a\nconfidence that I really feel some compunction in betraying. She has a\ntint as white as this sheet of paper, except just in the middle of each\ncheek, where it passes into the purest and most transparent, most liquid,\ncarmine. Occasionally this rosy fluid overflows into the rest of her\nface--by which I mean that she blushes--as softly as the mark of your\nbreath on the window-pane.\n\nLike every Anglaise, she is rather pinched and prim in public; but it is\nvery easy to see that when no one is looking _elle ne demande qu'a se\nlaisser aller_! Whenever she wants it I am always there, and I have\ngiven her to understand that she can count upon me. I have reason to\nbelieve that she appreciates the assurance, though I am bound in honesty\nto confess that with her the situation is a little less advanced than\nwith the others. _Que voulez-vous_? The English are heavy, and the\nAnglaises move slowly, that's all. The movement, however, is\nperceptible, and once this fact is established I can let the pottage\nsimmer. I can give her time to arrive, for I am over-well occupied with\nher _concurrentes_. _Celles-ci_ don't keep me waiting, _par exemple_!\n\nThese young ladies are Americans, and you know that it is the national\ncharacter to move fast. \"All right--go ahead!\" (I am learning a great\ndeal of English, or, rather, a great deal of American.) They go ahead at\na rate that sometimes makes it difficult for me to keep up. One of them\nis prettier than the other; but this hatter (the one that takes the\nprivate lessons) is really _une file prodigieuse_. _Ah, par exemple,\nelle brule ses vais-seux cella-la_! She threw herself into my arms the\nvery first day, and I almost owed her a grudge for having deprived me of\nthat pleasure of gradation, of carrying the defences, one by one, which\nis almost as great as that of entering the place.\n\nWould you believe that at the end of exactly twelve minutes she gave me a\nrendezvous? It is true it was in the Galerie d'Apollon, at the Louvre;\nbut that was respectable for a beginning, and since then we have had them\nby the dozen; I have ceased to keep the account. _Non, c'est une file\nqui me depasse_.\n\nThe little one (she has a mother somewhere, out of sight, shut up in a\ncloset or a trunk) is a good deal prettier, and, perhaps, on that account\n_elle y met plus de facons_. She doesn't knock about Paris with me by\nthe hour; she contents herself with long interviews in the _petit salon_,\nwith the curtains half-drawn, beginning at about three o'clock, when\nevery one is _a la promenade_. She is admirable, this little one; a\nlittle too thin, the bones rather accentuated, but the detail, on the\nwhole, most satisfactory. And you can say anything to her. She takes\nthe trouble to appear not to understand, but her conduct, half an hour\nafterwards, reassures you completely--oh, completely!\n\nHowever, it is the tall one, the one of the private lessons, that is the\nmost remarkable. These private lessons, my good Prosper, are the most\nbrilliant invention of the age, and a real stroke of genius on the part\nof Miss Miranda! They also take place in the _petit salon_, but with the\ndoors tightly closed, and with explicit directions to every one in the\nhouse that we are not to be disturbed. And we are not, my good Prosper;\nwe are not! Not a sound, not a shadow, interrupts our felicity. My\n_cousine_ is really admirable; the shop deserves to succeed. Miss\nMiranda is tall and rather flat; she is too pale; she hasn't the adorable\n_rougeurs_ of the little Anglaise. But she has bright, keen, inquisitive\neyes, superb teeth, a nose modelled by a sculptor, and a way of holding\nup her head and looking every one in the face, which is the most finished\npiece of impertinence I ever beheld. She is making the _tour du monde_\nentirely alone, without even a soubrette to carry the ensign, for the\npurpose of seeing for herself _a quoi s'en tenir sur les hommes et les\nchoses--on les hommes_ particularly. _Dis donc_, Prosper, it must be a\n_drole de pays_ over there, where young persons animated by this ardent\ncuriosity are manufactured! If we should turn the tables, some day, thou\nand I, and go over and see it for ourselves. It is as well that we\nshould go and find them _chez elles_, as that they should come out here\nafter us. _Dis donc, mon gras Prosper_ . . .\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\n\nFROM DR. RUDOLF STAUB, IN PARIS, TO DR. JULIUS HIRSCH, AT GOTTINGEN.\n\nMy dear brother in Science--I resume my hasty notes, of which I sent you\nthe first instalment some weeks ago. I mentioned then that I intended to\nleave my hotel, not finding it sufficiently local and national. It was\nkept by a Pomeranian, and the waiters, without exception, were from the\nFatherland. I fancied myself at Berlin, Unter den Linden, and I\nreflected that, having taken the serious step of visiting the\nhead-quarters of the Gallic genius, I should try and project myself; as\nmuch as possible, into the circumstances which are in part the\nconsequence and in part the cause of its irrepressible activity. It\nseemed to me that there could be no well-grounded knowledge without this\npreliminary operation of placing myself in relations, as slightly as\npossible modified by elements proceeding from a different combination of\ncauses, with the spontaneous home-life of the country.\n\nI accordingly engaged a room in the house of a lady of pure French\nextraction and education, who supplements the shortcomings of an income\ninsufficient to the ever-growing demands of the Parisian system of sense-\ngratification, by providing food and lodging for a limited number of\ndistinguished strangers. I should have preferred to have my room alone\nin the house, and to take my meals in a brewery, of very good appearance,\nwhich I speedily discovered in the same street; but this arrangement,\nthough very lucidly proposed by myself; was not acceptable to the\nmistress of the establishment (a woman with a mathematical head), and I\nhave consoled myself for the extra expense by fixing my thoughts upon the\nopportunity that conformity to the customs of the house gives me of\nstudying the table-manners of my companions, and of observing the French\nnature at a peculiarly physiological moment, the moment when the\nsatisfaction of the _taste_, which is the governing quality in its\ncomposition, produces a kind of exhalation, an intellectual\ntranspiration, which, though light and perhaps invisible to a superficial\nspectator, is nevertheless appreciable by a properly adjusted instrument.\n\nI have adjusted my instrument very satisfactorily (I mean the one I carry\nin my good square German head), and I am not afraid of losing a single\ndrop of this valuable fluid, as it condenses itself upon the plate of my\nobservation. A prepared surface is what I need, and I have prepared my\nsurface.\n\nUnfortunately here, also, I find the individual native in the minority.\nThere are only four French persons in the house--the individuals\nconcerned in its management, three of whom are women, and one a man. This\npreponderance of the feminine element is, however, in itself\ncharacteristic, as I need not remind you what an abnormally--developed\npart this sex has played in French history. The remaining figure is\napparently that of a man, but I hesitate to classify him so\nsuperficially. He appears to me less human than simian, and whenever I\nhear him talk I seem to myself to have paused in the street to listen to\nthe shrill clatter of a hand-organ, to which the gambols of a hairy\n_homunculus_ form an accompaniment.\n\nI mentioned to you before that my expectation of rough usage, in\nconsequence of my German nationality, had proved completely unfounded. No\none seems to know or to care what my nationality is, and I am treated, on\nthe contrary, with the civility which is the portion of every traveller\nwho pays the bill without scanning the items too narrowly. This, I\nconfess, has been something of a surprise to me, and I have not yet made\nup my mind as to the fundamental cause of the anomaly. My determination\nto take up my abode in a French interior was largely dictated by the\nsupposition that I should be substantially disagreeable to its inmates. I\nwished to observe the different forms taken by the irritation that I\nshould naturally produce; for it is under the influence of irritation\nthat the French character most completely expresses itself. My presence,\nhowever, does not appear to operate as a stimulus, and in this respect I\nam materially disappointed. They treat me as they treat every one else;\nwhereas, in order to be treated differently, I was resigned in advance to\nbe treated worse. I have not, as I say, fully explained to myself this\nlogical contradiction; but this is the explanation to which I tend. The\nFrench are so exclusively occupied with the idea of themselves, that in\nspite of the very definite image the German personality presented to them\nby the war of 1870, they have at present no distinct apprehension of its\nexistence. They are not very sure that there are any Germans; they have\nalready forgotten the convincing proofs of the fact that were presented\nto them nine years ago. A German was something disagreeable, which they\ndetermined to keep out of their conception of things. I therefore think\nthat we are wrong to govern ourselves upon the hypothesis of the\n_revanche_; the French nature is too shallow for that large and powerful\nplant to bloom in it.\n\nThe English-speaking specimens, too, I have not been willing to neglect\nthe opportunity to examine; and among these I have paid special attention\nto the American varieties, of which I find here several singular\nexamples. The two most remarkable are a young man who presents all the\ncharacteristics of a period of national decadence; reminding me strongly\nof some diminutive Hellenised Roman of the third century. He is an\nillustration of the period of culture in which the faculty of\nappreciation has obtained such a preponderance over that of production\nthat the latter sinks into a kind of rank sterility, and the mental\ncondition becomes analogous to that of a malarious bog. I learn from him\nthat there is an immense number of Americans exactly resembling him, and\nthat the city of Boston, indeed, is almost exclusively composed of them.\n(He communicated this fact very proudly, as if it were greatly to the\ncredit of his native country; little perceiving the truly sinister\nimpression it made upon me.)\n\nWhat strikes one in it is that it is a phenomenon to the best of my\nknowledge--and you know what my knowledge is--unprecedented and unique in\nthe history of mankind; the arrival of a nation at an ultimate stage of\nevolution without having passed through the mediate one; the passage of\nthe fruit, in other words, from crudity to rottenness, without the\ninterposition of a period of useful (and ornamental) ripeness. With the\nAmericans, indeed, the crudity and the rottenness are identical and\nsimultaneous; it is impossible to say, as in the conversation of this\ndeplorable young man, which is one and which is the other; they are\ninextricably mingled. I prefer the talk of the French _homunculus_; it\nis at least more amusing.\n\nIt is interesting in this manner to perceive, so largely developed, the\ngerms of extinction in the so-called powerful Anglo-Saxon family. I find\nthem in almost as recognisable a form in a young woman from the State of\nMaine, in the province of New England, with whom I have had a good deal\nof conversation. She differs somewhat from the young man I just\nmentioned, in that the faculty of production, of action, is, in her, less\ninanimate; she has more of the freshness and vigour that we suppose to\nbelong to a young civilisation. But unfortunately she produces nothing\nbut evil, and her tastes and habits are similarly those of a Roman lady\nof the lower Empire. She makes no secret of them, and has, in fact,\nelaborated a complete system of licentious behaviour. As the\nopportunities she finds in her own country do not satisfy her, she has\ncome to Europe \"to try,\" as she says, \"for herself.\" It is the doctrine\nof universal experience professed with a cynicism that is really most\nextraordinary, and which, presenting itself in a young woman of\nconsiderable education, appears to me to be the judgment of a society.\n\nAnother observation which pushes me to the same induction--that of the\npremature vitiation of the American population--is the attitude of the\nAmericans whom I have before me with regard to each other. There is\nanother young lady here, who is less abnormally developed than the one I\nhave just described, but who yet bears the stamp of this peculiar\ncombination of incompleteness and effeteness. These three persons look\nwith the greatest mistrust and aversion upon each other; and each has\nrepeatedly taken me apart and assured me, secretly, that he or she only\nis the real, the genuine, the typical American. A type that has lost\nitself before it has been fixed--what can you look for from this?\n\nAdd to this that there are two young Englanders in the house, who hate\nall the Americans in a lump, making between them none of the distinctions\nand favourable comparisons which they insist upon, and you will, I think,\nhold me warranted in believing that, between precipitate decay and\ninternecine enmities, the English-speaking family is destined to consume\nitself; and that with its decline the prospect of general pervasiveness,\nto which I alluded above, will brighten for the deep-lunged children of\nthe Fatherland!\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\n\nMIRANDA HOPE TO HER MOTHER.\n\nOctober 22d\n\nDear Mother--I am off in a day or two to visit some new country; I\nhaven't yet decided which. I have satisfied myself with regard to\nFrance, and obtained a good knowledge of the language. I have enjoyed my\nvisit to Madame de Maisonrouge deeply, and feel as if I were leaving a\ncircle of real friends. Everything has gone on beautifully up to the\nend, and every one has been as kind and attentive as if I were their own\nsister, especially Mr. Verdier, the French gentleman, from whom I have\ngained more than I ever expected (in six weeks), and with whom I have\npromised to correspond. So you can imagine me dashing off the most\ncorrect French letters; and, if you don't believe it, I will keep the\nrough draft to show you when I go back.\n\nThe German gentleman is also more interesting, the more you know him; it\nseems sometimes as if I could fairly drink in his ideas. I have found\nout why the young lady from New York doesn't like me! It is because I\nsaid one day at dinner that I admired to go to the Louvre. Well, when I\nfirst came, it seemed as if I _did_ admire everything!\n\nTell William Platt his letter has come. I knew he would have to write,\nand I was bound I would make him! I haven't decided what country I will\nvisit yet; it seems as if there were so many to choose from. But I shall\ntake care to pick out a good one, and to meet plenty of fresh\nexperiences.\n\nDearest mother, my money holds out, and it _is_ most interesting!"},"answers":{"kind":"list like","value":["Violet Ray."],"string":"[\n \"Violet Ray.\"\n]","isConversational":false},"length":{"kind":"number","value":13958,"string":"13,958"},"dataset":{"kind":"string","value":"narrativeqa"},"language":{"kind":"string","value":"en"},"all_classes":{"kind":"null"},"_id":{"kind":"string","value":"3aeebc5be470ddd2eafefee76cf25d8e6b08cbd669adc9e4"}}},{"rowIdx":1792,"cells":{"input":{"kind":"string","value":"Who encourages the farmer to marry the girl he falls in love with?"},"context":{"kind":"string","value":"<html>\n<head>\n<LINK rel=\"stylesheet\" type=\"text/css\" href=\"style.css\"\ntitle=\"style1\">\n<b>\t\n</b><META http-equiv=\"Content-Type\" content=\"text/html; charset=iso-8859-1\">\n<script>\n<b><!--\n</b>if (window!= top)\ntop.location.href=location.href\n<b>// -->\n</b></script> </HEAD>\n<title>DAYS OF HEAVEN by Terry Malick REVISED: 6/2/76</title>\n</head>\n<body>\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">DAYS OF HEAVEN\"\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">by Terry Malick\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">REVISED: 6/2/76\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">SETTING\nThe story is set in Texas just before the First World War.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">CAST OF CHARACTERS\nBILL: A young man from Chicago following the harvest.\nABBY: The beautiful young woman he loves.\nCHUCK: The owner of a vast wheat ranch (\"bonanza\") in the Texas Panhandle.\nURSULA: Abby's younger sister, a reckless child of14.\nBENSON: The bonanza foreman, an enemy of the newcomers.\nMISS CARTER: Chief domestic at the Belvedere, Chuck's home.\nMcLEAN: Chuck's accountant.\nGEORGE: A young pilot who interests Ursula. \nA PREACHER, A DOCTOR, AN ORGANIST, VARIOUS HARVEST HANDS, LAWMEN, VAUDEVILLIANS, etc.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">\"Troops of nomads swept over the country at harvest time like a visitation of locusts, reckless young fellows, handsome, profane, licentious, given to drink, powerful but inconstant workmen, quarrelsome and difficult to manage at all times. They came in the season when work was plenty and wages high. They dressed well, in their own peculiar fashion, and made much of their freedom to come and go.\"\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">\"They told of the city, and sinister and poisonous jungles all cities seemed in their stories. They were scarred with battles. They came from the far-away and unknown, and passed on to the north, mysterious as the flight of locusts, leaving the people of Sun Prairie quite as ignorant of their real names and characters as upon the first day of their coming.\"\t\t\t\t\t\tHamlin Garland, Boy Life on the Prairie (1899) </b></I>\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">DAYS OF HEAVEN\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">1\tINT. CHICAGO MILL - SERIES OF ANGLES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">WORKERS in a dark Chicago mill pound molten iron out in flaming sheets. The year is 1916.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">2\tEXT. MILL\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">BILL, a handsome young man from the slums, and his brother\nSTEVE sit outside on their lunch break talking with an\nolder man named BLACKIE. By the look of his flashy clothes\nBlackie is not a worker.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BLACKIE\n<P ID=\"dia\">Listen, if I ever seen a tit, this here's a tit. You understand? Candy. My kid sister could do this one. Pure fucking candy'd melt in your hand. Don't take brains. Just a set of rocks. I told you this already.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">STEVE\n<P ID=\"dia\">Blackie, you told me it was going to snow in the winter, I'd go out and bet against it. You know?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(to Bill)\n<P ID=\"dia\">There is nothing, nothing in the world, dumber than a dumb guinea.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BLACKIE\n<P ID=\"dia\">Okay, all right, fine. Why should I be doing favors for a guy that isn't doing me any favors? I must be losing my grip.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I got to give it to you, though. Couple of guys look like you just rolled in on a wagonload of chickens. You ever get laid?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">STEVE\n<P ID=\"dia\">Sure.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BLACKIE\n<P ID=\"dia\">Without a lot of talk, I mean? 'Cause I'm beginning to understand these guys, go down the hotel, pick something up for a couple of bucks. It's clean, and you know what you're in for.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">3\tEXT. ALLEY\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Sam the Collector's GANG swaggers around in the alley behind a textile plant. ONE of them has filed his teeth down to points and stuck diamonds in between them. ANOTHER wears big suspenders.\nSam and Bill appear to know one another.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">SAM\n<P ID=\"dia\">Hey, Billy, you made a mistake. You made somebody mad. Nothing personal, okay? It's just gotta be done. You made a mistake. Happens in the best of families.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I paid you everything I have. Search me. The rest he gets next week.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">SAM\n<P ID=\"dia\">Listen, what happens if I don't do this? I gotta leave town?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I could do something, you know. You guys wanta do something to me, I know who to tell about it. You guys ought to think about that. \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">SAM\n<P ID=\"dia\">You maybe already did something. Maybe that's why you're here, on account of you already done something.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I haven't done anything.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">SAM\n<P ID=\"dia\">Then you're all right, Billy.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">RAZOR TEETH\n<P ID=\"dia\">You got nothing to worry about.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">SAM\n<P ID=\"dia\">Cut it out, Billy, all right? You know what can happen to a guy that doesn't wanta do what people tell him? You know. So don't give us a lot of trouble. You're liable to get everybody all pissed off.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Sam, a busy man, checks his watch.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">4\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill puts his hand on the ground. Sam drops a keg of roofing nails on it and, his work done, leaves with his gang. Bill sobs with pain.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">5\tEXT. LOT BEYOND MILL\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill and Steve drag a safe by a rope through a vacant lot beyond the mill. Blackie walks behind.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BLACKIE\n<P ID=\"dia\">You know what I'm doing with my end? Buy a boat. Get that? I had a boat. I had a nice apartment, I had a boat. Margie don't like that. We got to have a house. \"I can't afford no house,\" I said. She says, \"Sell the boat.\" I didn't want to sell my boat. I didn't want to buy the house. I sell the boat, I buy the house. Nine years we had the house, eight of them she's after me, we should get another boat. I give up.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">STEVE\n<P ID=\"dia\">Same as always, I do all the work, you gripe about it.\nSuddenly FOUR POLICEMEN surprise them from ambush. Bill lets go of the rope and starts to run. Steve does not give up immediately, however, and they shoot him down. Bill picks up Steve's gun and fires back. Three of the Policemen go chasing after Blackie, whom they soon bring to heel. The FOURTH stays behind taking potshots at Bill while he attends to Steve.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">6\tTIGHT ON STEVE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Steve, badly wounded, is about to die.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">STEVE\n<P ID=\"dia\">Run. Get out of here.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(weeping)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I love you so much. Why didn't you run. Don't die.\nSteve dies. Bullets kick up dust around him. He takes off running. One of the bullets has caught him in the shoulder.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">7\tINT. SEWER\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">ABBY, a beautiful woman in her late twenties, attends to Bill's wounds in a big vaulted sewer. Her sister URSULA, a reckless girl of14, stands watch.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(weeping)\n<P ID=\"dia\">They shot the shit out of him. My brother. I couldn't believe what I was seeing.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Hold still, or I can't do anything.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I love you, Abby. You're so good to me. Remember how much fun we had, on the roof...\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">8\tEXT. ROOF - MATTE SHOT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill and Abby flirt on the root of a tenement, happily in love. The city stretches out behind them.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">9\tINT. BED - QUICK CUT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby lies shivering with fever. Bill spoons hot soup into her mouth. Ursula rolls paper flowers for extra change.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(continuing)\n<P ID=\"dia\">... even when you were sick and I was in the mill.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">10\tINT. MILL - QUICK CUT (VARIOUS ANGLES OF OTHER WORKERS)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill works in the glow of a blast furnace. He does not seem quite in place with the rest of the workers. A pencil moustache lends a desired gentlemanliness to his appearance. He looks fallen on hard times, without ever having known any better--like Chaplin, an immigrant lost in the heartless city, with dim hopes for a better way of life.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I won't let you go back in the mill. People die in there. I'm a man, and I can look out for you.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">11\tEXT. SIDING OUTSIDE MILL\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Along a railroad spur outside the mill, Abby and Ursula glean bits of coal that have fallen from the tenders.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">We're going west. Things gotta be better out there.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">12\tEXT. TENEMENT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">A POLICEMAN, looking for Bill, roughs Abby up behind the tenement where they live. Suddenly Bill runs out from a doorway and slams him over the head with a clay pitcher full of water.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">POLICEMAN\n<P ID=\"dia\">What'd you do?\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill shrugs, then hits him again, knocking him unconscious, when he reaches for a gun. Abby calls Ursula and they take off running, Bill stopping only to collect some of their laundry off a clothesline.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">13\tEXT. FREIGHT YARDS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They hop a freight train.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">14\tCREDITS (OVER EXISTING PHOTOS)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The CREDITS run over black and white photos of the Chicago they are leaving behind. Pigs roam the gutters. Street urchins smoke cigar butts under a stairway. A blind man hawks stale bread. Dirty children play around a dripping hydrant. Laundry hangs out to dry on tenement fire escapes. Police look for a thief under a bridge. Irish gangs stare at the camera, curious how they will look. The CREDITS end.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">15\tEXT. MOVING TRAIN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby and Bill sit atop a train racing through the wheat country of the Texas Panhandle.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I like the sunshine.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Everybody does.\nThey laugh. She is dressed in men's clothes, her hair tucked up under a cap. They are sharing a bottle of wine.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I never wanted to fall in love with you.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Nobody asked you to.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">He draws her toward him. She pulls away.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's the matter? A while ago you said I was irresistible. I still am.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">That was then.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">She pushes her nose up against his chest and sniffs around.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You playing mousie again?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I love how nice and hard your shoulders are. And your hair is light. You're not a soft, greasy guy that puts bay rum on every night.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I love it when you've been drinking.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're not greasy, Bill. You have any idea what that means?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Kind of.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They share the boxcar with a crowd of other HARVEST HANDS. Ursula is among them, also dressed like a man. Bill gestures out at the landscape.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Look at all that space. Oweee! We should've done this a long time ago. It's just us and the road now, Abby.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">We're all still together, though. That's all I care about.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">16\tEXT. JERKWATER\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The train slows down to take on water. The hands jump off. Each carries his \"bindle\"-- a blanket and a few personal effects wrapped in canvas. TOUGHS with ax handles are on hand to greet them.\nThe harvesters speak a Babel of tongues, from German to Uzbek to Swedish. Only English is rare. Some retain odd bits of their national costumes, they are pathetic figures, lonely and dignified and so far from home. Others, in split shoes and sockless feet, are tramps. Most are honest workers, though, here to escape the summer heat in the factories of the East. They dress inappropriately for farm work, in the latest fashions.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Elbow room! Oweee! Give me a chance and I'm going to dance!\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill struts around with a Napoleonic air, in a white Panama hat and gaiters, taking in the vista. Under his arm he carries a sword cane with a pearl handle. It pleases him, in this small way, to set himself apart from the rest of toiling humanity. He wants it known that he was born to greater things.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">17\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill comes upon a BIG MAN whose face is covered with blood.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Good, very good. Where you from, mister?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BIG MAN\n<P ID=\"dia\">Cleveland.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Like to see the other guy.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill helps him to his feet and dusts him off. A TOUGH walks up.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">TOUGH\n<P ID=\"dia\">You doing this shit?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Then keep it moving.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Oh yeah? Who're you?\nThe Tough hits Bill across the head with his ax handle.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">TOUGH\n<P ID=\"dia\">Name is Morrison.\nBill looks around to see whether Abby has seen this. She hasn't. He walks dizzily off down the tracks.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">18\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">He takes Abby by the arm.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What happened to your ear?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Nothing.\nShe is a sultry beauty--emancipated, full of bright hopes and a zest for life. Her costume does not fool the men. Wherever she goes they ogle her insolently.\n<b>EXT. WAGONS\n</b>The FOREMEN of the surrounding farms wait by their wagons to carry the workers off. A flag pole is planted by each wagon. Those who do not speak English negotiate their wages on a blackboard.\nBENSON, a leathery man of fifty, bellows through a megaphone. In the background a NEWCOMER to the harvest talks with a VETERAN.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">Shockers! Four more and I'm leaving.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">How much you paying?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">Man can make three dollars a day, he wants to work.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Who're you kidding?\nBill mills around. They have no choice but to accept his offer.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">Sackers!\nAbby steps up. Benson takes her for a young man.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">You ever sacked before?\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">She nods.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Transcriber's Note: the following seven lines of dialogue between the NEWCOMER and the VETERAN runs concurrent with the previous six lines of dialogue between Benson and Bill and Abby. In the original script they are typed in two columns running side-by-side down the page.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">*****\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">NEWCOMER (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">How's the pussy up there?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">VETERAN\n<P ID=\"dia\">Not good. Where you from?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">NEWCOMER (o.s.) \n<P ID=\"dia\">Detroit.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">VETERAN\n<P ID=\"dia\">How's the pussy up there?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">NEWCOMER (o.s.) \n<P ID=\"dia\">Good.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">The guys tough out here?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">VETERAN (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Not so tough. How about up there?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">NEWCOMER (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Tough.\n<b>*****\n</b></p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">When's that?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Last year.\nHe waves her on. Abby nods at Ursula.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're making a mistake, you pass this kid up.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">Get on.\nHe snaps his fingers at her. Bill climbs up ahead of the women. Anger makes him extremely polite.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You don't need to say it like that.\nBenson ignores this remark but dislikes Bill from the first.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">20\tEXT. PLAINS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Benson's wagons roll across the plains toward the Razumihin, a \"bonanza\" or wheat ranch of spectacular dimensions, its name spelled out in whitewashed rocks on the side of a hill.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">21\tEXT. BONANZA GATES (NEAR SIGN)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The wagons pass under a large arch, set in the middle of nowhere, like the gates to a vanished kingdom. Goats peer down from on top.\nBill looks at Abby and raises his eyebrows.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">22\tEXT. BELVEDERE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">At the center of the bonanza, amid a tawny sea of grain, stands a gay Victorian house, three stories tall. Where most farm houses stand more sensibly on low ground, protected from the elements, \"The Belvedere\" occupies the highest ridge around, commanding the view and esteem of all.\nFiligrees of gingerbread adorn the eaves. Cottonwood saplings, six feet high, have recently been planted in the front. Peacocks fuss about the yard. There is a lawn swing and a flagpole, used like a ship's mast for signaling distant parts of the bonanza. A wind generator supplies electric power.\nA white picket fence surrounds the house, though its purpose is unclear; where the prairie leaves off and the yard begins is impossible to tell.\nBison drift over the hills like boats on the ocean. Bill shouts at the nearest one.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Yo, Beevo!\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">23\tTIGHT ON CHUCK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">CHUCK ARTUNOV, the owner--a man of great reserve and dignity, still a bachelor--stands on the front porch of the Belvedere high above, observing the new arrivals.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">24\tEXT. DORMITORY\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Benson drops the hands off at the dormitory, a hundred yards below, a plain clapboard building with a ceiling of exposed joists. Ursula sees Chuck watching them.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Whose place is that?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">The owner's. Don't none of you go up around his place. First one that does is fired. I'm warning you right now.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">In the warm July weather most of the hands forsake the dorm to spread their bedrolls around a strawpile or in the hayloft of the nearby barn.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby and Bill slip off to share a cigarette. Ursula tags behind.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">25\tEXT. ROCK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill lifts a big rock. Abby applauds. Ursula kneels down behind\nhim. Abby pushes him over backwards.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">26\tEXT. BARN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Ursula gasps as Abby tumbles off the roof of the barn and falls through the air screaming:\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Urs!\nShe lands in a straw pile.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">27\tTIGHT ON ABBY AND BILL\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill takes Abby by the hands, spins her around until she is thoroughly dizzy, then grasps her across the chest.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Ready?\nShe giggles her consent. He crushes her in a bear hug until she is just on the verge of passing out, then lets her go. She sinks to the grass, in a daze of sweet intoxication.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">28\tEXT. LANTERN - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill looks deeply into Abby's eyes by the light of a lantern that night. They have made a shallow cut on their thumbs and press them together mixing their blood like children.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're all I've got, Abby. No, really, everything I ever had is a complete piece of garbage except you.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I know.\nThey laugh. He bends to kiss her. She pulls away.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Sometimes I think you don't like men.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">As individuals? Very seldom.\nShe kisses him lovingly.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">29\tEXT. WHEAT FIELDS - DAWN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The sun peers over the horizon. The wheat makes a sound like a waterfall. It stretches for as far as the eye can see. A PREACHER has come out, in a cassock and surplice, to offer prayers of thanksgiving.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">PREACHER\n<P ID=\"dia\">\"... that your days may be multiplied, and the days of your children, in the land which the Lord swore unto your fathers to give them, as the days of' heaven upon the earth.\"\nThe harvesters spit and rub their hands as they wait for the dew to burn off. They have slept in their coats. The dawn has a raw edge, even in summer.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">30\tTIGHT ON WHEAT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck looks to see if the wheat is ready to harvest. He shakes the heads; they make a sound like paper. He snaps off a handful, rolls them between his palms, blows away the chaff and pinches the kernels that remain to make sure they have grown properly hard.\nTiny sounds are magnified in the early morning stillness:\ngrasshoppers snapping through the air, a cough, a distant hawk.\nHe pops the kernels into his mouth, chews them up, and rolls the wad around in his mouth. Satisfied, he spits it out and gives a nod. The Preacher begins a prayer of thanksgiving. Two ACOLYTES flank him, one with a smoking censer, the other with a crucifix.\nAll repeat the \"Amen.\" Benson makes a tugging signal with his arm. A Case tractor--forty tons of iron, steam-driven, as big and as powerful as a locomotive--blasts its whistle. This is the moment they have been waiting all year for.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">31\tOTHER FIELDS - SERIES OF ANGLES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">A SIGNALMAN with two hand flags passes the message on from the crest of a nearby hill. In the far-flung fields of the bonanza other tractors answer as other crews set to work.\nAbby and Bill join in, Bill reaping the wheat with a mowing machine called a binder, Abby propping the bound sheaves together to make bunches or \"shocks.\"\nA cloud of chaff rises over the field, melting the sun down to a cold red bulb.\nAbby is well turned out, in a boater and string tie, as though she were planning any moment to leave for a picnic.\nBill, too, dresses with an eye to flashy fashion: Tight dark trousers, a silk handkerchief stuck in the back pocket with a copy of the Police Gazette, low-top calfskin boots with high heels and pointed toes, a shirt with ruffled cuffs, and a big signet ring. While at work he wears a white smock over all this to keep the chaff off. It gives him the air more of a researcher than a worker.\nThe harvesters itch madly as the chaff gets into their clothes. The shocks, full of briars, cut their hands; smut and rust make the cuts sting like fire. Nobody talks. From time to time they raise a chant.\nUrsula, plucking chickens by the cookhouse--a shack on wheels-- steals a key chain from an unwatched coat.\nBenson follows the reapers around the field in a buggy. He keeps their hours, chides loafers, checks the horses, etc. The harvesters are city people. Few of them are trained to farming. Most--Abby and Bill are no exception--have contempt for it and anybody dull enough to practice it. Tight control is therefore exercised to see that the machines are not damaged. \nWhere the others loaf whenever Benson's back is turned, Bill works like a demon, as a point of pride.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">32\tCHUCK AND BENSON\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Lightning shivers through the clouds along the horizon. Chuck looks concerned. Benson consults a windsock.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">Should miss us.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">They must be having trouble over there, though.\nAbby, passing by, lifts her hat to wipe her face. As she does her hair falls out of the crown. Women are rare in the harvest fields. One so beautiful is unprecedented.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">I didn't know we had any women on.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(surprised)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I thought she was a boy. Should I get rid of her?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">No.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">33\tMONTAGE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">A COOK stands on the horizon waving a white flag at the end of a fishing pole. Ursula bounds through the wheat blowing a horn.\nBenson consults the large clock strapped to the back of his buggy, then fires a smoke pistol in the air.\nTheir faces black with chaff, the hands fall out in silence. They shuffle across the field toward the cookhouse, keeping their feet close to the ground to avoid being spiked by the stubble.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">34\tEXT. COOKHOUSE - STUBBLE FIELD IN B.G.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The COOKS, Orientals in homburgs, serve from planks thrown across sawhorses. The hands cuff and push each other around as they wash up. The water, brought up fresh in wagons from the wells, makes them gasp. An ice wagon and a fire truck are parked nearby.\nMost sit on the ground to eat, under awnings or beach umbrellas dotted around the field like toadstools. The Belvedere is visible miles away on the horizon.\nBill is carrying Abby's lunch to her when a loutish DUTCH MAN makes a crack.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">DUTCHMAN\n<P ID=\"dia\">Your sister keep you warm at night?\nBill throws a plate of stew at him and they are quickly in a fight. No fists are used, just food. The others pull them apart. Bill storms away, flicking mashed potatoes off his shirt.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">35\tEXT. GRAIN WAGON - STUBBLE FIELD IN B.G.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill and Abby sit by themselves in the shade of a grain wagon. Demoralized, Abby soaks her hands in a pail of bran water. Bill inspects them anxiously. They are swollen and cracked from the morning's work.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I ran a stubble under my nail.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Didn't you ever learn how to take care of yourself? I told you to keep the gloves on. What can I do if you don't listen?\nBill presses her wrists against his cheek, ashamed that he can do nothing to shield her from such indignities. In the b.g. a MAN with a fungo bat hits flies to SOME MEN with baseball gloves.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You can't keep on like this.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY \n<P ID=\"dia\">What else can we do?\nShe nods at the others.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Anyway, if they can, I can too.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">That bunch? Don't compare yourself to them.\nShe flexes her fingers. They seem lame.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You drop off this weak. I can make enough for us both. It was a crime to bring you out here. Somebody like you.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Right now, what I'm doing, I'm just dragging you down.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Maybe you should go back to Chicago. We've got enough for a ticket, and I can send you what I make.\nHe seems a little surprised when she does not reject this idea out of hand. Perhaps he fears that if she ever did go back, he might never see her again.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's the matter?\nShe begins to cry. He takes her in his arms.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I know how you feel, honey. Things won't always be this way. I promise.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">36\tABBY AND BILL - CHUCK'S POV\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The men knock out their pipes as Benson's whistle summons them back to their stations.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">Tick tockl Tick tock! Nothing moving but the clock!\nBill pulls Abby to her feet. He sees the Dutchman he fought with and shoots him the finger.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You better be careful.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Of him? He's just a. sack of shit.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Stop it! He's liable to see you.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL \n<P ID=\"dia\">I want him to. He's the one better be careful.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">37\tTIGHT ON CHUCK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck looks on. Something about her captivates hint, not so much her beauty--which only makes her seem beyond his reach--as the way she takes it utterly for granted.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">38\tMONTAGE (DISSOLVES)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The work goes on through the afternoon. The pace is stern and incessant, and for a reason: a storm could rise at any moment and sweep the crops flat, or a dry wind shrivel them up. A series of dissolves gives the sense of many days passing.\nIany moment and sweep the crops flat, or a dry wind shrivel them up.Animals--snakes and gophers, rabbits and foxes--dart through the field into the deep of the wheat, not realizing their sanctuary is growing ever smaller as the reapers make their rounds. The moment will come when they will every one be killed with rakes and flails.\nThe wheat changes colors in the wind, like velvet. As the sun drops toward the horizon a dew sets, making the straw hard to cut. Benson fires his pistol. A vine of smoke sinks lazily through the sky. As the workers move off, the fields grow vast and inhospitable.\nOil wells can be seen here and there amid the grain.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">39\tEXT. ABBY'S ROW\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill helps Abby finish up a row. Thousands of shocks stretch out in the distance. Benson comes up behind her, making a spray of the stalks that she missed.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">You must've passed over a dozen bushels here. I'm docking you three dollars.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What're you talking about? That's not fair.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">Then leave. You're fired.\nAbby is speechless. Bill squeezes the small rubber ball which he carries around to improve his grip and swallows his pride.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Wait a minute.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">You want to stay?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Then shut up and get back to work.\nBenson leaves. Abby covers Bill's embarrassment.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I guess he meant it.\nShe turns her back to him and goes about picking up the sheaf Benson threw down.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">He did. Ask him. If you can't sing or dance, what do you do in this world? You might as well forget it.\nIsing or dance, what do you do this world? You might as wellu\nrorget it.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">40\tEXT. STOCK POND - DUSK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Their day's work done, the men swim naked in a stock pond.\nTheir faces are black, their bodies white as a baby's.\nA retriever plunges through the water fetching sticks.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">41\tEXT. ROAD - DUSK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Some bowl with their hats on in a dusty road and argue in Italian.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">42\tEXT. BELVEDERE - DOCTOR'S WAGON - DUSK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">A physician's wagon stands in front of the Belvedere.\nBill hunts nervously through it for medicine to soothe Abby's \nhands. Not knowing quite what to look for, he sniffs whatever \ncatches his eye. \nSuddenly the front door opens and Chuck steps out with a DOCTOR, a stooped old man in a black frock coat. Bill, surprised, crouches behind the wheel. As they draw closer their conversation becomes faintly audible.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">How long you give it?\nDOCTOR (o.s.)\nCould be next month. Could be a year. Hard to say. Anyway, I'm sorry.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Got to happen sometime.\nThey shake hands\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">43\tNEW ANGLE - DUSKI\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The Doctor snaps his whip at the horses. Bill grabs holdI\nThe Doctor snaps his whip at the horses. Bill grabs hold of the back of the wagon and lets it drag him away from the Belvedere.the Belvedere. -\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">44\tEXT. BARN - DUSK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Ursula and Abby case the barn for dinner. Abby points at a pair of peacocks strutting by, nods to Ursula and puts a finger over her lips. Ursula, with a giggle, followsone while Abby stalks the other.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">45\tEXT. RAPESEED FIELD - SERIES OF ANGLES - DUSK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The peacock, a resplendent white, leads Abby through a bright yellow rapeseed field. It keeps just out of reach, as though it were enticing her on.\nas though it were enticing her on.'U\nAll at once she looks up with a start. Chuck is standing in front of her, \ndressed in his habitual black. The Belvedere rises behind him like a \ncastle in a fairy tale. She remembers Benson's warning that this is forbidden ground.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(afraid)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I forgot where I was.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't worry. Where you from?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Chicago.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">We hardly ever see a woman on the harvest.\nThere is a small rip in the side of her shirt, which the camera observes with Chuck. She pulls her sweater over it.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">You like the work?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(she shrugs)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Where do you go from here?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Wyoming and places. I've never been up that way. You think I'll like it?\nHe shrugs. Shy at first, she begins to open up.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">That dog belongs to you that was running around here? That little pointer?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(he nods)\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's his name\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Buster.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">He seems like a good dog.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">I think so.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">He came over and tried to eat my bread from lunch.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Maybe I should keep him penned up.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(smiling)\n<P ID=\"dia\">You asking me?\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">46\tEXT. SPIT - DUSK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill finds Ursula roasting a peacock on a spit. She has arranged some of its tail feathers in her hair.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're getting prettier every day.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Aren't you sweet!\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Depends how people are with me. Where's Abby? I found her something.\nHe holds out a jar of salve. Ursula shrugs.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">She mention anything to you about going back?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">What?\nUrsula has no idea what he is talking about.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">47\tEXT. STRAW STACK - MAGIC HOURMost of the workers are fast asleep around the strawplU\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Most of the workers are fast asleep around the strawpile, their bodies radiating out like the spokes of a wheel. A few stay up late to shoot dice in the back of a wagon.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">48\tEXT. SEPARATE STACK - MAGIC HOUR\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby and Bill have laid their bedrolls out by a stack away from the others. A fire burns nearby. Abby look at the stars. Bill shines his shoes. The straw is fragrant as thyme.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I've had it.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're tired, that's all. I'm going to find you another blanket.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">No, it's not that. I'm not tired. I just can't.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't you want to be with me?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You know I do. It's just that, well, I'm not a bum, Bill.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I know. I told you though, this is only for a while. Then we're going to New York.Then we're New York. \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">And after that?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Then we're there. Then we get fixed up.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You mean spend one night in a flophouse and start looking for work.\nThey are silent for a moment.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You should go back.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">And leave you? I couldn't do that.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Someday, when I'm dying, I'd like somebody to ask me if I\nstill see life the same way as before--and I'd like them to\nwrite down what I say. It might be interesting.I\nSuddenly they look around. The chief domestic at the Belvedere, a churlish lady named MISS CARTER, stands above them with a salver of fruit and roast fowl.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(suspicious)\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's going on? Who sent it?\nShe nods up toward the Belvedere and sets it down.I\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What for?\nShe withdraws with a shrug. She does not appear to relish \nthis duty. Bill watches her walk back to the buggy she \ncame down in. Benson waits beside it.U\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(to Abby)\n<P ID=\"dia\">She's the kind wouldn't tell you if your coat was on fire.U\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">49\tNEW ANGLE - MAGIC HOURI\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby, with the look of a child that has wandered into aI\nmagic world, digs in. Bill looks on, suspicious of the_\nmotives behind this generosity.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">50\tEXT. FIELD WITH OIL WELL - URSULA'S THEME - MAGIC HOUR\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">A bank of clouds moves across the moon. Ursula roams the fields, keen with unsatisfied intelligence. The stubble hisses as a hot wind blows up from the South, driving bits of grain into her face like sleet. From time to time she does a cartwheel.\nEquipment cools in the fields. Little jets of steam escape the \nboilers of the tractors.Ursula stops in front of a donkey well. It nods up and down in ceaseless agreement, pumping up riches from deep\nin the earth.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">51\tEXT. BEDROOM WINDOW - MAGIC HOUR\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The camera moves through the bedroom window to find Chuck \nasleep on his pillow. The wind taps the curtain into the room.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">52\tEXT. FATHER IN CHAIR - QUICK CUT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck dreams of a Biblical figure with a long plaited room.U52EXT. Chuck dreams of a Biblical figure with a long plaited \nbeard, in a frock coat and Astrakhan hat, sitting in a_\nchair on the open prairie, guarding his land with a brace \nof guns. This man will later be identified as his FATHER. \n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">53\tEXT. FIELDS - DAY\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The next day Benson yells through a megaphone from atop a stool.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">Hold your horses!I\nThe huge tractors start up with a bang. Despite Benson's warning a team of Percherons breaks free. Threshing, the separating of the wheat from the chaff, has begun.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">54\tEXT. SEPARATOR - SERIES OF ANGLESI\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Sixty foot belts connect the tractors to the separating machines, huge rattletrap devices that shell the wheat out at deafening volume. Benson tosses bundles down the hissing maw, squirts oil into the gears, tightens belts, chews out a MAN who's sliced a hand on the driveshaft, etc. \nBill works on the straw pile at the back of the machine, in a soft rain of chaff, spreading it out with a pitchfork. \nUrsula helps stoke the tractor with coal and water. When nothing is required of her she sneaks off to burrow in the straw. \nGingerbread on the eaves of the tractors gives them a Victorian appearance. Tall flags mark their position in the field.\nAbby moves quickly, without a moment's rest, sewing up the\nsacks of grain as they are measured out at the bottom of\nthe separator. A clowning WORKER comes up and smells herU\nlike a flower.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">55\tEXT. GRAIN ELEVATORSU\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Fully laden wagons set off toward distant grain elevators.U\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">56\tEXT. COUCH ON RIDGE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck and McLEAN, his accountant, sit on a ridge away from the chaff, in the shade of a beach umbrella. \nChuck keeps track of operations through a telescope. Our last view of Abby, we realize, was from his POV. A plush Empire couch has been drawn up for his to rest in. At a table beside it, McLean computes the yield.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">McLEAN\n<P ID=\"dia\">This must be wrong. No, dammit, nineteen bushels an acre.\nChuck sails his hat out in the stubble with a whoop.\nMcLean leans over his adding machine, cackling like a thief. \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">McLEAN\n<P ID=\"dia\">Say it goes at fifty-five cents a bushel, that means a profit of\nfour dollars and seventy-five cents per acre. Multiply by twenty\nthousand and you're talking over six figures.I\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Big year.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">McLEAN\n<P ID=\"dia\">Your biggest ever. This could make you the richest man in thePanhandle.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">You ought to get out while you're this far ahead. You'll never do\nbetter. I mean it. You have nothing to gain by staying.U nothing to gain by staying. I\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">I want to expand. I want to run this land clear to the Oklahoma border. Next spring I will. \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">McLEAN\n<P ID=\"dia\">And gamble everything?U\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(he nods)I\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're crazy.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">I been out here all my life. Selling this place would be like\ncutting my heart out. This is the only home I ever had. ThisI\nis where I belong. Besides, I don't want to live in town.\nI couldn't take my dogs.I\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">57\tCHUCK'S POV - TELESCOPE MATTE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck takes another look at Abby through the telescope.\n<b>25\n</b></p><p><p ID=\"slug\">58\tEXT. BUGGY\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill drinks from the water barrel at the back of Benson'sU\nbuggy, his eyes fixed on Chuck's distan\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Big place here.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">The President's going to pay a visit next time he comes West.U\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Got a smoke?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">No.I\nBill puts his hat back on. He keeps wet cottonwood leaves in the crown to cool himself off.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why's that guy dragging an expensive piece of furniture out here? Reason\nI ask is he's going to ruin thefinish and have to strip it.I\nBenson hesitates, uncertain whether he might be divulging\na confidence.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">He's not well.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's the matter with him?I\nBenson immediately regrets having spoken so freely. He checks his watch to suggest Bill should get back to work. This uneasiness confirms Bill's sense that Chuck is gravely ill.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">59\tEXT. SEPARATOR - DUSKI\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby is sewing up her last sacks by the separator that evening when Chuck walks up, still in the flush of McLean's good news.\nThe others have finished and left to wash up. He sits down and helps her. Shy and upright, he does not know quite how to behave with a woman.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Probably be all done tomorrow.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">You still plan on going North?\nShe nods and draws her last stitch. Chuck musters his courage. It must be now or never.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Reason I ask is maybe you'd like to stay on. Be easier than now. There's hardly any work after harvest. The pay is just as good, though. Better in fact.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why're you offering me this? My honest face?\nChuck takes a moment to compose his reply.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">I've watched you work. Think about it.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Maybe I will.\nShe backs off toward Bill, who is waiting in the distance.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Who's that?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(hesitant)\n<P ID=\"dia\">My brother.\nChuck nods.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">60\tNEW ANGLE - DUSK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">She joins Bill. He gives her a melon, wanting to pick up her spirits.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">This is all I could find. You feeling better?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(she shrugs)\n<P ID=\"dia\">What'd he want?\nThey look at each other.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">61\tEXT. RIVER - DUSK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">As Bill and Abby bathe in the river that evening, he tells her what he seems to have learned about Chuck's state of health. Down the way Ursula sits under a tree playing a guitar. Otherwise they are alone. They all wear bathing suits, Bill a shirt as well.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILLU\n<P ID=\"dia\">It must be something wrong with his lungs.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">He doesn't have any family, either.his lungs.I\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)I\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">So what?\nBill shrugs. Does he have to draw her a picture? A shy, virginal light has descended over the world. Cranes peer at them from the tamarack.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Tell him you'll stay.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What for?\nBill is wondering what might happen if Chuck got interested enough to marry her. Isn't he soon to die, leaving a vast inheritance that will otherwise go to waste?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You know I love you, don't you?\nABBY Yes.\nAbby guesses what is going through his mind, and it shocks her.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Oh, Bill!\nHe takes her into his arms, full of emotion.I\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What else can we really do? I know how you feel, but we keepon this way, in five years we'll be washed up.\nHe catches a stick drifting by and throws it further down stream.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You ever think about all those ladies parading up and downU\nMichigan Avenue? Bunch of whores! You're better than anyI\nof them. You ever think how they got where they are?\nHe wants to breathe hope into her. He thinks of himself as responding\nto what she needs and secretly wants. When she does not answer he gives up with a sigh.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Let's forget it.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I know what you mean, though.\nHe takes her hand, with fresh hope of convincing her. \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">We weren't meant to end up like this. At least you weren't.\nYou could be something. I've heard you sing. You have a lot\nof fine qualities that need to come out. Ursula, too. What.U\nkind of people is she meeting\nup with, riding the rods? The girl's never had a clean shot--\nnever will. She oughta be in school.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(nodding)\n<P ID=\"dia\">You wouldn't say this if you really loved me.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">But I do. You know I do. This just shows how much. We're shitI\nout of luck, Abby. People need luck. What're you crying about? Oh, \ndon't tell me. I already know. All on account of your unhappy life and all\nthat stuff. Well, we gotta do something about it, honey. We can't expect\nanybody else to.\nAbby runs into the woods.U\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Always the lady! Well, you don't know how things work in this country. This is why every hunkie I ever met is going nowhere.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why do you want to make me feel worse than I already do?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL (CONT'D)\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">You people get hold of the guy that's passing out dough, giveI\nhim my name, would you? I'd appreciate it.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">62\tTIGHT ON BILL\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill skims rocks off the water to calm himself down. HeI\nfeels that somehow he did not get to say what he wanted to.U\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">63\tEXT. WOODS BY RIVER\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby is dressing in the cool woven shade of the woods when\nUrsula, her face caked with a mask of river mud, jumps from the bushes with a shriek, scaring the wits out of her sister.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">64\tEXT. BELVEDERE - DUSKU\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">On their way home they pass the Belvedere. A single light\nburns on the second floor. Abby picks cornflowers to put\nin her hair. Bill runs his hand down her back.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why're you touching me that way?\nHe shrugs. Muffled by the walls of the house, above the cries of the peafowl, they can faintly hear Chuck singing to himself.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">He's singing.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">He can't be too sick if he's singing to himself.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">He might be singing to God.\nThey look at each other and smile. It does not appear that she has held what he said by the river against him. Bill stands for a moment and looks up at the Belvedere before passing on.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">65\tEXT. SEPARATOR, LAST SHEAVES, RATS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Work goes on the next day. As they near the last sheaves of unthreshed grain, hundreds of rats burst out of hiding. The harvesters go after them with shovels and stones. The dogs chase down the ones that escape.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">66\tBENSON AND CHUCK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Benson and Chuck smile at each other.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">We should be done around four.\nThey improvise a chat about past harvests. Years of shared hardship have drawn them close. Chuck trails off in the middle of a reminiscence. Something else weighing on his mind.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(shyly)\n<P ID=\"dia\">You put her on the slowest machine?\nBenson nods.U\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">67\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The threshing is done. A bundle is pitched into the separator backwards, snapping it abruptly to a stop. The drive belt whips along the ground like a mad snake. \n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">68\tEXT. PAYROLL TABLEI\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">All hands line up at the payroll table. McLean gives out their wages in twists of newspaper. Chuck and Benson shake their hands.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">69\tTIGHT ON BILL AND SORROWFUL MAN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">A SORROWFUL MAN shows Bill a picture of a woman.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">SORROWFUL MAN\n<P ID=\"dia\">And I let somebody like that get away from me. Redhead. Lost her to a guy named Ed. Just let it happen. Should've gone out there outside the city\nlimits and shot him. I just about did, too.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">If you're knocking yourself out like this, I hope it's for a woman. And I hope she's good looking. You understand?\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">70\tTIGHT ON ABBY AND URSULAI\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby snatches a cigarette out of Ursula's mouth, takes a drag and throws it away. When Ursula goes to pick it up, she stamps it out.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't spend a cent of that.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why don't you leave me alone?U\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I'm not going to sit around and watch you throw your life away.\nNobody's going to look at you twice if you've got nothing to\nyour name.\nUrsula dislikes meddlesome adults. She takes out a pouch of tobacco to roll another cigarette. Abby swats it out of her hand and chases her off.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You want me to cut a switch?\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">71\tSERIES OF ANGLES - FESTIVITIES - DUSKU\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">There are feats of strength and prowess as workers from the many fields of the bonanza join to celebrate the harvest home: boxing, wrestling, barrel jumping, rooster bouts, bear hugs, \"Crack the Whip\" and nut fights. Two tractors, joined by a heavy chain, vie to see which can outpull the other. Chuck lifts the back wheel of the separator off the ground; Benson replies by holding an anvil at arm's length; they tease each other about showing off. A GYMNAST does flips. They all seem happy as kids on holiday.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">72\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill and Ursula share a cigarette. Ursula tries on his sunglasses.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">We going to stay?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">If she wants to.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">You'd rather go?_\nBill, after a moment's thought, shrugs.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">She's the one has to say. You put aspirin in this?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">No. \nShe hands back his sunglasses.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Keep them.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">73\tEXT. MUD PIT - DUSK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Two TEAMS of harvesters have a tug of war. The losers are dragged through a pit of mud. Cradling handfuls of slime, they chase the winners off into the dusk.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">74\tBILL AND ABBY - DUSKI\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill finds Abby sitting off by herself, wanting no part of the festivities. This is the first time since their arrival in Texas we have seen her wearing a dress.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Sunny Jim, look at this. My first ice cream in six months. And the lady even asks do I want sprinkles on top, thank you. Big, deep dish of ice cream. You couldn't pay me to leave this place, Got you one, too. You should've heard the line I had to give her, though. Oowee!\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Good, huh?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Great.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Now you're trying to coax me. You never used to act like this.\nBill throws down the bowls of ice cream. In the distance, some MEN compete at throwing a sledge hammer.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">For as long as I can remember, people been giving me a hard time about one thing or another. Don't you start in, too!\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You want to turn me into a whore?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">We don't have to decide anything final now. Just if we're going to\nstay. You never have to touch him if you don't feel like it. Minute\nyou get fed up, we take off. Worst that can happen is we had it soft\nfor a while.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Something's made you mean. \nShe walks off, uncertain what Bill really wants.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Or else we can forget it. I'm not going to spend the whole\nafternoon on this, though. That I'm not going to do.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">75\tISOLATED ON CHUCK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck watches from a distance, fearful that tonight may\nbe the last he will ever see of her.U\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">76\tTGHT ON ABBY, EFFIGY, MARS, ETC.I\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The harvesters shape and dress the final sheaf as a woman.\nThe LAST of them to finish that day carries the effigy at\nthe end of the pole to the Belvedere. His mates follow\nbehind, jeering and throwing dirt clods at him.U\nAby watches. We sense that anything she sees mightI\nfigure in her decision.U\nMars hangs low and red in the western sky._\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">77\tURSULA AND DRUNK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Ursula is looking at her figure in a pocket mirror whenU\na DRUNK appears behind her.I\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">DRUNK\n<P ID=\"dia\">See what happens to you? Little shit. Get out there and make that\nbig money and don't spend time dicking around.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">78\tEXT. PIT OF COALS - DUSKU\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">A feast is laid on. ONE PERSON rolls a flaming wheel down a hill. ANOTHER sets off a string of firecrackers. GERMANS pelt each other with spareribs. Ursula spears hogsheads out of a pit of hot coals. The YOUNGER MEN tease her. She is too much of a tomboy to interest any of thm seriously. The effigy sits off in a chair by itself.\n<b>1\n</b></p><p><p ID=\"slug\">79\tTIGHT ON ABBY AND CHUCK - DUSKChuck awaits Abby's answer.I\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">There's a problem. I have to keep my baby sister with me. Someday_ my baby sister with me. Someday\nI'm going to save up enough, see, and send her to school.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">My brother, too. I can't leave him.I\nAbby fears she has asked too much. Chuck hesitates, but only to suggest he still has the prudence he long since has abandoned.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">There's work for them, too.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Really?\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">80\tEXT. BONFIRE - DUSK.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">A bonfire burns like a huge eye in the vat of the prairie night. The band strikes up a reel.\nChuck and Abby lead the dancing off, as though to celebrate their agreement. Their giant shadows dance with them. Soon the other harvesters join in.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">81\tTIGHT ON BILL - DUSKU\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill watches Abby dance--it almost seems in farewell to their innocence. After a moment he turns off into the night.I\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">82\tMONTAGE - NIGHT_\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The effigy is held over the flame at the end of a pole until it catches fire. The harvesters prance around in the dark, trading it from hand to hand.\nThe MUSICIANS, drunk and happy, bow their hearts out.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">83\tTIGHT ON BILL - DAWN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">While the others pursue their merriment, Bill walks the fields by himself, trembling with grief and indecision. Dawn is breaking. The eastern sky glows like a forge. Suddenly he comes upon a wolf. He catches his breath. \nThe wolf stares back at him for a moment, then turns and pads off into the stubble.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">84\tEXT. RAILROAD TRACKS - DAWNEEXT. RAILROAD TRACKS - DAWNU\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Early the next morning the HARVESTERS wander by the hundreds down to the railroad tracks to catch a train for the North, where the crops are just now coming into maturity. A subtle feeling of sadness pervades the group. Bill gives his sword cane away to a MAN who seems to have admired it. The MAN offers him money, but he declines it.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">85\tEXT. TRAIN - URSULA AND JOHN - LATER\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Ursula says goodbye to her favorite, a redhead named JOHN. She is hoarse, as always.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">JOHN\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why don't you come with us?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">They won't let me. So when am I going to see you again?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">JOHN\n<P ID=\"dia\">Maybe in Cheyenne.\nShe nods okay. They both know they will never see each other again. On a sudden impulse she gives him a love note.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">JOHN\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's this?\nShe takes it back immediately, but he snatches it away from her and, after a brief, giggling scuffle, hops aboard the train, now picking up speed. Ursula runs along behind, cursing and throwing rocks at him.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">86\tTIGHT ON BILL AND ABBY\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill and Abby look on.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I told her, \"none of my business Urs, I just hope you're not rolling\naround with some redhead is all.\" She looks me over. \"Why?\" she says, \n\"What've you guys got that redheads don't?\" I pity that kid.\nUrsula runs up and throws herself tearfully into Abby's arms.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's the matter? What'd he do?\nBill starts off after the train.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">87\tEXT.-\"SHEEP POWER\"\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby tends a washing machine driven by a sheep on a treadmill. Chuck\nwatches from the front steps of the Belvedere.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I'm just about done with this.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Good.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">So what's next?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Next?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">There's nothing else you want done?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Not that I can think of. Not right now.\nMiss Carter, the housekeeper, steps out on the porch and pours a bucket of milk into a cream separator. \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">How about the cream?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">She takes care of that.\nHe nods at Miss Carter, who conspicuously lets the screen door clap shut as she goes back inside. She misses no opportunity to express her disdain for these newcomers.\nShe and Benson are the only employees seen at the Belvedere. Several dozen others have stayed on after the harvest but they keep to their quarters down at the dorm. \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You mean I'm done for today?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(uncomfortably)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Something else might come up.\nIn truth, Chuck does not want to see Abby degraded by menial labor, considering her more a guest than an employee. They look at each other. Abby does not know quite what to make of him\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Well, I'm going back to the dorm.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCKU\n<P ID=\"dia\">Is everything okay down there? In the way of accommodations, I mean.U\nShe nods and waves goodbye.I\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">88\tEXT. BARN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Down by the barn Bill teaches Chuck how to shoot dice. Chuck feigns interest.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I like to gamble, and I like to win. I make no bones about it.\nGot to where the guys on Throop Street wouldn't even lag pennies\nwith me on account of I was such a winner. I'm starting out level\nwith you, you understand.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Have you ever been in trouble with the law?\nBill looks around. Abby would think it impolitic of him to speak so openly with Chuck.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILLI\n<P ID=\"dia\">Nothing they could make stick. \nMy problem has always been not having the education. I bullshitted\nmy way into school. They gave me a test. It was ridiculous. I got in fights. Ended up paying for a window. They threw me out. Don't blame them either. Still, I wanted to make something of myself. I mean, guys look at\nyou across a desk, you know what they're thinking. So I went in\nthe mill. Couldn't wait to get in there. Begin at seven, got to have a smile on your face. Didn't work out, though. No matter what you do, sometimes\nthings just don't go right. It gets to you after a while. It gives you that feeling, \"Oh hell, what's the use?\"\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">My dad told me, forget what the people around you are doing. You got enough to worry about without considering what somebody else does. Otherwise you get fouled up. He used to say (tapping his temple)\n\"All you got is this.\" Only one day you wake up, find you're not the smartest guy in the world, never going to come up with the big score. I really believed when I was growing up that somehow I would. I worked like a bastard in that mill. I felt all right about it, though. I felt that somewhere along the line somebody would see I had that special gleam. \"Hey, you, come over here.\" So then I'd go.\nThey are silent for a moment.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCKI\n<P ID=\"dia\">You seem close to your sister._\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Yeah. We've been together since we were kids. You like her, don't you?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">She likes you, too.\nChuck looks down, feeling transparent in the pleasure he takes at this news.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">89\tTIGHT ON ABBY\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The camera moves back to reveal Abby listening in from the other side of the barn. Her eyes are full of tears. How can Bill prize her so lightly?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't get the wrong idea, though.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">90\tISOLATED ON BILL - LATERI\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill sits on the ground reading his Police Gazette. Abby walks up and without a word of explanation, slaps him. He jumps up and protests but quickly tapers off. She turns on her heel and leaves.U\nBill sits down feeling misunderstood and abused. Does she think all this pleases him?\n<b>1\n</b></p><p><p ID=\"slug\">91\tEXT. FAIRY RINGS (PRAIRIE)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck, out for a stroll with Abby and Ursula, shows them a fairy ring--a colony of mushrooms growing in a circle thirty feet across.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">I heard you farmers were big and dumb. You aren't so big. Where do they learn how to?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">They're so darling! Can you eat them?\nChuck nods. Abby snaps the mushrooms off flush at the ground. The music underscores this moment. She smiles at Chuck as she eats the dark earthy flesh.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">92\tEXT. POST\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They pitch rocks at a post and exchange intimacies. Abby has grown more lively.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You know sometimes I think there might have been a mixup at the\nhospital where I. was born and that I could actually be the interesting\ndaughter of some big financier. Nobody would actually know.I\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Are you in love with me, Chuck, or why are you always so nervous?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(Stumbling)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Maybe I am. I must be.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why? On account of something I've done?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Because you're so beautiful.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What a nice thing to say. Look, I hit it. Did you see?\nShe goes right on with their game, as though she attached no great importance to his momentous declaration.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">93\tTIGHT ON CHUCK AND ABBY - LATERI\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck takes Abby's hand for the first time. Abby, startled, gives him a gentle smile, then lets go.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What about my shoes? Aren't they pretty?U94EXT. SWING\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">94\tEXT. SWING\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill sits in a swing and plays a clarinet. The music flows out across the fields like a night breeze from the city. Abby, passing by, glowers at him, as though to ask if things are going along to his satisfaction.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">95\tASTRONOMICAL SIGHTS (STOCK)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Jupiter, the Crab Nebula, the canals of Mars, etc.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">It turns out that people might have built them. Does that surprise you?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)U\n<P ID=\"dia\">No.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">96\tEXT. RIDGE - DAWN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They are on a ridge opposite the Belvedere looking at the heavens through Chuck's telescope. Abby tingles with a sense of wonder. Chuck has opened a whole new world to her.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You know so much! Would you bring my sister up here and tell\nher some of this stuff?\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">97\tEXT. FATHER'S GRAVE - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Nearby the grave of Chuck's father stands in helpless witness to Abby's deception. A cottonwood tree rises against the cold blue sky, still as a statue.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">98\tTIGHT ON BOOK - FLASHBACK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">A hand turns the pages of a book from Chuck's childhood. The text and VOICE reading it are in Russian, the picture of Russian wood folk and animals.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">99\tEXT. VIRGIN PRAIRIE - FLASHBACK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck's father rushes around marking off his property with stakes.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">100\tEXT. UNFINISHED SOD HOUSE - FLASHBACK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck, ten years old, scours up the blade of a scythe. Family effects -- a big green stove, a bird cage, a table stacked with melons and a mirror--stand waiting in front of their half-finished sod house. We see no sign of Chuck's mother.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">101\tEXT. PLOWED FIELD - FLASHBACK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">A plow folds back the earth. The roots of the prairie grass twang like harp strings.\nThe plowing done, his father sows the seed. Poverty requires that for a harrow he drag a tree branch in back of his ox. Over his shoulder he carries a rifle.\nChuck blows a horn to chase the blackbirds off the seed.\nA scarecrow is rigged to his back, to make him more intimidating.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">102\tCHUCK AND FATHER - FLASHBACK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck's father has caught smallpox. His face is covered\nwith sores. Chuck wants to embrace him, but the father\nwards him off with a long stick as he passes on some last\ninstructions in Russian.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">103\tEXT. RIVER - FLASHBACK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The father stands on a ledge above the river, filling his pockets with rocks to weight him down.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK (V.0.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">My father caught smallpox when I was eleven. I fished him out of the river and buried him myself.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">104\tEXT. SAND BAR - FLASHBACK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck drags his father's drowned body across a sand bar with a rope.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">105\tEXT. FATHER'S GRAVE - FLASHBACK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck heaps the last bit of earth on his father's grave. The stove stands as a marker.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">So who raised you?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Nobody. Did it myself.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">106\tCHUCK AS BOY - WITH COYOTE, INDIANS - FLASHBACK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Famished, Chuck eats from the carcass of a coyote. Some INDIANS watch him from a ridge.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">From the time you were a kid? How?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Worked hard, didn't fool around. I never saw a city. Never had\ntime. All I ever did is work.\nHe digs a post hole with a shovel twice his size.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">107\tPAN OVER HILLS-DAWN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The camera pans across Chuck's vast domain.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I gave my life to that land.\nBut what do I really have now? It'll still be here when I'm gone. It won't remember me.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I'd give it all up for you. I could make you happy, too, I think-if only you'd trust me.\nThe camera settles on Ursula, playing with a dog on a seesaw Chuck\nhas built her, then begins to move again, to a long shot of Chuck and \nAbby on the ridge by the telescope. Chuck is proposing.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">108\tEXT. DORM\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby has told him of the proposal. Bill broods over an unlit cigarette. Is this a great blessing or a great misfortune which has befallen them?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">He's asked me to marry him.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL \n<P ID=\"dia\">I never really thought he would.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I thought you wanted me to.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Before I did. You cold?\nAbby is shivering. Bill takes off his jacket and slips it over her shoulders.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL \n<P ID=\"dia\">What're you thinking?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">We've never done anything like this.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Who'd know but you and me?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Nobody.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">That's it, Ab. That's all that matters, isn't it? \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You talk like it was all right. It would be a crime.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">But to give him what he wants more than anything? Two, threeI\nmonths of sunshine? He'll never get to enjoy his money anyway.\nWhat're you talking about? We'd be showing him the first good\ntimes of his life.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Maybe you're right.\nAt each hint of consent from Abby, Bill feels he must press on.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You know what they're going to stick on his tombstone? \"Born\nlike a fool, worked like a mule.\" Two lines.\nAbby cannot say the proposal is devoid of principle. The idea of easing Chuck's imminent death gives them just the shade of a good motive. This would be a trade.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What makes you think we're just talking about a couple of months?U\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Listen, the man's got one foot on a banana peel and the other\non a roller skate. What can I say? We'll be gone before theI\nPresident shows up.\nHe straightens his coat and smooths back his hair, to make her smile, without success.\nBILL Hey, I know how you feel. II\nHey, I know how you feel. I feel just as bad. Like I was sticking an icepick in my heart. Makes me sick just to think about it!\nheart. Makes me sick just to\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I held out a long time. I could've taken the first guy with a gold watch, but I held out.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I told myself that when I found somebody, I'd stick by him.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I know. We're in quicksand, though. We stand around, it's\ngoing to suck us down like everybody else.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Somewhere along the line you have to make a sacrifice. Lots of people want to sit back and take a piece without doing nothing. \nHe waits to see how she will respond. Half of him wants her to turn him down flat. Abby is bewildered. \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Have I ever complained? Have I said anything that would make\nyou think...\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You don't have to. I hate it when I see you stooped over and\nthem looking at your ass like you were a whore. I personally\nfeel ashamed! I want to take a .45 and let somebody have it.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">We got to look on the bright side of this, Ab. Year from\ntoday we got a Chinese butler and no shit from anybody.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Some people need more'n they have, some have more'n they need. It's\njust a matter of getting us all together.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I don't even know if I believe what I'm saying, though. I\nfeel like we're on the edge of a big cliff. \nAbby looks at the ground for a moment, then nods.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">109\tTIGHT ON CHUCK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck lies in bed, daydreaning.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">110\tTIGHT ON ABBY AND URSULA\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Ursula decorates Abby's hair with flowers and tells her how pretty she looks.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">111\tEXT. RIVER BANK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The wedding takes place along the river. The Preacher has come back with his ACOLYTES. A chest of drawers serves as the altar. Benson is the best man--a joyless one. Ursula bounces around in a beautiful gown, looking for the first time like a young woman. The BAND practically outnumbers the guests: ELDERS from the local Mennonites, the MAYORS of a few surrounding towns decked out in sashes and medals, etc.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">112\tTIGHT ON ABBY AND BILL\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill kisses the bride on the cheek. Each believes she is going through with this for the other's sake. They whisper back and forth.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You know what this means, don't you?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(he nods)\n<P ID=\"dia\">We won't ever let each other down, will we?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I love you more than ever. I always will. I couldn't do this unless I loved you.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">113\tSERIES OF ANGLES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The Acolytes ring an angelus bell. Chuck slips a sapphire on her finger. The Preacher, with outstretched arms, reminds them all that they are witness to a great event. \n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">114\tSKY - ABBY'S POV\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby, frightened, looks off at the rolling sky, wondering how all thislooks in the sight of heaven.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">115\tINT. BEDROOM - DUSK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">From her pillow, Abby watches Chuck shyly enter the bedroom\nHe comes over and sits down beside her\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're wonderful.\nShe is silent for a moment. The wind moans in the rafter\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">No. But I wish I were.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Listen. It sounds like the ocean.\nThey smile at each other.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">116\tEXT. BELVEDERE - DUSKI\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill watches the lights go out in the Belvedere. A lump rises to his throat. How exactly did this happen? He sets his jaw, vowing not to give way to weakness or jealousy. This is the price they have to pay for a lasting\nhappiness.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">117\tTIGHT ON ABBY, CHUCK, ETC.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The next morning the newlyweds set off on their honeymoon. \nChuck tells Bill to move his things from the dorm into the Belvedere.\nAbby, a basket of cucumbers under her arm, waves goodbye, angling her wrist so that Bill and Ursula can see the diamond bracelet Chuck has given her.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">118\tEXT. PRAIRIEI\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They steer out across the prairie in a1912 Overland auto. Ursula runs after them, slaps the back fender and hops around on one foot, pretending the other was run over. Abby laughs. She knows this stunt.\nWhen they are gone Ursula turns fiercely on Bill.U\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">I hate you.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What for? Don't be any more of a pain in the neck than you gotta\nbe, okay?\nShe swings at him with her fist. He pushes her away._\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You think I like this? I'm doing it for her!\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">You scum.\nBill slaps her.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Still think so?\nShe throws a rock at him and runs off. He catches her, repenting of his meanness.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I know you can't understand this, but there's nothing I want except good things for Abby and you. Go ahead and hit me back.\nShe hesitates a second, then slaps him as hard as she can. Blood glistens on his lip. He does not say a word in protest. She looks at the wound, horrified, then throws her arms tight around him.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">119\tEXT. PIERI\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby and Chuck disembark from a paddleboat steamer at a\npier along the river. Chuck looks excited.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">120\tEXT. YELLOWSTONE POOL\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck and Abby have gone to Yellowstone Park for their honeymoon. Abby wades in a pool, wreathed by mists from the underworld. She carries a parasol to protect her from the sun. The trees in the vicinity are bare of leaves.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">121\tEXT. ANTLERS - FREEZE FRAME\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck kneels with a box camera to photograph a large pair of antlers lying on the ground.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">122\tSERIES OF STILLS (STOCK)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">This photo becomes the first in a series from their Yellowstone trip: fishermen displaying sensational catches by a river, buggies vying with early autos on rutted roads, the giant Beaupre who stood eight feet tall, etc. Each of the pictures bears a caption. Together they make a little story.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">We saw grizzly bears and a boar. The bears scared me the most.\nThey eat garbage.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(whispering)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I was so lonesome. I missed you.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">123\tTIGHT ON BILL AND ABBY\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill and Abby kiss, renewing old ties.U\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">There was a mountain partly made of glass, too, but we didn't get to see it. And a petrified tree.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">We'll go back.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Can we? Because there's a whole lot I didn't get to see.\nBill straightens up. Chuck sits down on Abby's other side.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">124\tEXT. DINNER TABLE UNDER NETI\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They are having dinner on the lawn in front of the Belvedere. A fine mesh net is spread above them like a tent to keep the insects out. Ursula sits on Bill's lap. He puts a hand up the back of her shirt and they play as though she were a ventriloquist's dummy.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">125\tTIGHT ON RABBIT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill displays a rabbit which he trained in their absence to perform a card trick.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I have you now, Ed. Only thing that can beat me is the ace of spades. (His name's Ed..) Her name's Abigail. Hungarian name.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(mumbling)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Andrew drew Ann. Ann drew Andrew.\nFrom the whole of a spread deck it picks the ace of spades.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">126\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby and Chuck applaud. Ursula cranks up the victrola and puts on a record. Bill strokes the rabbit.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You know why I like him? He minds his business and isn't full of baloney.\nChuck turns to Abby and, for nearly the first time, smiles.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">He's funny.\nBill holds a plate up for Abby to see. Limoges china. Abby rolls her eyes and spits out a cherry pit. They eat like pigs, with no respect for bourgeois manners.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">You have any talents, Chuck?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">No, but I admire people who do.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">That's not so. He can do a duck. Show them.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Stand back. Get the women and children someplace safe.\nChuck, feeling it would be wrong not to enter the spirit of the occasion, does his imitation. The likeness is astonishing. Abby wipes a bit of food off his chin with her napkin. Bill drums on the table with his spoon.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You saw how modest he was?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">How'd you get along so long without a woman?\nChuck shrugs. Ursula makes a gesture as though to say by masturbating. Chuck does not see it. Billy laughs. Abby slaps her. The rabbit jumps out of the way.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't you ever behave that way at table!\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(to Chuck)\n<P ID=\"dia\">She's adopted. I had nothing to do with her upbringing. I'd trade her off for a yellow dog.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(to Ursula)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Now eat. You want to starve to death?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">That's what you'd like.\nAbby, overcome with impatience, throws her food to the dogs. Ursula catches a grasshopper and holds it out to Chuck.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">You give me a quarter to eat this hopper?\nChuck does not reply. She pops it into her mouth anyway, enjoying his look of shock. Bill throws down his fork.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">All right, okay, nobody's hungry anymore. What's the worst thing you ever did, Chuck? Besides missing church and that kind of stuff.\nChuck thinks about this.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Once I turned a man out in the middle of winter, without a cent of pay. For all I know he froze.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">If you went that far, he must've deserved it. What else?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">He didn't. I fired him out of resentment.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Well, you're the boss, right? That's how it works. Got to make decisions on the spot. Anyway, this guy-what's his name?--if I know his kind, which I do, he's probably doing okay for himself, got a hand in\nsomebody else's pocket for a change. Is that all?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">All I can think of right now. How about yourself?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(to Abby)\n<P ID=\"dia\">He wants to know. I'm not going to count setting Blackie's \non fire either. He had it coming.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL (con't)\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Once I punched a guy while he was asleep.\nChuck looks surprised. Bill glances at Abby, worried that he might have said too much.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I was just kidding. Actually a guy I know did, though.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Maybe he did it to you.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Yeah. I think so.\nChuck gets up to ring for Miss Carter. Bill looks him up and down. Chuck, though older, is physically more imposing.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Can I have the rabbit?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Get serious. I can win money with him.\nShe licks his ear. He laughs.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">I want that bunny.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You still believe in Santa Claus.\nBill closes his eyes as he feels the soft fur of the rabbit. Ursula looks around to make sure Chuck is gone, then wings a roll at Bill. It bounces off his forehead. He retaliates with a pat of butter.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">127\tBENSON\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Benson watches from another hill. He finds his displacement by these newcomers a humiliating injustice.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">128\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck returns to the table and draws Bill aside.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Almost forgot. Here's your pay. Bill takes the envelope Chuck holds out. Then, in a spasm of conscience, he gives it back. \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">hat's the matter?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I got no right to.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why?\nBill is momentarily at a loss for words.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I haven't worked hard enough to deserve it. I been goofing off.I\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't be silly.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Give it to charity or something.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't worry. I always know to look out for myself, because ifI\nI don't, who will? See what I'm driving at?\nChuck sees a sense of honor at work in Bill here, and\nthough he considers the gesture misguided and a little\ngrand, admires him for it.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">129\tEXT. BASESU\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They play a game with big lace pillows for bases. The\nrules are unintelligible.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">130\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill is expert at throwing knives. As the others watch, he goes into a big windup and pins a playing card to the side of the house.U\nEveryone seems happy and congenial. They have reached some kind of plateau. Chuck's ignorance of the ruse does not cause the others to treat him with less respect. They seem themselves almost to have forgotten it. \n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">131\tBILL AND ABBY'S POV - LATERU\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Benson collects the bases, a job he doubtless feels is beneath him.\nThe Doctor's wagon, unmistakable even at such a great distance, thunders away from the Belvedere.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">132\tTIGHT ON BILL AND ABBYU\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill and Abby, waiting for Chuck to join them for a swim,U\nlook questioningly at each other.S\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">133\tEXT. RIVER\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Ursula, in her bathing suit, jumps from a ledge above the river. She holds a big umbrella over her to see if it will act as a parachute.\nBill and Chuck have a water fight. Abby wades in the shallows with a parasol.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">134\tTIGHT ON ABBY AND URSULA - LATER\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby is teaching Ursula how to kiss.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Too like a mule.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(trying again)\n<P ID=\"dia\">What about that?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">It's got to be--how should I say?-- more relaxed.\nThey laugh and kiss again.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">135\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Farther up the slope Bill and Chuck wring out their bathing suits. Bill, thinking of the Doctor's visit, puts a hand on Chuck's shoulder. This time Chuck does not stiffen or ease it off.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You okay?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Sure. Why?\nBill shrugs, beaming with admiration for this man who does not burden others with his secrets.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I appreciate everything you've done for Abby. I really do. You've given her all the things she always deserved. I got to admit you have.\nChuck looks off, embarrassed but oddly pleased. Bill snatches up a handful of weeds and smells them.\n<b>.\n</b></p><p><p ID=\"slug\">136\tCRANE SHOT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Returning home they portray the movements of the sun, earth and moon \nrelative to each other. Abby is the sun and keeps up a steady pace across \nthe prairie.\nChuck, the earth, circles her at a trot, giving instructions. Bill, with the \nmost strenuous role of all--the moon-- runs around Chuck while he circles Abby.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">137\tEXT. PRAIRIE - SERIES OF ANGLES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They play golf on the infinite fairway of the prairie. Bill and Abby make a team against Chuck and Ursula. Nightingales call out like mermaids from the sea.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You liking it here?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(she nods)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Feel good?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(she nods)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Feels good to feel good.\nHe smiles, satisfied that he has done well by her, and lets a new ball slip down his pant leg to replace the one he played.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">138\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Ursula, meanwhile, grinds Abby's ball into the dirt with the heel of her boot. She winks at Chuck. Chuck smiles back.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's your mother like?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Her? Like somebody that just got hit on the head. She used to pray for me. Rosary, the stations, everything. \"Hey, Ma,\" I tell her, \"I ain't crippled.\" They don't know, though. They say you're in trouble. They don't know.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">My dad, the same way. Thought the world owed him a living. He drowned in Lake Michigan.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">139\tEXT. BELVEDERE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They walk home. Bill stays behind to work on his strokes. Ursula sends the dogs after the balls.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You shag them, not those dogs. They might choke or run off with them.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Who made you the boss? Shag them yourself.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Listen, some day all this is going to be mine. Or half is. Somebody like that, you want to get on his good side, not give him a lot of gas. You want to do what he says.\nHe steps off a few paces of his future kingdom and draws a deep breath.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">This reminds me of where I came from. I left when I was six. That's when I met your sister.\nHe looks at the land with a new sense of reverence. He snatches up a handful of grass and rolls it between his palms.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I can't wait to go back to Chicago, bring them down for a visit. Blackie and them. There's a lot of satisfaction in showing up people who thought you'd never amount to anything.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I'd really like to see this place run right. I got a lot of ideas I'd like to try out.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">140\tBILL'S POV AND TIGHT ON BILL\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">In the distance he sees Chuck put his arm on Abby's waist and whisper something in her ear. This intimacy rubs him the wrong way. He gives his clubs to Ursula and starts after them.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">141\tINT. KITCHEN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill finds them in the kitchen. Chuck goes into the other room to look for something. Abby lifts the cigarette out of Bill's mouth, takes a drag and does a French inhale. Bill kisses her.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Nobody's all bad, are they?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I met a few I was wrong on, then.\nSuddenly they hear Chuck's footsteps. They pull back just in time, Abby returning the cigarette to him behind her back. They chat as though nothing had happened.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I have a headache. I probably should've worn a hat.\nAbby rolls her eyes at this improvisation. No sooner does Chuck turn his back than Bill's hand darts out to touch her breast. He snatches it away a moment before Chuck turns back.\nTogether they walk into the living room.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You ever see anybody out here?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Not after harvest.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">How often do you get into town?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Once or twice a year.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're kidding. He must be kidding.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why do I need to?\nBill catches Abby's eyes. He frowns at the idea of being cooped up with this Mormon all winter.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Relaxation. Look at the girls. Opportunity to see how other folks live.\nChuck looks at him blankly. None of these reasons seems to carry\nmuch weight for him. Bill turns to Abby.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Somebody is nuts. I don't know whether it's him or me, but somebody is definitely nuts.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why don't I fix tea?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Maybe I should help you.\nHe follows her back into the kitchen, where he starts to kiss her. She pushes him away and turns to making the tea.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're worse than an Airedale.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(raising her voice)\n<P ID=\"dia\">You want jasmine or mint?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Mint.\nBill lifts up the back of her dress and looks under it, testing the breadth of his license. She slaps it back down. He lifts it again, standing on his right to. She glowers at him.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't do that.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(calling to Chuck)\n<P ID=\"dia\">How much sugar?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why not? I'm just seeing what kind of material it's made of.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">One spoonful.\nBill walks around absentmindedly, inspecting Chuck's things, stealing whatever catches his fancy. A book, a paperweight, a bell--things he does not really want and has no use for. His conscience is clear, however; the sacrifices they are making excuse these little sins.\nAs Chuck walks in, Bill has pocketed a candlestick.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Where's the candlestick?\nChuck shrugs. Bill gives Abby a cold look and goes outside.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">He's a strange one.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(nodding)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Once he named his shoes like they were pets. It was a joke, I guess.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">142\tEXT. WELL\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill drops the candlestick down the well, stands for a moment, then punches the bucket with his fist. He looks up. Benson has seen him.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">143\tEXT. SAPLINGS AGAINST WINDOW - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Outside the saplings thrash in the wind.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">144\tINT. BEDROOM - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby wakes up with a gasp.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's the matter?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I had a dream.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">What about?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Was something after you?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I forgot it already.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">145\tAERIAL SHOT (STOCK)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The camera falls through the clouds as though in a lost fragment of Abby's dreams.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">146\tEXT. BARN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Benson sulks by the barn. Chuck approaches him.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">You come down here a lot, don't you? Always when you're mad. You never change.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">It might not be my place to say this, sir, but I don't think they're honest people.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">He gets on your nerves, doesn't he? He always has.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(cutting in)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Now don't say something you're going to regret.\n<b>.\n</b></p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why should I regret it? I think they're a pair of scam artists,\nsir. Let me tell you what I've seen, and you judge for yourself.\nChuck, who of course has seen the same things and more, raises a hand to silence him.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Maybe you'd be happier taking over the north end till spring. I don't say this in anger. We've been together a long time, and I've always felt about you like, well, close. It just might work out better is all. Less friction.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't believe me, then. You shouldn't. But why not check it out, sir? Hire a detective in Chicago. It won't cost much. What's there to lose?\nChuck's brow darkens as Benson goes on. For a moment we glimpse the anger that would be unleashed if ever he woke up. Somewhere he already knows the truth but refuses to acknowledge it.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're talking about my wife.\nAnd so Chuck, too, becomes an accomplice in the scheme.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">Maybe I better pack my things.\nBenson turns and walks off. Chuck watches him go, ashamed at himself. What has this man done but a friend's duty?\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">147\tINT. MASTER BEDROOM\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby sits at the dresser in the master bedroom. Bill walks in through the door and tries Chuck's hat on for size.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What're you doing in here?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Just walked in through the door, like any other white man.\nOn the bureau he finds a pistol. He aims it out the window. All this will soon be theirs!\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Smith and Wesson. You ought to see one of these plow into a watermelon.\nShe holds a hairbrush out for him to see. He looks it over and gives it back without comment. He finds a stain on the tabletop.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Somebody's been staining this fake inlay with a water glass. Actually I don't blame them.\nHe walks around trying out more of Chuck's appurtenances. Abby, caught up, models a shawl before an imaginary mirror. She blows a kiss at herself.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't say I did that.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">The bed should be over next to the window. Where the view is.\nBill is already making plans for life after Chuck's demise.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Maybe we build on a balcony.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">First the birds go.\nThe peacocks are crowing outside. They burst out laughing. Bill checks the mussed bedsheets.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">That doesn't concern you.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why not?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(no reply)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Look, I know you've got urges. It wouldn't be right if you didn't.\nAbby stands up, angry.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You think I enjoy it?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Lower your voice.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You act like it's harder on you than me! I never want to talk\nabout this again.\nBill, consoled, holds an eyelet blouse against the light.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I bet he enjoys looking at you in this.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I thought you liked it.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">He likes it, too, is what I'm saying.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Well, it's the style.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I see.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What do you want me to wear in this heat? A blanket?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">That's your problem.\nAbby puts on her wedding bracelet and admires it. Bill softens at the sight of her beauty, properly adorned.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I told you someday we'd be living in style. When this whole thing is over I'm going to buy you a necklace with diamonds as big as that.\nHe holds out the tip of his little finger. They laugh, as though they suddenly felt the absurdity of all this make-believe.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're cute. Maybe a shade too cute.\nShe touches his face sympathetically, as though to say that she knows the pain this was causing him.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">This is terrible for us both. \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Abby?\nThey jump as Chuck calls up from downstairs.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Down in a minute.\nShe kisses Bill.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">148\tEXT. BACK DOOR OF BELVEDERE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill sneaks out the back door of' the Belvedere, only to find Benson drinking at the well. They look at each other in silence for a moment. Benson's horse stands beside him, a suitcase fixed to the saddle.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">I know what you're doing.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What're you talking about?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">That boy's like a son to me. Don't you forget it. I know what you're doing.\nBenson gets on his horse, turns and rides off. Miss Carter waves goodbye from the side of the house. She and Bill exchange a look.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">149\tEXT. FRONT PORCH\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill finds the others around front. Abby lolls in the hammock writing in her diary and eating a peach. Ursula plays the guitar.\nLittle by little the newcomers have done the house over from the austere structure that it was. Living room furniture has been moved out onto the front lawn and there arranged as though by a child. Goats sleep on the divan. Archery targets hang from the side of the house. The porch is covered with a striped awning, bird cages and twirls of bunting. Everywhere an atmosphere of drunken ease prevails.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Nice fall day.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Wish I'd said that.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(to Abby)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Watcha doing?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Eating a green peach. 'Spect to die any minute.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Listen, I had a great idea. Let's spend Christmas in Chicago. Break\nup the old routine. Rhino's never been to a baseball game or a horse\nrace. I know guys one month off the boat that have. Don't even\nspeak the English language, but they eat it right up.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're just a young guy, Rhino; you oughta be running around\nraising hell. No offense to the little woman.\nHe bows apologetically to Abby. She pinches a dead leaf off a plant.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Abby says that in the poor section people eat cats.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Did you, sis? Well, there's always something doing. I can't\nbegin to tell you. State and Madison? Mmmm. Lights everywhere.\nYou'd love it.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">It can be rough, though.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Rough? Listen, you can't walk down the street without somebody\nreaching in your pocket! You've got to keep your coat like this\nand poke them away.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Bill got shot once. The bullet's still in him.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Really?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Doctor said he took it out, but I never saw it. Hurt like a bastard.\nYou got no idea how it hurt.\nSuddenly he worries this might discourage Chuck from going.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">They won't mess with you, though. Big fella like you. I can see it\nnow.\nHe offers a taste of the talk Chuck is like to provoke on the street corners.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">\"Hey, hey, hey. Who's this here, fresh out of the African Jungle,\nmoving down the sidewalk with a whowhowho, taking ten feet at a step\nand making all the virgins run for cover? Why, it's Big Rhino, the\nKing of Beasts. He walks, he talks, he sucks up chalk.\"\nBill steps back and sees, as though for the first time, how imposing Chuck really is.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You are big, aren't you? Sunny Jim! You must've had a real moose\nfor an old lady.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Take it easy.\nBut Chuck holds none of this against him. He knows it comes from respect.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">So what do you say?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">What a sorry outfit! Bunch of old ladies. You better stay behind.\nYour mammas'd probably get upset.\nBut when the time comes, I'm out of here. Hit the road, Toad!\nUrsula passes the sandwiches around until there is just\none left, Miss Carter's. While the others are talking,\nshe scoops up a handful of dirt and pours it into the middle.\nBill, lighting a cigarette, notices Chuck's hand on Abby's.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Ever seen a match burn twice?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">No.\nBill blows out the match and touches Chuck's hand with\nthe hot ember, causing him to yank it away.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">That's old.\nChuck starts to cough. Bill looks at Abby, then whips the handkerchief out of his pocket and puts it over his nose, as though to keep from getting Chuck's germs.\nMiss Carter's face goes blank as she bites into her sandwich.\nShe jumps up and rushes back into the house. Chuck frowns.\nBill glares at Ursula, then turns to Chuck and, referring to the dead prairie grass which runs through the front yard right up to the house, continues:\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You ever thought of putting in some fescue here? Some fescue grass?\nOf course, it might not take in this soil.\nChuck stands up and winds a stole, a long religious scarf, around his neck.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">You ready?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I still have a little of this sore throat. Where you going, though?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">To kill a hog.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's the necktie for?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Or does it just come in handy?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Keeps the stain of guilt off.\nChuck nods goodbye and walks off, taking a stool with him. Bill sighs with admiration.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I try and try.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What a splendid person! I've never met anybody like him!\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Splendid people make you nervous.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">They do! I breathe a sigh of relief when they step outside the room.\nBill puts on his boater and opens a copy of the Police Gazette. \nThey are silent for a moment. \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">A guy ate a brick on a bet. Must of busted it up first with a hammer. Guy in New York City. Where else?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(Jumping up)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Anybody want to bet me I can't stick this knife in that post?\nNobody takes him up on this. Abby leafs through the\nSears catalogue, her mind dancing with visions of splendor.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">150\tTIGHT ON CATALOGUE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Pictured. in the catalogue are bath oils and corsets and feathered hats. A grasshopper is perched on the page among them, its eyes blank and dumb.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">151\tTIGHT ON ROSE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill watches her run her finger slowly around the closed heart of a rose. Suddenly they both look at each other. They have heard the squeals, faint but unmistakable, of a hog being led to slaughter.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">152\tTIGHT ON STOOL - QUICK CUT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck has tied the hog's feet to the inverted legs of the stool.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">153\tOTHER QUICK CUTS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Ursula, off by herself, skips rope.\nA flag on the pole by the front gate snaps in the breeze. From the branch of a lone tree the hog dangles by its hocks into the mouth of a barrel.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">154\tEXT. BELVEDERE - ABBY'S POV FROM SECOND FLOOR WINDOW\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Miss Carter storms down the hill with her bags. Fed up, she is leaving the bonanza. Chuck tries in vain to appease her. She keeps walking, out the front gate and into the prairie on a straight course for the railroad tracks.\nChuck will now be alone at the Belvedere with the newcomers and no other point of reference.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">155\tEXT. CLOTHES LINE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Later that afternoon, Bill catches sight of Abby's underthings rustling on the clothes line.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">156\tINT. STAIRS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">That evening he watches her from behind as she climbs the stairs to join Chuck at their bedroom door. She nods goodnight, sensing the jealousy that is growing in him.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">157\tINT. MASTER BEDROOM\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck looks impatiently through a drawer.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">I can't find anything around here. Last week it was my gloves; this\nweek my talc. What's going on?\nHe stands and watches Abby get ready for bed. She fills him with a deep adoration. He feels that in the tulip of her mouth at last he has found heaven.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're beautiful.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You don't think my skin's too fair?\nHe comes up behind her and touches her long hair.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're smart, too, aren't you?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I know what the Magna Carta is.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Can I help you brush it out?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Not right now.\nShe is cold to discourage false expectations in him--and because she feels that she at least owes Bill this. Chuck, however, assumes the fault must be his own. His naivete about women, and the world in general, protects\nthe conspirators--and protects him, too, for he glimpses enough of the truth not to want to know any more.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">What makes you so distant with me?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Distant? I don't mean to be.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">You know what I'm talking about, though. You aren't that way\nwith your brother.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">158\tINT.ATTIC\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill, eavesdropping in the attic above them, surveys Chuck's dusty heirlooms.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">It must be something I'm doing. I wish you'd tell me what, though.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">159\tINT. BEDROOM\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">These gentle endearments, so rarely heard from Bill, stir her deeply. She throws herself in his arms.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Oh, Chuck I Please forgive me. Does it mean anything that I'm\nsorry?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pleased) \n<P ID=\"dia\">But I don't blame you. Did I make it sound that way?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You should. You have a right to.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">It's just that sometimes I feel I don't know you well.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You don't. It's true.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">I think you love me better than before, though.\nShe rubs her cheek against his hands. Daily she feels warmer toward him. How much of this is love, how much respect or devotion, even she cannot say.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">160\tTIGHT ON BILL - LATER - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The night throbs with crickets. Bill cracks open the bedroom door. Chuck lies asleep in a shaft of moonlight next to Abby. He hesitates a moment, but a strange compulsion drives him on. He has never done anything\nso dangerous, or had so little idea why.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">161\tINT. BEDROOM - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby wakes up to find him staring her in the face. He kisses her. Chuck stirs. Abby signals they should go outside.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">162\tEXT. BELVEDERE - DAY FOR NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They sneak out of the Belvedere. The night is warm.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're no good.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Mmmm. But I love you.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I can't stand it any more. This is just so cruel. We're both no\ngood. I've got to get drunk with you, Bill. You know what I mean?\nDrunk.\nBill wags a bottle. The dogs, awakened, bay from the kennel. They wait a moment to see if a light will go on in the house, then dart off toward the fields. A plaster lawn dwarf seems to watch them go.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">163\tEXT. FIELDS - DAY FOR NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They run through the fields, hand in hand, laughing and flirting. The moon makes Abby's nightgown a ghostly white.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">We can never do this again, though. Okay? It really is too dangerous.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">This one night.\nHe toes a sodden old shoe.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Hey, I found a shoe.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">164\tSHOE, COYOTES, SCARECROW - DAY FOR NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The shoe gleams in the moonlight. Coyotes yelp from the hilltops. A scarecrow spreads its arms against the sky. The waving fields of wheat have given way to vast reaches of cleanly shaven stubble, stained with purple morning glories. Odd, large stakes are planted among them.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">165\tNEW ANGLE - DAY FOR NIGHT\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You want me to spin you around?\nShe nods okay. He takes her by the hands and spins her around the way he used to--until they go reeling off, too dizzy to stand.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">166\tEXT. RIVER BANK - DAY FOR NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They lie by the river looking at the great dome of stars. Bill wants to believe things are the same between them as before. So does Abby--but she knows better.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Suppose we woke up tomorrow and it was a thousand years ago. I\nmean, with all we know? Electricity, the telephone, radio, that kind of\nstuff. They'd never figure out how we came up with it all. Maybe\nthey'd kill us.\nShe looks at him, and they laugh.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You sleepy?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">This is the first time we slept together in a while, Bill.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You like it?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Of course.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Kiss me, then.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">It's so sweet to be able to kiss you when I want to.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">167\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Before the marriage his lovemaking was gentle and soft. Now it has a brutal air, as though he were asserting his right to her for the last time.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">168\tTIGHT ON ABBY - DAWN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Dawn is breaking. Abby jumps to her feet, alarmed. They have slept too long.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">169\tEXT. BELVEDERE - DAWN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They have run back to the Belvedere. It seems they are safe until Chuck appears on the porch, yawning and stretching. Bill drops to the ground while Abby goes ahead.\nAbby appears at one side of the house while Bill steals around the other. Luckily, they have come up from the back.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Abby! I've been looking all over for you. Where have you been?\nWhile she distracts Chuck, Bill slips back in the house. It has been a close call.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Watching the ducks.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Didn't you sleep well?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">No.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">170\tTIGHT ON ABBY (DISSOLVE TO PAGE, THEN TO URSULA)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby looks sympathetically at Chuck. Her face dissolves into a page of her diary and from there to Ursula, balancing an egg on her fingertip.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Chuck saw Ursula balance an egg. He begged her to repeat this trick,\nbut she wouldn't.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">171\tTIGHT ON CHUCK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck tries to reduplicate Ursula's feat. Abby, amused, reaches out and touches his face.\nWe wonder if, despite herself, she might be falling in love with him.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">172\tEXT. BELVEDERE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill watches the Doctor walk out the front door and down the steps to his wagon. Chuck follows, smiling.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">The Doctor came. Chuck looked pleased for a change.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">173\tEXT. PRAIRIE - BILL'S POV\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The Doctor's wagon rolls off across the prairie.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Tomorrow the President passes through. Plans have changed, and he can't stop.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">174\tEXT. RAILROAD TRACKS - DUSK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They have come down to the railroad tracks to watch the President pass through.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">We should have brought a flag.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Does she have time to ride back and get it?\nAbby and Bill hold hands. Chuck by now is accustomed to such displays. They seem, however, to make Abby increasingly uncomfortable.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">175\tMOVING TRAIN - THEIR POVS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The train bursts past at twenty yards, its great light rolling like a lunatic eye. Bill's heart pounds with excitement. Chuck holds Abby by the waist. Ursula waves a handkerchief... They cannot make out anything specific in the windows, but there is the sense of people going more important places, getting on with the serious business of their lives - while out here they stagnate.\nDimly visible, on the back platform of the caboose, a MAN in a frock coat salutes them with his cane.\nThe train has quickly vanished into the declining sun. Everything is quiet again. Ursula rushes up the grade to collect some pennies she laid on the tracks.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Did you see him wave?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">He was shorter than I expected.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">How do you know it was him?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I saw! He had a hat on.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You didn't understand my question.\nThey walk back to the buggy. Ursula holds up a dead snake she found on the tracks.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">You know what I'm going to do with this? Take it home and put it in\nvinegar.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">That was the President, shortie. Wake up.\nBill watches Chuck help Abby into the buggy. She is laughing about something or other. His hand lingers for a moment on hers. She does not brush it aside, as once she might have, but to Bill's dismay, presses\nit against her breast. Chuck seems to have breathed a hope into her that he, Bill, was never able to.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">176\tEXT. FIELDS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby and Ursula race across the fields trying to fly a kite. Ursula rides a tiny Shetland pony. Just as the wind lifts the kite away, they run into Bill. He sits by himself observing a spear of grass. Abby drops off. Ursula rides off over the hill with the kite, leaving her alone with Bill.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You look deep in thought.\nShe touches his cheek. He brushes her hand away.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's the matter?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Nothing.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">There's nothing wrong?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">No.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY \n<P ID=\"dia\">What're you so mad about then?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Who said I was mad?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Can't I be alone once in a while without everybody getting all\nworked up? \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're the only person getting worked up.\nSome buffalo appear on the crest of the next hill. Abby looks at them. They do not seem quite part of this world but mythical, like minotaurs.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Chuck says they're good for the grass.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Stop giving me that look.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You can't keep your hands off him these days.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What're you talking about?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You know.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I haven't touched him.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">How about the other night? I saw you, Abby. The other night\nby the tracks? If only you wouldn't lie! Really, there's\nsome things about you I'm never going to understand.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I forgot. Anyway it doesn't matter. What are you doing, always trying\nto trap me?\nBill paces around, disgusted with himself and the whole situation.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I can't stand it any more. It's just too degrading.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause) \n<P ID=\"dia\">You and him. Why do I have to spell it out? I thought it would be all\nover in a month or two. Guy might go another five years. We've got to\nclear out, Abby.\nThey stare at each other in silence for a moment.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why stop now?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">We've come this far.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You heard me.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why stay? Go ahead and tell me! I'm standing here.\nBill trembles with shock and anger. The buffalo cast aware glances at them.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You want us to lose everything?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I'm telling you I can't stand it.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're weak then. What about all I've been through?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">And what about him? It would be the worst thing we could do. Worse\nthan anything so far. It would break his heart.\nBill is silent for a moment.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're getting to like him, aren't you?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">It would kill him. Leaving now would be just cruel.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Would it? So what's it matter to somebody in his shape?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">In fact you're just leaving us one way out.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What're you talking about? Murdering him? Ursula comes riding over the hill, without the kite.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You watch and see. \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">I had to let it go. One of them started following me, and I threw\na rock at him. I had a bunch stored in my pocket.\nThey take off running after her.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">177\tEXT. BELVEDERE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">As they approach the Belvedere, Bill sees Chuck standing on the front steps. Suddenly angry, he draws Abby to him and in plain view kisses her on the lips.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">He can see you!\nBill nods; he knows. Abby runs ahead, angry and alarmed.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't you believe in being honest?\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">178\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby bounds up the steps. Chuck has bent his mind to understand all this as mere sibling love, but here is the greatest test so far.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Aren't you going to kiss me?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Today's my birthday.\nChuck gives her a kiss, glad to put aside his suspicions.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">179\tTIGHT ON POINTERS, QUAIL AND PHEASANTS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Tails level, their noses thrust high in the air, a pair of pointers prance through the high uplands grass, following a scent like sailors taking in a rope. Pheasants and quail tremble in their coveys, their eyes big with fear.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">180\tEXT. UPLANDS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck has taken Bill out bird-hunting. They wear heavy canvas leggings and carry shotguns.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Did you ever tell Abby the buffalo help keep up the grass?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">I think so. Why?\nBill shrugs. Chuck welcomes this opportunity to speak of his wife. He considers Bill a good friend, in fact the only person with whom he can talk about delicate matters.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">I want to get her something nice for Christmas.\nBill, who means to kill Chuck the first chance he gets, forgets this intention for a moment to give him advice.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(thoughtfully)\n<P ID=\"dia\">She likes to draw. Maybe some paints. Nothing too expensive--\nshe might want to exchange it. Maybe a coat. She likes to show\noff sometimes. She's sweet that way.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">I wish I knew how to make her happy. Nothing I do really seems to.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">That's how they are. They like to make you work for it. I couldn't\never figure out why.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Sometimes you can't go wrong, though. You know that one Abby showed you a picture of? Elizabeth? I took her cherry.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">I know. You told me.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Actually, I didn't, but I could have. The point I'm making is you've got\nto understand how they operate. Get them thinking you can take it or\nleave it, you're usually okay.\nSuddenly the dogs stop rigid, on point. At Chuck's hiss they sink into the grass.\nBill looks at Chuck's exposed back. Nobody would know. It could be made to seem like a hunting accident. He cocks the hammer of his shotgun. His heart pounds wildly. Chuck talks in a low voice to the dogs.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">All right, put them up, girl.\nThe dogs rise and inch toward the birds, as slowly as the minute hand of a clock. All at once the quail explode out of hiding. Bill jumps at the noise. Chuck fires twice. Two birds fall. The retriever notes where. Chuck turns around.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why aren't you shooting? I left you those two on the left.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">They caught me off guard.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">You have to keep your gun up.\nChuck walks ahead. The music builds a mood of tension. Bill takes a practice shot into the ground. Bill looks around. There is nobody in sight. He turns the sights on Chuck's back. It would be simple enough.\nThough only twenty feet away, he closes the gap, to make sure he does not miss.\nChuck whistles the scattered birds back to their covey. \"Pheo! Pheo!\" Soon, faint and far away, comes a reply-the sweet, pathetic whistle of the quail lost in a forest of grass. The mother bird utters a low \"all is well.\"\nOne by one, near and far, the note is taken up, and they begin to return.\nBill holds his breath. His finger moves inside the trigger guard. He only has to squeeze a fraction of an inch. Three more birds shoot out of the grass. Chuck fires. At first we think Bill has, but he cannot stoop this low. He does not have the heart. Disgusted, he throws his gun on the ground. Both barrels go off. Chuck snaps around, startled and concerned. Bill is\nshaking like a leaf.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's the matter? What are you so upset about?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">They surprised me again. Chuck sends a retriever after the fallen birds, then--in an unprecedented gesture-he puts his arm over Bill's shoulder to comfort him, like an older brother.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">181\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They return home, the day's kill slung over the back of a Shetland pony.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">182\tEXT. BACK YARD\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They sit on stools in the back yard plucking the birds.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You like to box?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">I never have.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Just wondering. I got a pair of gloves I brought with me.\nBill feels oddly better, as though Chuck had backed down.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Abby bought me this at Yellowstone.\nChuck shows Bill his knife. Bill reads a name off the handle.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">That's what she calls you? 'Chickie?'\nHe gets up, his nostrils flaring with anger. Chuck thinks this indignance is on his behalf.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Doesn't bother me. Should it?\nBill throws down the pheasant he was plucking.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's the matter?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't let her fool you, too. She warms up to whoever says please and thank you.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's the matter?\nBill, still angry at himself, considers telling him.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You really want to know?\nHe would like Chuck to know the truth but does not want theresponsibility for revealing it. He must find out by accident.\nLuckily they are interrupted as Ursula runs up, pointing over her shoulder. A pair of three-wing airplanes sputters into view low overhead. One seems to be having engine trouble.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">183\tEXT. FIELD NEAR BELVEDERE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The planes set down in a nearby field. \"Toto's Flying Circus\" is emblazoned on the wings.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">184\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Five PEOPLE clamber out, members of a seedy vaudeville troupe. They swagger around, filthy with oil from the backwash of the props, looking more like convicts than entertainers. Their LEADER is an excitable Levantine.\n<b>LEADER\n</b>How long it take to fix? Very mooch time! Now look where you\nhab stuck us. Salaupe! You forget who I aim!\nBill, Abby and Ursula approach the aircraft with the greatest caution, like the Indians at Cortez's ships.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">185\tEXT. SCREEN - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">A JUGGLER and a SNAKE CHARMER perform first separately,\nthen jointly as a slap act. A DOUBLE TALKER weaves sentences of absolute nonsense. After a moment a black and white image appears over his face and he drops out of sight.\nThe troupe is putting on a show to earn its supper. ONE of them stands behind the viewers -- Abby and Bill, Chuck and Ursula -- cranking a carbide projector by hand. A silent movie appears on the screen, full of extraordinary pratfalls, disappearances and other tricks of the early\ncinema. Chuck has never seen anything remotely like this.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">How'd they do that? Where'd he go? There must be a wire. Etc.\nHe steps forward to inspect the screen, actually just a sheet hung along a clothesline, to see whether the image is coming from behind. Bill and Abby sit rapt as children, nostalgic for Chicago.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">186\tEXT. DINNER TABLE - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Ursula serves dinner. She is excited by the visitors'\ncity ways. They are bored with her, all except the\nyoungest, GEORGE, a young pilot in a white scarf.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">We never hear a thing out here. It's like being on a boat in the\nmiddle of a lake. You see things going on, but way far away, with no voices.\n<b>GEORGE\n</b>Maybe time to clear out.\nGeorge puts his hand on hers. She snatches it away.\n<b>GEORGE\n</b>What's the matter? Aren't I your\ntype or something?\nThe Doubletalker pokes his fork into a pudding. A balloon, concealed beneath the surface, explodes to general delight. Down the table Abby and Bill chat with the Leader.\n<b>LEADER\n</b>You do not understand, sir. I am saddled with asses, yaays? I, who\nonce played the Albert Hall\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You. hear that? He called me 'sir.'\nIn their gaiety he carelessly puts a hand on Abby's leg.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">187\tTIGHT ON CHUCK - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck looks on from the shadows, no longer just puzzled but angry. He has watched them behave this way a dozen times before, but tonight, with other people around, he must see it more directly.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">188\tEXT. STRAW STACK - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">George tells Ursula a joke. She dissolves in giggles before he can finish, as though amazed at his power to dispense illusion.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">189\tINT. LIVING ROOM - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck, alone in the darkened living room, calms himself down by breathing through a rubber mask into a respirator. Joyful noises reach him from outside.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">190\tCHUCK'S POV - NEXT MORNING\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The next morning Chuck looks down out his bedroom window.\nThe troupe is packing to leave. Still troubled, he walks to the bed and and stands over Abby.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's going on, Abby?\nShe does not respond. He yanks the sheet off. She is wearing a nightgown. She looks up and frowns. This is the first time she has ever seen him this way.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">You know what I mean. Between you and Bill.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I have no idea.....\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(interrupting)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Something's not right, and I want to know what.\nAbby jumps out of bed and assumes the offensive. She has no other choice.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Say it out loud. What're you worried about? \n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Incest?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">It just doesn't look right. I don't know how brothers and\nsisters carry on where you come from, but...\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(interrupting)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Did you ever have a brother. Then who are you to judge? Maybe if\nyou had, you'd understand. Anyway, times have changed while you've been stuck out in this weed patch. We're\n************************line missing****************\nShe puts on a robe and walks out. Her last argument has worked best. Chuck never imagined he was in step with the times.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">191\tEXT. BELVEDERE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby slips out the front door. She looks around to make sure that Chuck is not watching her, then heads off to find Bill. The vaudevillians gorge themselves on last night's leftovers, steal flowers from the flower beds,\netc. ONE sits off by himself, playing a French horn.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">192\tEXT. DORM\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">She finds Bill by the dorm throwing a switchblade in the ground, a toothbrush in his mouth.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I have to talk to you.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Look what I traded off those clowns. For a bushel of corn!\nShe draws him by the arm behind a wall. She is trembling with fear.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Chuck is suspicious.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Chickie you mean? So what?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Really. This is the first time he's ever been like this. I'm scared.\nAll this flatters Chuck in a way Bill does not like.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What for? Why're you so worried what he thinks?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">He could kill us. I want to live a long time, okay? I just got\nstarted and I like it.\nBill shrugs, as though to say he can handle whatever Chuck can dish out and a little more.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You might take a little responsibility here. You got us into all this.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Did I? Well, it never would've come up if you hadn't led him on.\nLed Chickie on!\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Is that the best you can do? Knowing you it probably is.\nYou've made a mess of our lives, okay. Don't pretend it was my\nfault.\nBill combs his hair to calm himself down.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why's this guy still hanging on like a goddamn snapping turtle?\nBecause of you. Boy, this was a great idea. Right up there\nwith Lincoln going down to the theater, see what's on!\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Keep your voice down.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't give me that. When a guy's getting screwed, he's got a right\nto holler.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're such a fool!\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Nothing.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I heard what you said.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Then why'd you ask? Oh, how did I ever get mixed up with you?\nAbby, in terror of Chuck's finding out, cannot understand why Bill seems to care so little.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You've gone sweet on him. You have, haven't you?\nAbby hesitates. Bill throws his knife away.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I admire him. He's a good man.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Broad shoulders. I know. Very high morals. Why can't he talk\nfaster? It's like waiting for a hen to lay an egg.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You wouldn't understand, though. He's not like you. You don't\nknow how people feel. You only think of yourself.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's going on between us, Abby? Think about that. If you figure it\nout, tell me, will you? I'd appreciate it.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Lord, but you do come on! You talking like this, used to play\naround right under his nose. Somebody I met in a bar, remember?\nOr maybe you walked in, thought it was a church. Well, I've had\nit.I'm clearing out. You understand?\nThey look at each other for a moment.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Go ahead.\nThis is not what he expected to hear. But now his pride requires that he face the truth and not back down.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Okay.\nHe looks at her for a moment. He cannot be dealt with this way. He turns and walks off.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">193\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Ursula flirts with George. He slips a hand inside her blouse. She bats it away.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">194\tEXT. BEDROOM WINDOW\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill stands on the ground below the master bedroom. Chuck leans out the window above him. Peacocks roost on the balcony, beneath the telescope. The vaudevillians are loading up their planes. Abby watches from the porch.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I'm going away for a while. They're giving me a lift.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">What for?\nHe shrugs.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I'm wearing one of your shirts. Let me take it off for you.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Never mind.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I got my own. Just wasn't any clean today.\nBill takes off the shirt, drapes it over a post and walks off, hurt and angry, but with a sad dignity.\nChuck is not entirely sorry to see him go, nor is Abby; she knows that he is getting out just in time. One more episode like last night's and the fuse would hit the powder.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">195\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill gives Ursula his money.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">We get split up for any reason, you spend that on school.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">196\tEXT. PRAIRIE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The vaudevillians are ready to take off. Bill boards the plane which George is piloting, wondering if today's break with Abby is real or just in anger, a necessary gesture. With him he carries his only possessions, a bindle and his trick rabbit. Abby, Chuck and Ursula look on.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's eating him?\nAbby shrugs and walks down to Ursula.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why aren't we going with him?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What for? To sleep in boxcars?\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">197\tAIRPLANES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The planes set their wheels in the furrows, rev their engines and wobble off into the sky. Ursula waves goodbye to George.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">198\tEXT. PLAINS UNDER SNOW - SERIES OF ANGLES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Winter has come. Snow falls across the breadth of the plains, on the river and the dark sleeping fields.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">199\tEXT. SLEIGH (OR ICE BOAT) - SNOW\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck and Abby skim over the snow in a gaily painted sleigh (or ice boat). She is wrapped up snug in a buffalo robe, her feet on a hot brick. Pigs forage along the fences.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">200\tINT. CAVE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They inspect a cave with a kerosene lantern. Blocks of ice, covered with burlap and sawdust, cool shelves of preserves.\nAbby drops a stone into a dark pit. Two seconds pass before it hits the bottom.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Probably that's the first noise down there for thousands of years.\nShe speaks as though she had done it a favor. He puts his hand on hers. She presses it against her chest.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You ever wish you could turn your heart off for a second and\nsee what happened?\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">201\tOTHER ANGLES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Views of backlit gems, stalactites, salamanders in their cold dark pools, hidden springs and other mysteries of nature.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Maybe nothing would.\nThey round a corner and come upon an underground waterfall. It flows out of darkness back into darkness.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">202\tINT. FORGE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill, meanwhile, stands in a line of panting, sweating IMMIGRANTS.\nOn their shoulders they carry the huge barrel of a cannon. With a grunt they drive it into the fiery mouth of a forge.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">203\tEXT. CITY STREET\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill stands on the corner of a big city street, stamping his feet against the cold. He tries to catch a pigeon with some bread crumbs under a box propped up by a stick, but just as he pulls the string to drop the trap it darts\nout of the way.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">204\tBILL AND YOUNG GIRL\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill has an improvised conversation with a YOUNG GIRL who has run away from home. He asks her where she comes from, whom she belongs to, etc. She tells him of her hopes, then passes on. Bill gives her all the money in his pocket.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">205\tMONTAGE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Enthralled, Abby surveys the wonders of Babylon and\nNineveh in a book about the Near East.\nUrsula sits with a world globe, taking a geography lesson from a traveling TUTOR. No doubt this was Abby's idea.\nAbby copies from a small plaster model of a Roman bust. She wants painfully to improve herself.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">206\tEXT. FROZEN LAKE -NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby and Chuck skate around a bonfire on a frozen prairie lake, carrying torches to guide them through the dark.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">207\tINT. CHICAGO FLOPHOUSE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill sits in a cold flophouse trying to write a letter. After a moment he wads it up and throws it away.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">208\tEXT. BELVEDERE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby, Ursula and Chuck are on a walk outside the Belvedere. The snow is gone. Abby's hands are stuffed in a chinchilla muff.\nAll at once they hear a distant noise like the whoops of an Indian war party. It seems mysteriously to come from every hilltop. Abby turns to Chuck with a puzzled look.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Prairie chickens. That means winter's broken.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Really? Where are they?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">You hardly ever see them.\nThey stand and listen to the birds. There is a sense of the earth stirring back to life. Abby breathes in with a wild joy and hugs Chuck tightly by the waist.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">209\tEXT. TENEMENT HALLWAY\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill is talking with a FRIEND in the hallway of a tenement.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I can't seem to get my mind on anything. I thought, when I came\noff that place, boy, they'd better get all the women out of town that day, you know? Somewhere safe. But you know what I do? I sleep, nothing but\nsleep.\nA PANHANDLER approaches them with a hard-luck story.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">FRIEND\n<P ID=\"dia\">Okay, here's a quarter, but give me some entertainment, okay?\nNot this old song and dance.\nWhile the Panhandler performs, Bill looks around.\nTwo POLICEMEN have appeared in the entryway talking with the LANDLADY. Bill edges out the back door and down the steps, as though they might be after him.\nHe walks briskly down the alley without looking back.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">210\tTIGHT ON CHUCK (DISSOLVE TO DIARY)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck holds a handful of seed under his nose. His heart stirs at the dark, mellow smell.\nInto this dissolves an image of Abby writing in her diary.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">211\tEXT. FIELD\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck swings a barometer round and round, checking the weather. Two Case tractors pitch across a field like boats on a rolling sea. Long plumes of smoke wind off behind them. Each tows a fourteen-gang plow. A third\ntractor follows, putting in the seed.\nUrsula chases a flock of blackbirds off with a big rattle.\nEvery acre of ground for as far as the eye can see is under cultivation.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">They put in the wheat the other day. This will be the biggest\nyear ever. There was a scare\nwhen a locust turned up. Luckily it wasn't the bad kind.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">212\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The plows have turned up a hibernating locust. Chuck stands by the tractor, inspecting it under a magnifying glass. The creature nestles like a fossil in the black earth.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">They sleep in the ground for seventeen years, then crawl up\naround the end of May and spend a week flying around before they die.\nChuck kicks up the dirt around the plow, looking for others. Benson, back from exile, looks concerned.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Nothing to worry about. Just shows the land is good.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">213\tSERIES OF ANGLES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Various wonders of the prairie: a charred tree, a huge mastodon bone, a flowering bush, a pelican, the rusted hulk of an ancient machine, etc.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">How strange this new world is! You walk out in the morning\nsometimes to find a lake rippling where the day before solid land\nwas.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">214\tEXT. STONE BOAT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck has laid out the outline of a 50-foot boat in whitewashed stones. He walks around the imaginary deck showing Abby where the cabins will be.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Chuck wants to build a boat and take us off to Java, which he's\nnever seen.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">215\tEXT. FIELDS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Ursula goes out to the fields with an organist named JOEY\nwhom Chuck has hired to play for the crops. He and Ursula\nseem to hit it off.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Last month he brought in a kid to play the organ. He claims it\nhelps the crops grow. Personally I doubt it.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">216\tEXT. MIDDLE OF FIELDS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They have brought an organ out into the middle of the fields. Ursula pumps up the bellows. Joey sits in front of the keyboard and shoots his cuffs.\nHis fingers strike the keys.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">217\tCLOUDS, CLOSEUPS OF PLANTS - TIME LAPSE PHOTOGRAPHY (STOCK)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Clouds build in huge toadstools. Thunder rolls across the\nplains. A rain begins to fall. The music seems to work a magic on the crops, to draw them forth. The seeds germinate in the darkness of the\nsoil. Water finds its way down. Roots, tiny hairs at\nfirst, spread and grow.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">218\tDOLLS, TIGHT ANGLES ON THEIR FACES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Rude dolls fixed at the ends of pointed sticks--agricultural fetishes that Chuck's father brought with him from the Old World--stand around the field to join in aiding the crops.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">219\tEXT. BELVEDERE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Flags and bunting adorn the porch for Independence Day. Ursula sets off some fireworks.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Time has flown, and once again harvest is near.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">220\tEXT. GREEN FIELDS(TRIFFIDS)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The bald earth has, as though by a mystery, become a sheet of grain, its green already fading to gold. The music dies away, replaced by the whirr of summer crickets.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">It will be a year that we have been here.\nThe camera holds and holds on the fields until in their vacant depths, we begin to sense the presence of a deep malevolence, still biding its time but growing every minute.\nSeagulls--like strange emissaries from another world--glide back and forth over the fields in search of grasshoppers.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">221\tINT. LANTERN - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Ursula takes curling irons from the chimney of a lantern where she has set them to heat, and applies them to Abby hair.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Suppose I never fall in love, Abby?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't be silly. Everybody does. What do you think all those songs\nare about? You need to be careful, though, and not throw it away.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Throw what away?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You know, your chances. It's too hard to explain to a little\nsquirrel like you.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">That sounded just like Bill. Don't you miss him?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Sometimes.\nFrom her tone, however, we sense that she finds it easier with him gone.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">222\tINT. MASTER BEDROOM\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby whispers something to Chuck in bed that evening.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">You ever said that to anybody else?\nShe giggles.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're lying, aren't you? Well, go right on lying.\nThe camera moves to the window, beneath the eave. Outside, peacocks strut back and forth.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">223\tEXT. MUDDY ROAD\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill rides an Indian motorcycle along a muddy road back to the bonanza. His rabbit is strapped to the back. He stops for a moment to look at the new fields.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">224\tEXT. BELVEDERE - BILL'S POV\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby sings to herself as she beats out a carpet. Bill appears on the ridge behind her. Hope leaves him like a ghost. She looks happily settled into a new life with Chuck. All at once she turns around.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Bill!\nShe rushes up and embraces him, but her warmth just seems a tease to Bill. She is different. She looks different. The tutors and tailors Chuck has brought in over the winter have given her more polish. Her hair is nicely\ncoiffed. Where she used to dress in cotton shirtwaists, she wears crinolines now.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">How's everybody been?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Including me? Okay. Gee, you look good.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Thanks. And Chuck?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Still the same.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Actually I didn't mean it that way.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I came back to help out with the harvest.\nHe feels humiliated at not having a stronger excuse. But he loves her. He aches with love. He hoped their last fight was just another storm in the romance. Evidently it was more.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I thought about you a lot. Wrote you a letter, but it was no good, so I tore it up.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">How'd you come?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Train.\nHe looks her up and down.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Nice dress.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I'm glad you like it.\nHe admires her garden. His familiar cockiness vanishes as little by little he sees the old feeling is not there.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">This is new, too.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">The daffodils were already here, but I put in the rest. You\nreally do like them?\nAt a shriek from Ursula, Bill turns around. She runs into his arms, and covers him with kisses.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">I've missed you! I thought about you every day. You should've written. Did Abby show you what she got?\nAbby scowls at Ursula. With no choice but to show him, she opens the top button of her blouse and draws out a diamond necklace.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(apologetically)\n<P ID=\"dia\">For Christmas.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Plus a music box. He spoils her. Why don't they spoil me, too?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(whispering)\n<P ID=\"dia\">You oughta be glad you didn't have to spend the winter. You\nwould've gone crazy.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">225\tTIGHT ON ABBY\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The winter's peace is gone. Abby is sick with fear. Now that she loves Chuck, too, she can never again be honest with Bill. The truth of her feelings would crush him. Moreover, there's no telling how he might react. He could ruin everything, even get them killed.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">226\tEXT. BEDROOM WINDOW\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck looks on from behind the bedroom window.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">227\tEXT. DINNER TABLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They dine in awkward silence. Benson has joined them.\nAbby, for all her winter's polish, still eats with the back of her knife.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">How was Chicago?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Great.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">How's everybody doing?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Okay.\nThey are silent for a moment. Bill senses that nobody except Ursula is really glad to see him back.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">How's Blackie?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Still hasn't wised up. Know what I mean? He asked how you were\ndoing, though.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I told him. Ran into Sam, too. He'd been in a fight.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Oh yeah?\nBill can see that her interest is only polite. He knows that he should turn around and leave, but he cannot. The sight of him with his confidence gone is painful to behold.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">His nose was like this.\nHe pushes his nose to one side. Ursula and Abby laugh.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">228\tEXT. STOCK POND\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill plants willow slips in the soft earth by the stock pond. Ursula orders a dog around.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Look at this dog mind me. Sit! You've got to say it like hitting a nail.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Has she asked you anything about me?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">No.\nUrsula flirts with him, running the shoots along his back.\nShe waits to see what he will do. He gets up and after a short chase catches her. He holds her at arm's length for a moment, then kisses her.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">What'd you do that for?\nBill wonders himself. To get revenge on Abby? He touches her breast.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why not?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Cause there's nothing there.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I can be the judge of that.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Then ask first.\nHe kisses her neck.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Nobody has to know but us chickens.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">What do I have to say to convince you? You tell me, I'll say it.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">What makes you think I would?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Nothing.\nShe giggles and kisses him back. But guilt has caught up with him. He cannot go ahead.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's the matter?\nNo reply.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA \n<P ID=\"dia\">Maybe it would be wrong.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(disappointed)\n<P ID=\"dia\">You still love her, don't you?\nBill hums a rock off toward the horizon.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I should've gone in the church, like my father was after me to.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">229\tBILL'S POV - OUTSIDE THE BELVEDERE - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck and Abby sit in their cozy living room playing Parcheesi. The sound of their voices is muffled. The camera draws back to reveal Bill outside the window, watching.\nShe is comfortable with Chuck now. Apparently, he has lost his place in her heart. He wants to rush in and drag her away.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">230\tEXT. BEDROOM WINDOW - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Later that night he stands under the bedroom window and wonders at the meaning of the shadows that flicker across the ceiling. After a moment he withdraws into the darkness.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">231\tEXT. SMALL PRAIRIE TOWN (DUCK LAKE)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill has brought Abby into a nearby town to make some purchases. Dressed in a chauffeur's gown and goggles, he sits against the fender of the Overland watching her move from store to store. Ursula is with her.\nThe TOWNSPEOPLE all speak German. Their peasant costumes are freely mixed with Western dress. The signs are old German script. Two MEN carry a huge bulb through the street, to put atop a church.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">232\tOVERLAND AUTO\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby walks up with Ursula.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Listen, I'm going to stay and go back with the laundry wagon.\nAbby looks at Bill, then nods okay. Ursula runs off. Bill opens the door, and she gets in.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">233\tEXT. ROAD OUTSIDE TOWN (DUCK LAKE)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They are stopped on the road a hundred yards outside the town.\nAbby smokes as Bill checks the radiator. Something in his behavior leads us to suspect he may have staged this stop.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">How you been doing?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Me? Fine.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">We don't talk so much these days.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I know.\nShe knows what he wants. She cannot give it anymore.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I said a lot of stupid things before I went off.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(politely)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I forgot about it already.\nBill, trying his best to make peace with her, cannot help seeing that she would like to keep things as they are--and not because she harbors any grudge.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You've forgiven me?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">There was nothing to forgive.\nHe holds a bottle of liquor out to her.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What're you worried about?\nShe takes a swig. He laughs. She laughs back.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">So how'm I doing with you?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Fine.\nHe takes her hand and holds it like a trapped bird.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's happened?\nShe shrugs, disengaging her hand to brush aside her hair. She is painfully aware of his suffering but doesn't have the heart to tell him how it all is.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I probably ought to leave. I will.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Already? You just got here.\nShe hasn't really contradicted him. He leans forward as though to kiss her. She lets him. She wishes that she could give herself to him, but she doesn't know what is right. Then, a sudden impulse of panic, she gets up and backs away.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Where you going?\nHe reaches out to catch her. She breaks away and starts to run. He walks quickly after her, cutting off any escape toward the town.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why'd you have to come back?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I'm not going to hurt you. I only want to talk with you.\nShe stops and hides her face in her hands. He gently pulls them away.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I didn't come back to make trouble for you. I guess we were fooling\neach other to think it could last. I mean, What was I offering youanyhow? A ride to the bottom. Looking at you now, in the right clothes and everything, I see how crazy I was and--well, I understand. It's okay. I sort of cut my own throat, actually.\nHer eyes close and her legs give in. Bill lets her go and backs off a step in surprise. She sinks to the ground, as though in a trance.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">234\tTIGHT ON BILL\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill, taken by surprise, goes up and kneels down beside her. He looks to see that she is okay. He picks a fox-tail out of her hair. Her dress has worked up toward her knees. He pulls it back down. He wants to caress \nher face but hesitates.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">How'd we let it happen, Abby? We were so happy once. Why didn't we starve? I love you so much. What have1 done? You're so beautiful. What have I done?\nHe touches his lips for a fraction of a second to hers, notices another car approaching down the road. He picks her up like a doll and carries her back to the Overland.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">235\tEXT. BELVEDERE - CHUCK'S POV\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They have arrived back at the Belvedere.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I'm sorry.\nShe touches his face in a surge of sympathy. What has she done to him? He kisses her neck and leads her toward the front door.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">236\tCRANE TO CHUCK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The camera rises to the uppermost story of the Belvedere. Chuck has seen them. Hot tears leap to his eyes. Before Bill left for the winter he often observed such intimacies between them. Now it all looks different.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">237\tCHUCK'S POVS (HIGH ANGLES)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">He looks around at his estate--his barn, his auto, his great house and his granary. None of them is any consolation now. Far a moment it seems to him as though he lived here in some time long past.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">238\tINT. BEDROOM\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby notices Chuck watching her outside the bedroom door.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">You want something from me?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">No.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Will you hand me that magazine?\nHe gives her the magazine she wants.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's the matter?\nHe seems for a moment to consider telling her, then shrugs and goes downstairs.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">239\tINT. LIVING ROOM\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">He stumbles into a bird cage but hardly notices. The jostled birds raise a fuss.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">240\tEXT. FRONT PORCH\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">He runs into Bill on the front porch.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I've been looking for you. I have to take off again, real soon here, and...\nChuck puts a hand on Bill's shoulder, stopping him. They look at each other for a moment, then he passes on. Bill seems puzzled.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">241\tEXT. FIELDS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck walks out into the deep of his fields. The wheat, a warm dry gold, is almost ready to take in. He sits down and rests his head against a \nfurrow, powerless to think. The wind makes a song in the infinitude of sweet clicking heads.\nHe puts his hands over his heart and breathes in gasps, with the dumb honesty of a wounded animal. He could not himself quite say what it is that he knows.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">242\tEXT. BONANZA - SERIES OF ANGLES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Late that afternoon disaster strikes as a swarm of locusts sweeps down on the bonanza. We do not see where they come from. They seem to appear out of nowhere, unnoticed. Ursula works in the kitchen, Bill by the barn. Chuck lies asleep in the field, Abby upstairs in bed.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">243\tANIMALS ON BONANZA\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The animals sense it first. The buffalo move off in a mass. The horses become uncontrollable. One runs around the barn in a panic. Bill watches it, puzzled.\nTwo peacocks have a fight.\nA dog in the treadmill races in vain to escape, driving the machine to a feverish pitch. The shadow of a giant cloud licks over the hills.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">244\tEXT. FIELDS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Everything seems normal in the fields.\nThen, as you listen, a strange new sound begins to rise from them, a wild sea-like singing. As the camera moves over the fields and down into the wheat it swells in a crescendo until...\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">245\tTIGHT ON LOCUSTS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Suddenly we see them up close, devouring the stalks in a fever, the noise of their jaws magnified a thousand times.\nThey slip into the Belvedere, under the sash and wainscoting, turning up first in places it would seem they could never get into: a jewelry case, the back of a radio, the works of a music box, a bottle with a miniature ship inside, etc.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">246\tEXTREME CLOSEUPS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Their eyes are dumb and implacable. They seem to have a whole hidden life of their own.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">247\tINT. KITCHEN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Little by little they gather in numbers. Ursula first sees one on the drainboard. She swats it with a newspaper. Others sprout up. One by one she picks them up with a tongs and drops them into the stove. This method\nis too slow. She begins to use her fingers. She moves with a quick, nervous energy, even as she understands this is futile. At last claustro-phobia seizes her. She spins around with a shriek, lashing out at everything in sight.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">248\tINT. MASTER BEDROOM\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">In the bedroom overhead, Abby wakes up from one nightmare into another. She jumps out of bed and goes to the window. The locusts pelt against the pane like shot. She throws the bolt. Suddenly a crack shoots through the glass. She jumps back and watches in horror as a sliver of the pane falls in. They are free to enter.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">249\tSERIES OF ANGLES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Suddenly they are everywhere: on the clothesline, in the pantry, in hats and shoes and the seams of clothing. Not a nook or cranny is safe from penetration.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">250\tTIGHT ON CHUCK - SLOW MOTION\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck, asleep in the deep of the wheat, bolts up in slow motion. His hair is seething with them.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">251\tEXT. BONANZA - FURTHER ANGLES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Panic hits the bonanza. Workers tie string around their pant cuffs to keep the insects from crawling up their legs, then rush out to the fields with gongs, rattles, pot lids, scarecrows on sticks, drums and horns and \nother noisemakers to scare them off.\nSome pray. Others run around like madmen, stamping and yelling, ignored by the gathering host. A couple get into a fistfight.\nA storm flag is run up the flagpole. A tractor blasts out an S.O.S. The peacocks huddle under the stoop.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">252\tTIGHT ON CHUCK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck gives Benson his orders.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Offer fifty cents a bushel for them. Get out the reapers.\nSee what you can harvest.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">253\tHIGH DOWN ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The locusts snap through the air. Bill, swatting at them with a shovel, stops to gag. One has flown into his mouth.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">254\tTIGHT ON GEARS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They jam up the gears of the machinery with the crush of their bodies.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">255\tINT. MASTER BEDROOM\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby throws a sheet over herself, but they get in under it. She thrashes around madly, then with a cry goes limp.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">256\tCHUCK AND BENSON\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Benson reports back to Chuck. A team of horses races by, nearly bowling them over.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">We can't get the machines out. They're jamming up the gears.\nThere's a good chance they'll pass on south, though. Unless...\nunless a wind comes up.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">What happens then?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">They'll set down and walk in.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">257\tSIGNS OF DAMAGE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The locusts devour not just the crops but every organic thing: pitchfork handles, linens on the clothesline, leather traces, flowers in the window boxes, etc. Soon a large area of wheat is eaten down to stubble.\nBill looks away from a tree for a second. When he turns back it has been stripped to a wintry bareness.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">258\tEXT. WIND GENERATOR, OTHER ANGLES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The vanes of the wind generator begin gently to stir. Little by little the wind picks up. A dust devil spins across the yard. The grass lists by the well. A power line moans.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">259\tEXT. FIELDS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">As the sun dips below the horizon, the locusts pour in like a living river, walking along the ground like a procession of Army ants. The roar of their wings is deafening. The air hisses and pops with their electric frenzy.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">260\tSTOCK AND MATTE SHOTS - SUNSET\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">And these are but the advance elements of a main force which looms like a silver cloud on the horizon.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">261\tEXT. BONFIRE - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">WORKERS dump bushels of the insects into a bonfire. A MAN with an abacus keeps track of what each is owed.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">262\tSAME FIELDS - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The wind has picked up. Chuck, Bill and Abby have come out to the fields with a dozen WORKERS to investigate the extent of the damage. The insects buzz around blindly in the light of their lanterns, which they carry Japanese-fashion at the ends of cane poles.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">263\tTIGHT ON CHUCK - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck inspects the grain.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">There's nothing we can do but wait. They're either going to take it all or they're not.\nHe covers his face with his hands. The others shy back at this display of grief, startling in one so formal. Their jostled lanterns cast a dance of lights.\nBill, moved to real sympathy, takes him by the shoulders.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Come on. They might still lift. Hey, I've seen a wind like this lay\ndown and die. Don't give up now.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(ignoring him)\n<P ID=\"dia\">We could at least make sure they don't get the people on south.\nHe breaks open the mantle of his lantern, still unsure what he should do. Some of the flaming kerosene splashes onto the crops nearby, setting them ablaze. Bill drops his rattle and swats the fire out with his coat.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What're you doing? Watch it! What're you, crazy? There's\nstill a chance, don't you see?\nChuck goes to his horse. Bill grabs him by the sleeve. Does he really mean to set the fields on fire? Chuck pushes him aside. Bill, frantic, turns to the others for support.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Stop him, or it's all going up.\nThey, however, are too uncertain of their ground to intervene. Chuck turns on Bill.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">What does it matter to you?\nChuck slings fire out of the broken lantern onto the crops next to Bill -- a sudden, hostile gesture that catches them all by surprise. Independent of his will, the truth is forcing its way up, like a great blind fish from the bottom of the sea.\nHe slings the fire out again. A patch lands on Bill's pantleg. Bill slaps it out.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's got into you?\nThey stare at each other. Bill backs off like a cat, sensing Chuck knows the truth, but at a loss to understand how he could.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why do you care? I gave my life for this land.\nChuck walks towards him. Suddenly Bill turns and takes off running. Chuck swings at him with the lantern. Bill escapes behind the building wall of flame that springs up between them.\nThe whirr of the locusts stops for a moment--they seem at times to have a collective mind--then, just as mysteriously, resumes.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Stop, Chuck!\nChuck leaps on his horse. She tries to drag him off but is thrown aside and almost trampled underfoot. Now the others join in, trying to knock away the lantern or catch his stirrup. He eludes them and rides off after Bill, leaving a slash of flame behind him in the grain. They tear off their coats to swat it out, in vain--already it stretches a hundred yards.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">264\tBILL\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill runs through the night, still carrying his lantern. Chuck bears down on him. Abby chases along behind him, screaming for him to stop.\nBill realizes the lantern is giving his position away He blows it out and vanishes from sight. All we can see is the thundering horseman, sowing fire.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">265\tCRANE SHOT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">With a rough idea where Bill is, Chuck begins to lay a ring of fire around him, fifty yards in diameter.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">266\tBILL AND ABBY INSIDE RING\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby spots Bill against the flames. She rushes up, gasping. They have been caught inside the ring.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What're you doing? This is a bad place to talk\nHe throws his coat over Abby's head, picks her up by the waist and crashes through the flame. They have to shout to make themselves understood. The locusts roar like a cyclone.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Did you see that? He was trying to burn me. What's got into him?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">He knows. He must.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">A whole year's work. All wasted! These bugs, once they make up\ntheir minds...\nBill stalls. The fire races toward them through the wheat. They appear as silhouettes against it.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I need to get out of here. I think you probably should, too. \n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Hell of a life. Damned if you do and damned if you don't.\nHe leaves. Abby wonders if she ought to run after him.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY \n<P ID=\"dia\">Bill!\nBut this moment's hesitation has been too long. Already he is swallowed up in the night, her voice swept away in the roar of the flame and the locusts, who seem to wail louder now, and with a great mournfulness--like keening Arab women--as if they knew the fate shortly to envelop\nthem.\nAbby turns back. She, too, has reason to fear Chuck and must escape.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">267\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Benson rallies the workers.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">There's still a chance they're going to fly.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">VOICES\n<P ID=\"dia\">Get the tractor out! The pump wagon! Blankets!\nThey rush off to find equipment to fight the fire.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">268\tISOLATED ON CHUCK - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck rides through the dark like a lone Horseman of the Apocalypse, setting his fields on fire.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">269\tEXT. PLAINS ON FIRE - SERIES OF ANGLES - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Tractors attempt to plow a firebreak. Mad silhouettes run back and forth, slapping at the blaze with wet gunny sacks fixed to the ends of sticks. Two dormitories burn out of control.\nUrsula throws open the barn and lets the horses out. They have raised thunder kicking at their stalls. The light above the barn door pulses erratically.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">270\tEXPLOSIONS - NIGHT (MINIATURES)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Oil wells explode along the horizon. Huge balls of flames roll into the heavens.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">271\tEXT. BURNING PLAINS - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Panic spreads among the workers as the holocaust threatens to engulf them. They throw down their tools and run for their lives.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">272\tANIMALS - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Animals flee in all directions: birds and deer and rabbits, pigs, buffalo and the horses from the barn. The locusts mill around crazily on the wheat stalks, backlit against the flame.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">273\tBILL - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill, fleeing on his motorbike with his rabbit, holds up\nfor a moment to watch the fire--a Biblical inferno of spectacular sweep.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">274\tEXT. BEDROOM WINDOW--TRACKING SHOT (CHUCK'S POV)--NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">A single light burns in the Belvedere.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">275\tINT. BEDROOM - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Heaving with sobs, Abby throws her things into a bindle. She has lost Chuck forever. Their life is destroyed. She glances out the window. She still has time to get away, but she must hurry. She bolts for the door. Sud-\ndenly Chuck steps from the shadows, blocking her exit.\nHis face, black with soot, looks gruesome in the gas1ight. The locusts have chewed up his clothes.\nAbby is like a frightened deer. Did he see her packing?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">You look as though you'd seen a ghost.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Where you going?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Off with him?\nThe wind cuts gaps in the death wail of the locusts. From time to time we hear the thump of an exploding well.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">He's not your brother, is he?\nHow much does he know? She edges toward the door.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why do you say that?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Come here a minute. Who are you?\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(no reply)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Where'd you come from?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I told you.\nHe shakes her. She quivers like a child in his grasp. She no longer has the audacity to lie.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">How long have you known?\nHe drops his eyes. Shamefully long -- and his anger is partly just at this.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">What'd you want? He punches in the shade of a lamp, extinguishing it.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Tell me. He shoves over the chest of drawers. She does not move.\nHe tears down the drapes, already in shreds.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">This? Show me what you wanted! I would have given it all to you.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Please, Chuck. \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Please what? You're not going to tell me you're sorry, I hope..\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">But I am.\nOutside the window fires rage along half the horizon. He sits down. He wants to sob, but cannot.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're so wonderful. How could you do this?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I'm just no good. You picked me from the gutter, and this is\nhow -- I never deserved you.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(interrupting)\n<P ID=\"dia\">The things you told me.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I love you, though. You have to believe me. It may sound false after...\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(interrupting)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Down at the cave. Don't you remember? I believed them.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">All right. I'm going away. You'll never have to see me again.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Away?\nHe gets up, suddenly alarmed, walks to the mantel and opens a chest.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What're you doing?\nChuck drapes his neck with the stole he used in slaughtering the hog. Her face goes empty. He gets his razor strop from the shaving basin. She shrinks back in the corner. He looks at her for a moment, then leaves the room. \n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">276\tINT. STAIRCASE - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby pursues him down the stairs. He throws her aside.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Where are you doing? Chuck! What are you doing? I won't \nlet you! Come back!\nAgain he throws her aside, and again she keeps after him, desperate to prevent any harm coming to Bill. Finally he picks her up and drags her outside.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">277\tEXT. PORCH - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">He lashes her with a rope to a column of the porch. She struggles vainly to free herself. Does he intend to use the razor on her?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">No, Chuck! Please, darling! It wasn't his fault. It was mine.\nLet him go. I love you, Chuck. Do anything, only please... \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">I'm sick of hearing lies. \nHe stuffs a handkerchief in her mouth and leaves.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">278\tTIGHT ON CHUCK - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck wanders through the night with a lantern, calling his mare.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">279\tEXT. BURNT-OUT FIELDS - DAWN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Dawn breaks. Chuck rides over the burnt-out fields looking for Bill. The feet of his lank white mare are wrapped to the fetlock in wet burlap, to protect them from the smouldering grass. It prances warily along, without\nmaking a sound, wreathed in a mist of blue smoke. With him he carries a stool. The camera pans up to the smoke which is carrying his fortune off.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">280\tCHUCK'S POVS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Burnt, blind deer stand and look at him in utter terror, as though they understood his intentions. The roasted corpses of sharptail grouse, coyotes and badgers lie scattered here and there. Piles of dung burn on after the grass is out.\nA peacock from the Belvedere wanders around, angry and\nperplexed.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">281\tBILL\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill is repairing his motorbike by a rock in the middle of the scorched landscape. The tires are soft as licorice from the heat. Suddenly, he looks up. Chuck has found him.\nHe jumps behind the handlebars and fishtails off. Chuck breaks into a gallop, rides him down, knocks him to the ground with the stool, dismounts and stamps in the spokes of the front wheel to make sure he goes no further.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Who do you think you are? Now you've ruined it. What's got\ninto you?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK\n<P ID=\"dia\">Where you headed?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why do I have to tell you? I can come and go when I like.\nThis is still a free country, last I heard.\nBill stops when he sees the stool. Chuck calmly strops the razor on his stirrup flap. There are no secrets now.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">What can I say? Too late for apologies. You've got a right\nto hate me.\nChuck puts the razor away and advances on Bill with the stool.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I want to leave. You won't ever see me again. I already got what\nI deserve.\nThere is nothing Bill can say to appease him. This will be a fight to the death. Chuck lashes out with the stool. Bill ducks too late.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Watch it!\nChuck comes at him again. Bill throws a punch, but Chuck blocks it and knocks him down again with the stool.\nBill reels back and cracks his head on the bicycle frame. This time he stays down. Satisfied the struggle is over, Chuck goes back to get some rope.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">282\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck shuts his eyes to mumble a prayer of absolution--in Russian.\nBill in a panic, snaps a spoke out of the broken wheel and lays it against his sleeve.\nChuck moves in for the kill. Bill gets to his feet. He wants to run but fear makes his knees like water. Suddenly, they are face to face. Chuck swings at Bill with the stool but misses. Bill lifts the spoke above him and\ndrives it deep into Chuck's heart.\nChuck gasps. Bill seems just as shocked. Chuck sits down to determine the gravity of his injury. Blood jets rhythmically out the end of the spoke, as though from a straw. Bill circles him, unbelieving.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Should I pull it out?\nChuck puts his finger over the end of the spoke. Blood seeps out the side of his mouth, like sap from a broken stem.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I better get somebody.\nHe tries to catch the reins of Chuck's horse, but it shies out of reach, its conscience repelled. He looks back at Chuck in anguish. What has he done?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You were my friend.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">283\tTIGHT ON BILL AND HIS POVS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The Belvedere is visible on the horizon. Bill hesitates\na moment, then heads back on foot to find Abby. He gives\nChuck a wide berth.\nThen, on a ridge in the distance, he spots Benson.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Get a doctor! Fast!\nHow much did he see? Bill does not stay to find out but\ntakes off running, though not without first collecting his\nrabbit.\nBenson, meanwhile, bounds down the hill to Chuck's side.\nHis left sleeve has been burned away. The flesh beneath\nis the color of a raw steak.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">284\tCHUCK'S POVS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Chuck sees the smoke from his fields, the burnt deer,\na circling hawk.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">285\tTIGHT ON CHUCK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">He breathes in gulps. His eyes are blank, like a child's\nmarbles. He takes Benson's hand.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">CHUCK \n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(weakly)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Wasn't his fault. Tell her...forgive them.\nThe locusts can be heard no more. The prairie makes a\nsound like the ocean. Chuck turns his back and dies.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">286\tTIGHT ON BENSON\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Benson weeps. Whether or not he understood Chuck's last\nwishes, he seems unlikely to abide by them.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">287\tEXT. BELVEDERE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill finds Abby bound to the house like the figurehead\nof a ship. He cuts her loose. The ropes fall at her feet. She is free. \nThey look at each other for a moment.\nThen, in a rush of compassion for them all, she throws\nher arms around him.\nBill wonders if she is taking him back. Might their\ndifferences all have been a terrible misunderstanding?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">We have to hurry. Chuck's out looking right now. Oh, Bill,\nwhat have we done? He took his razor. We need to hurry. He\nmight be coming back any minute.\nBill mentions nothing of his encounter. She grabs her\nbindle, Bill a handful of silverware and an umbrella.\nAfter a moment's hesitation, he puts them back.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">288\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They run down to the barn, where the cars are stored.\nThe saplings in the front yard have been stripped even\nof their bark. Abby stops to look back at the Belvedere\none last time. Chuck does not want her anymore. How\ncould she expect him to?\nBill grabs her by the hand and tugs her along.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">289\tEXT. BARN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby throws open the doors of the barn. Bill cranks up\nthe engine of the Overland.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Will the cops be looking for us, too?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Probably.\nAbby stands in the door. She is reluctant to leave, though she \nknows they must.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Get in.\nShe notices that Bill's lip is cut, his shirt soaked with\nblood.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What happened to you? Where's this from?\nBill looks down. He forgot.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Had an accident.\nShe looks at him for a moment, not quite trusting this\nexplanation. The engine catches with a noise like start-\nled poultry. Bill gets behind the wheel. Just as they\nare pulling out of the garage, Ursula runs up, black \nas coal from battling the fire all night.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Where you going?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(breathless)\n<P ID=\"dia\">We got in a jam. You'll be safer here. Say we're headed for town.\nTake care of the rabbit, too. He's yours now. \n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's the matter?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL \n<P ID=\"dia\">Just do what I say. Why're you always arguing about everything?\nWait here till we get in touch.\nBill gives Ursula his wallet and a kiss. Abby gives her a hug.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">290\tEXT. BURNT GRASS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They roar off through the burnt grass of the prairie.\nAbby waves goodbye.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">291\tTHEIR POV (MOVING)\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">As they crest a ridge, Benson appears in front of them,\nwaving a hand to flag them down. Bill puts his foot on\nthe gas. Benson sees they are not going to stop and fires\nat then with a pistol. Bill grabs a shotgun from a scab-\nbard under the dash and fires back. Nobody is hurt.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's the matter with him?\nBill shrugs. Inside he feels a great relief. They are\nfree at last. At last he has her back.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">292\tEXT. BONANZA GATES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They veer off across the prairie, towards the Razumihin\ngates. The music comes up full.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">293\tEXT. SHACK ON RIVER\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They have come to a lone shack on the river, a drinking\nhouse for passing boatmen. They negotiate (in pantomime)\nwith the PROPRIETOR for a tiny steam boat moored at the\nend of the pier. When the car is not enough, Abby throws\nin her necklace.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">294\tABOARD THE BOAT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They board the boat and turn down stream. There is a phonograph \non board.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">295\tTIGHT ON NECKLACE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The necklace sparkles on the hood of the car--a hint\nthey are leaving behind evidence that could betray them.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">296\tEXT. BOAT ON RIVER - AND MOVING POVS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They glide along in the hush of evening. The reeds are\nfull of deer. Cranes, imprudently tame, dance on the\nsand bars.\nBill looks around in wonder. He knows these may be his\nlast days on earth. Abby throws a sounding line.\nA COUPLE from a local farm seeks privacy in the willows.\nOther BOATMEN glide past in silence. A CHILD plays a\nfiddle on the deck of a scow. HUNTERS creep along the\nshore in search of waterfowl.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">297\tEXT. CAMP - DUSK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill sleeps under a tarp. Abby looks out across the water\nand bursts into sobs. She has wronged Chuck and thrown\nher life away.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">298\tTHEIR POVS (MOVING) - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They shine a lamp into the murky depths and spear pickerel\nwith a hammered-out fork.\nStrange rocks loom up and give way to wide moonlit fields.\nThey have the sense of entering places where nobody has\nbeen since the making of the world.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">299\tEXT. FARMHOUSE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Four LAWMEN, in pursuit, interrogate some FARMERS. Have\nthey seen the two people standing by Chuck in his wedding\nportrait? Benson holds the bulky frame. There is a funereal \nborder of black crepe at the corners.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">300\tEXT. ABOARD THE BOAT - DUSK\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They drift idly on the flood. The phonograph is playing\nin the stern. Abby is back in trousers. Bill points to\na white house on the shore, an image of comfort and peace.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I used to want a set-up like that. Something like that, I thought,\nand you'd really have it made. Now I don't care. I just wish\nwe could always live this way.\nHe sees that her mind is somewhere else. He wants to tell\nher the truth about Chuck, for intimacy's sake, but it\nwould just put more of a cloud over everything. It might\neven cause her to hate him.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Maybe you want to write him a letter.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I hadn't thought of that.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You really do love him, don't you?\nShe does not reply.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">You want to go back?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(shaking her head)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Too late for that. I could never face him again.\nThey look at each other for a moment. He touches her face,\nto show that he does not hold it against her. She touches\nhim back. They only have each other now. They must save\nwhat moments they can.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Guess it's you and me again.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">301\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">On a sudden whim, Abby takes off her wedding bracelet\nand holds it over the water.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Watch this.\nBill is caught off guard. Before he can make a move she\nthrows it far out into the river. They laugh, without\nknowing why, at this extravagance.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">302\tEXT. SHORE .. TRACKING SHOTS\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They gather May apples and black haws. The music from\nthe phonograph comes up full.\nThey dig clams from a sand bar in a playful way. We are\nreminded of their first days on the harvest.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">303\tXT. UNDERGROWTH\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They make love in the undergrowth.\nAbby, afterwards, lies in a naked daze. The damp greens\nof the wilderness envelop her.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">304\tTHEIR POV - ON CITY ON RIVER - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Rounding a bend in the river that night, they come upon\nthe lights of a great city. They have doused the running\nlamp. Except for a faint groaning of the trees along the\nshore, the river is silent, conveying the sounds of the\ncity to them from across a great distance -- bells, joy-\nful voices, horns, the chirping of brakes, etc.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">305\tEXT. CITY STREETS AND THEIR POVS - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">They sneak down an alley.\nThere are signs of life behind a few windows, but the\ncity pursues its gaiety elsewhere.\nSuddenly, they come upon a POLICEMAN making his rounds.\nThey let him pass, then cut through a vacant lot back\nto the boat.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">306\tEXT. RIVER FRONT - DAY\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The next morning finds them camped in a thicket on the river\nfront below a factory.\nBill wakes up, mysteriously happy. Their blankets are heavy\nwith dew. Overhead, finches tilt from branch to branch. A\nlight wind rushes through the leaves. Whatever his trou-\nbles, they seem very small to him in the great. scheme of\nthings.\nHe looks at Abby, mouthing silent words in her sleep.\nHe puts on a white scarf and starts down to the boat. The\nslope is strewn with sodden cartons, burnt bricks and burst\nmattresses, an avalanche of urban excreta.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">307\tHIS POV\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abruptly he stops. Two POLICE OFFICERS are combing over the\nboat. They have not seen him. He edges back. Suddenly, there is yelling on the hill above them. Bill looks up. Benson is calling him to the attention of a car-load of POLICEMEN pulling up beside him. The Officers at the boat now spot him, too, and open fire. Bill darts like\na rabbit into the thicket.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">308\tTIGHT ON ABBY\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby bolts awake. Bill jumps down beside her, breathless,\nand begins looking frantically for the shells to his shotgun.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">What's going on?\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Keep down. Can't explain now. They're here.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Who? What're you talking about? Stop a minute.\nHe covers her with his body as bullets zoom through the\nundergrowth. His face is close to hers. She bursts into\ntears.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">Don't get shot. Look for me under that next bridge down. \nAfter dark.\nHe empties out the contents of his pockets -- a watch, a\ncouple of dollars in change, a ring -- and slaps them down\nin front of her.\nThe Police fan out along the ridge above them. He jams a\nflare pistol into his belt and kisses her goodbye--after\na moment's hesitation -- on the cheek. She tries in vain\nto hold him back.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BILL\n<P ID=\"dia\">I wish I could tell you how much\nI love you.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">309\tEXT. MUD FLAT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill runs from the thicket down to the water. The Police\nhave bunched on the other side. It seems he might be able\nto escape. Keeping low, he splashes across a mud flat.\nSuddenly he runs into a trot line that a fisherman has\nleft out overnight. The hooks bite into his thigh and\nshoulder, yanking a string of startled, thrashing catfish\nout of the water.\nHe keeps running in a panic, not realizing the line is\nstaked to the shore. All at once, he jackknifes in the\nair. The stake twangs loose. The Police now spot him \nand begin firing.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">310\tTIGHT ON ABBY\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby runs out of hiding, thinking at first that the Police\nmust be looking for her.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">Why're you shooting? You'll kill him! Have you gone crazy? \nStop! Oh, Bill, not you! Not you!\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">311\tNEW ANGLE\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill stumbles along, trying to rip the hooks from his\nflesh, but the fish--fighting their way back to the\nwater--only drive them in deeper.\nAhead two MOUNTED POLICE surge into the river, blocking\nhis retreat.\nHe empties his shotgun at them and throws it away. They\nhold up, astonished. He dashes across a sand bar for the\ndeep of the river and comparative safety. Black mud clings\nto his feet, drawing him down like a fly in molasses.\nBenson goes running out into the river ahead of the Police.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">BENSON\n<P ID=\"dia\">Leave him alone. I want him. Leave him alone.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(firing)\n<P ID=\"dia\">There you go! There you go!\nHe shoots Bill down. Bill turns and looks at him in sur-\nprise. Benson shoots him again, point blank.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">312\tUNDERWATER SHOT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Bill's blood fades off quickly in the gliding water of the\nriver. The line of frightened catfish dances out behind\nhim like a garland.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">313\tOTHER ANGLES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">A dog trots off in alarm.\nBenson wades into shore, tears streaming down his face,\nhis chest heaving with emotion.\nAbby falls to the ground in a convulsion of grief.\nA short way down the river PEOPLE come and go along the\nbridge where they were to meet.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">314\tISOLATED ON ROLLER PIANO\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">A roller piano sits in a corner by itself, playing a fox-\ntrot. The camera moves back.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">315\tINT. ARBORETUM - ATTIC\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">YOUNG DANCERS are learning the foxtrot in the attic of the\nArboretum, a tacky Western version of an Eastern finishing\nschool. The steps are painted on the floor as white footprints.\nAbby is apparently enrolling Ursula here. The headmistress, \nMADAME MURPHY, boasts of the school's achievements. \nUrsula looks trapped. Abby checks her watch.\nShe must go.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">316\tEXT. BRICK STREET\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby and Ursula walk down an empty street. Abby wears a\nmourning band on her sleeve. She is under the false im-\npression that Ursula likes her new home. An INDIAN PORTER\ncarts her bags along behind them in a wheelbarrow.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">They'll teach you poise, too, so you can walk in any room you \nplease. Pretty soon you'll know all kind of things.\n<P ID=\"spkdir\">(pause)\n<P ID=\"dia\">I never read a whole book till I was fifteen. It was by Caesar.\nThey laugh at her careful pronunciation of \"Caesar.\"\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">317\tEXT. TRAIN STATION\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby's train is about to leave. The CONDUCTOR walks by\nblowing a whistle. A five-piece BAND plays Sousa airs.\nThey are practically the only civilians on the platform.\nThe rest are SOLDIERS bound for Europe, where America has\njust entered the War, on fire with excitement and a sense\nof high adventure.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">I like your hat.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">It doesn't seem like a bird came down and landed on my head?\nAbby takes the hat off and gives it to Ursula, who lately\nhas begun to take more trouble with her appearance, comb-\ning her hair free of its usual snarls. They laugh at their reflection\nin a window of the train.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">I hardly ever wear it. Be sure and write every week.\nSignals nod. A lamp winks. There are leave-takings up\nand down the platform as the train slides away. Abby hops\non board. A SOLDIER next to her sheds bitter tears.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">You write me, too!\nThey wave goodbye.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">318\tEXT. ARBORETUM - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Late that evening Ursula lowers herself out a third-floor\nwindow of the Arboretum with a rope made of bedsheets.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">319\tTIGHT ON GIRLS AT WINDOW\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The other GIRLS stand in their nightgowns and wave good-\nbye, amazed at her boldness.\nShe slips off into the night.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">320\tEXT. BACKSTAGE DOOR - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Ursula looks in a backstage door. She can see, through\nthe wings, a MAN dancing on stage. There is a feeling of\nmad excitement about the place.\nThe person she is looking for is not here, however.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">321\tEXT. ALLEY - URSULA'S THEME - NIGHT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">She runs down an alley. A man steps out of the shadows--\nGeorge, the pilot. She throws herself in his arms. This\nis our first sight of him since he left the bonanza.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">You're here! Oh, hug me!\nThey kiss madly, with mystery. The moonlit, midsummer night thrums\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Aren't we happy? Oh, George, has anybody ever been this happy?\nHe rocks her back and forth in his arms. They laugh,\nthinking what lucky exceptions they are to the world's\nmisery.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">Hurry. They'll be looking for me.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">322\tEXT. AIRPLANE - DAWN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">George bundles Ursula, giggling, into a biplane.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">URSULA\n<P ID=\"dia\">This doesn't even belong to you. Suppose they catch us?\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">323\tEXT. PASTURE -- DAWN\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">From a pasture outside town the plane rises into the vast dawn sky.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">324\tINT. TEXTILE FACTORY\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">Abby changes bobbins on a huge loom. A pall of lint and\nanonymous toil hangs over the factory. Down the way a\nhandsome MALE WORKER smiles at her. She smiles back,\ninterested.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY\n<P ID=\"dia\">It seems an age we've been apart, and truly is for those who\nlove each other so. Whenever shall we meet?'\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">325\tTIGHT ON MACHINERY\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The shuttle rockets back and forth. Off camera we hear\nAbby reading what seems part of a letter to Ursula.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">Soon, I hope, for by and by we'll all be gone, Urs. Does\nit really seem as though we might?'\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">326\tUNDERWATER SHOT\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">We look from the bottom of a river up toward the light. \nIn the foreground, dangling from the tip of a submerged\nlimb, is the bracelet Abby threw away.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">'The other day I tried to think how I'd look laid out in a solemn\nwhite gown. Closing my eyes I could almost hear you tiptoe inlook down in my face, so deep asleep, so still.\n</p><p><p ID=\"slug\">327\tEXT. FIELDS - SERIES OF ANGLES\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">The PEOPLE of the Razumihin rebuild the land -- raising\nfences and sinking a well, plowing down the stubble and\nputting in the seed.\n</p><p><P ID=\"speaker\">ABBY (o.s.)\n<P ID=\"dia\">'I went to Lincoln Park Zoo the other day. It was great as usual.\nI enclose a check.'\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">An ANONYMOUS YOUNG MAN, standing on a carpet \nof new-sprung wheat, looks up with a start. From the \ndistance comes a ghostly noise--the call of the prairie \nchickens at their spring rites. He listens for just a moment, \nthen returns to work.\n</p><p><p ID=\"act\">THE END</p>"},"answers":{"kind":"list like","value":["Bill"],"string":"[\n \"Bill\"\n]","isConversational":false},"length":{"kind":"number","value":31699,"string":"31,699"},"dataset":{"kind":"string","value":"narrativeqa"},"language":{"kind":"string","value":"en"},"all_classes":{"kind":"null"},"_id":{"kind":"string","value":"9b448b0d8f056d1ddebb9503e4560a913dc529309759b358"}}},{"rowIdx":1793,"cells":{"input":{"kind":"string","value":"What are the names of the two teenagers of this story? "},"context":{"kind":"string","value":"<b> THE RING\n</b>\n Original screenplay by Takahashi Hiroshi\n Based upon the novel by Suzuki Kouji\n\n\n This manuscript is intended for informational \n purposes only, and is a fair usage of copyrighted\n material.\n\n Ring (c) 1995 Suzuki Kouji\n Ring feature film (c) 1998 Ring/Rasen Committee\n Distributed by PONY CANYON\n\n\n Adapted/ Translated by J Lopez\n\n http://www.somrux.com/ringworld/\n\n<b> ---\n</b>\n\n Caption-- September 5th. Sunday.\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD TOMOKOS ROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\n CLOSEUP on a TELEVISION SET. Theres a baseball game on, but the sound \n is turned completely down. Camera PANS to show two cute high school \n girls, MASAMI and TOMOKO. Masami is seated on the floor at a low coffee \n table, TEXTBOOK in front of her. Tomoko is at her desk. There are SNACKS \n all over the room, and its obvious there hasnt been much studying going \n on. Masami is currently in mid-story, speaking excitedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\tThey say that some elementary school \n\t\tkid spent the night with his parents \n\t\tat a bed and breakfast in Izu. The kid\n\t\twanted to go out and play with everybody, \n\t\tright, but he didnt want to miss the \n\t\tprogram he always used to watch back in \n\t\tTokyo, so he records it on the VCR in \n\t\ttheir room. But of course the stations \n\t\tin Izu are different from the ones in \n\t\tTokyo. In Izu, it was just an empty \n\t\tchannel, so he shouldve recorded\n\t\tnothing but static. But when the kid \n\t\tgets back to his house and watches the \n\t\ttape, all of a sudden this woman comes \n\t\ton the screen and says--\n\n Masami points so suddenly and dramatically at her friend that Tomoko \n actually jumps in her seat.\n\n\t\t\t\tMASAMI (contd)\n\t\tOne week from now, you will die.\n\n Short silence as Masami pauses, relishing the moment.\n\n\t\t\t\tMASAMI (contd)\t\n\t\tOf course the kids completely \n\t\tfreaked, and he stops the video. \n\t\tJust then the phone rings, and when he \n\t\tpicks it up a voice says--\n\n Her voice drops voice almost to a whisper.\n\n\t\t\t\tMASAMI (contd)\t\n\t\tYou watched it, didnt you? That \n\t\tsame time, exactly one week later... \n\t\thes dead!\n\n Masami laughs loudly, thoroughly enjoying her own performance. \n Tomoko, however, is completely silent. She begins looking more \n and more distressed, until finally Masami notices.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\tWhat is it, Tomoko?\n\n Tomoko comes out of her chair and drops onto the floor next to her \n friend. Her words are quick, earnest.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tWho did you hear that story from?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\tWho? Its just a rumor. Everybody \n\t\tknows it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tYouko told you?\t\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tNo, it wasnt Youko...\n\n Tomoko looks away, worried. Masami slaps her on the knee, \n laughing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\tWhats up with you?\n\n Tomoko speaks slowly, still looking away.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tThe other day, I... I watched this \n\t\tstrange video.\n<b>\t\t\n</b><b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\tWhere?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\t\n</b>\t\tWith Youko and them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\t\t(excited) \n\t\tSo thats what Ive been hearing \n\t\tabout you doing some double-date/\n\t\tsleepover thing! So, you and that \n\t\tguy Iwata, huh? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\t\n</b>\t\tNo, its not like that. Nothing \n\t\thappened!\n\n Their eyes meet and Tomoko half-blushes, looks away again. Her \n expression becomes serious as she resumes her conversation.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tIwata... he found this weird video. \n\t\tEveryone was like, Whats that? so \n\t\the put it on and we all watched it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\t\t(quietly) \n\t\tAnd? What kind of video was it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tJust... weird, I cant really explain \n\t\tit. Anyway, right after we finished \n\t\twatching it, the phone rang. Whoever\n\t\tit was didnt say anything, but still...\n\n Silence. Masami curls up on herself, thoroughly spooked. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tJesus.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b> \t\tIt's cuz, you know, we'd all heard the \n\t\trumors.\n\nTomoko looks seriously over at her friend.\n\n\t\t\t\tTOMOKO (cont'd)\n\t\tThat was one week ago today.\n\n There is a long, heavy silence as neither of them says anything.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI \t\n</b>\t\tWaaait a minute. Are you faking me \n\t\tout?\n\n Tomokos face suddenly breaks into a smile. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\t\n</b>\t\tBusted, huh?\n\n They both crack up laughing. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\tOh, my... I cant believe you! \n\n Masami reaches out, slaps her friend on the knee.\n\n\t\t\t\tMASAMI (contd)\n\t\tYoure terrible!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tGotcha!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\t\t(thinking) \n\t\tBut hang on... you really stayed\n\t\tthe night with Youko and Iwata, \n\t\tright?\n\n Tomoko nods, uh-huh. Masami dives forward, pinching her friends \n cheeks and grinning wildly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tSo, how far did you and he get?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO \t\n</b>\t\tOh... I cant remember.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tYou cant remember, huh?\n\n Masami laughs, then slaps Tomoko on the knee again as she remembers \n the trick her friend played on her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tMan, you had me freaked me out. \n<b>\t\tI--\n</b>\n Just at that moment, the phone RINGS. They are both suddenly, \n instantly serious. Tomokos eyes go off in one direction and she \n begins shaking her head, -No-. Masami looks over her shoulder, \n following her friends gaze. \n\n Tomoko is looking at the CLOCK, which currently reads 9:40.\n\n The phone continues to ring. Tomoko is now clutching tightly onto her \n friend, looking panicked.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\n</b>\t\t\t(softly) \n\t\tWas it true?\n\n Tomoko nods her head, still holding on tightly. Masami has to \n forcibly disengage herself in order to stand. The phone is downstairs, \n so Masami opens the bedroom DOOR and races down the STAIRS. Tomoko \n calls out to her from behind.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tMasami!\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD STAIRCASE - NIGHT \n</b>\n Tomoko and Masami run down the staircase, through the hallway towards \n the kitchen. Tomoko cries out again just before they reach the kitchen.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\t\n</b>\t\tMasami!\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD KITCHEN - NIGHT \n</b>\n Masami has come to a halt before a PHONE mounted on the wall. She \n pauses, looking slowly at her friend, then back to the phone. She \n takes it tentatively from its cradle, answers it wordlessly. The \n tension continues to mount as nothing is said. Masami suddenly breaks \n into a huge grin.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tIll put her on.\n\n Still grinning, she hands the phone to Tomoko. Tomoko snatches it \n quickly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\t\t(softly) \n\t\tYes?\n\n She is silent for a moment, then smiling widely. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\tOh, man!\n\n She is so relieved that all the strength seeps out of her and she \n sinks to the kitchen floor. Masami, equally relieved, slides down \n the wall and sits down next to her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\n</b>\t\t\t(on the phone) \n\t\tYeah, Ive got a friend over now. \n\t\tYeah. Yeah, OK. Bye.\n\n Tomoko stands to place the phone back in its wall cradle, and then \n squats back down onto the kitchen floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\t\n</b>\t\tThe games gone into overtime, so \n\t\ttheyre gonna be a little late. \n\n They burst out laughing with relief again, and are soon both \n clutching their stomachs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\t\n</b>\t\tJeeezus, my parents...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tOh man, Im tellin everybody about \n\t\tthis tomorrow!\n\n Tomoko shakes her head, -Dont you dare-.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMASAMI\t\n</b>\t\tIm gonna use your bathroom. Dont \n\t\tgo anywhere.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO\t\n</b><b>\t\tK.\n</b>\n Masami walks out of the kitchen. Alone now, Tomoko stands and walks \n toward the SINK, where she takes a GLASS from the DISH RACK. She \n then goes to the FRIDGE and sticks her face in, looking for something \n to drink. Suddenly there is the SOUND of people clapping and \n cheering. Tomoko, startled, peers her head over the refrigerator \n door to check for the source of the sound. \n\n She begins walking slowly, following the sound to the DINING ROOM \n adjacent the kitchen. \n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - DINING ROOM - NIGHT \n</b>\n The lights are off, and there is no one in the room. Tomoko pauses a \n moment, bathed in the garish LIGHT from the TV, which has been switched\n on. Playing is the same baseball game they had on the TV upstairs; the \n same game that Tomokos parents are currently at. The VOLUME is up \n quite high.\n\n A puzzled look on her face, Tomoko takes the REMOTE from the coffee \n table and flicks the TV off. She walks back to the kitchen.\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD KITCHEN - NIGHT \n</b>\n A bottle of SODA that Tomoko had earlier taken from the fridge is on \n the kitchen table. She picks the bottle up, pours herself a drink. \n Before she can take a sip, however, the air around her becomes suddenly \n charged, heavy. Her body begins to shiver as somewhere out of sight \n comes a popping, crackling SOUND underscored by a kind of GROANING. \n Trembling now, Tomoko spins around to see what she has already felt \n lurking behind her. She draws in her breath to scream.\n\n The screen goes white, and fades into:\n\n<b> CAMERA POV \n</b>\n The screen is filled with the visage of a nervous-looking YOUNG GIRL. \n She is being interviewed by ASAKAWA, a female reporter seated offscreen.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA (O.S.)\n</b>\t\tThere seems to be a popular rumor \n\t\tgoing around about a cursed \n\t\tvideotape.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG GIRL\t\n</b>\t\tUh-huh.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tHave you heard what kind of video \n\t\tit might be?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG GIRL\t\n</b>\t\tUh-huh.\n\n The girl looks directly at the camera, her mouth dropping into an O \n as shes suddenly overcome by a kind of stage fright. She continues \n staring, silently, at the camera.\n\n<b> INT. COFFEE SHOP - DAY \n</b>\n KOMIYA, the cameraman, has lowered his camera. We can now see that \n the young girl being interviewed is seated at a table between two \n friends, a SHORT-HAIRED GIRL (GIRL#2) and a LONG-HAIRED GIRL (GIRL #3). \n They are all dressed in the UNIFORMS of junior high school students. \n Opposite them sits Komiya and Asakawa, a pretty woman in her mid-\n twenties. A BOOM MIKE GUY stands to the left.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\t\n</b>\t\tUh, dont look right at the camera, \n<b>\t\tOK?\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG GIRL\t\n</b>\t\tSorry.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tLets do it again.\n\n Asakawa glances over her shoulder, makes sure that Komiya is ready.\n\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHave you heard what kind of video \n\t\tit might be?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG GIRL\n</b>\t\tWhat I heard was, all of a sudden \n\t\tthis scaaarry lady comes on the\n\t\tscreen and says, In one week, you\n\t\twill die.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL #2\t\n</b>\t\tI heard that if youre watching TV \n\t\tlate at night itll come on, and\n\t\tthen your phonell ring.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tWatching TV late at night... do you\n \t\tknow what station?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL #2\t\n</b>\t\tMmmm... I heard some local station, \n\t\taround Izu.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tIzu?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL #2\t\n</b>\t\tMmm-hmm.\t\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tAnd, do you know if anyones really \n\t\tdied from watching it?\n\n The girl flashes a look at her two friends.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG GIRL\n</b>\t\tWell, no one that we know, right?\n\n Girl #2 nods her head. Girl #3 nods slowly, opens and closes her \n mouth as if deciding whether to say something or not. The \n reporter notices. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWhat is it?\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL #3\n</b>\t\tI heard this from a friend of mine \n\t\tin high school. She said that there \n\t\twas this one girl who watched the \n\t\tvideo, and then died a week later. \n\t\tShe was out on a drive with her \n\t\tboyfriend.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tThey were in a wreck?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL #3\n</b>\t\tNo, their car was parked, but they \n\t\twere both dead inside. Her \n\t\tboyfriend died because hed watched \n\t\tthe video, too. Thats what my \n\t\tfriend said.\n\n Girl #3 grows suddenly defensive.\n\n\t\t\t\tGIRL #3 (contd)\t\n\t\tIts true! It was in the paper two \n\t\tor three days ago.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tDo you know the name of the high \n\t\tschool this girl went to?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL #3\n</b>\t\tNo... I heard this from my friend, \n\t\tand it didnt happen at her school. \n\t\tShe heard it from a friend at a \n\t\tdifferent school, she said.\n\n<b> INT. NEWS STATION DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa is seated at her DESK. The station is filled with PEOPLE, \n scrabbling to meet deadlines. Komiya walks up to Asakawas desk \n and holds out a MANILA FOLDER.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\t\n</b>\t\tMrs. Asakawa?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHm?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\t\n</b>\t\tHere you are.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t\t(taking the folder) \n\t\tThanks.\n\n Komiya has a seat.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\t\n</b>\t\tThis same kind of thing happened \n\t\tabout ten years ago too, didnt it? \n\t\tSome popular young singer committed \n\t\tsuicide, and then suddenly there was \n\t\tall this talk about her ghost showing\n\t\tup on some music show.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tBut I wonder what this rumors all \n\t\tabout. Everyone you ask always \n\t\tmentions Izu.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\t\n</b>\t\tMaybe thats where it all started. \n\t\tHey, where was that Kuchi-sake\n\t\tOnna * story from again?\n\n\n >* Literally Ripped-Mouth Lady, a kind of ghastly spectre from \n >Japanese folk stories who wears a veil to hide her mouth, which \n >has been ripped or cut open from ear to ear. She wanders the \n >countryside at night asking men Do you think Im beautiful? then \n >lowering her veil to reveal her true features.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tGifu, but there was some big \n\t\taccident out there, and that ended\n\t\tup being what started the rumor. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\n</b>\t\tA big accident?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tMmm-hmm. Something terrible like \n\t\tthat is going to stay in peoples \n\t\tminds. Sometimes the story of what \n\t\thappened gets twisted around, and \n\t\tends up coming back as a rumor like \n\t\tthis one. Thats what they say, at \n\t\tleast.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\n</b>\t\tDyou think something like that \n\t\thappened out at Izu?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tMaybe. Well, anyway, Im off. See you\n\t\ttomorrow.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tKOMIYA\n</b>\t\tSee you.\n\n Asakawa gets up from her desk and begins walking towards the exit. \n She takes only a few steps before noticing a RACK of recent DAILY \n<b> EDITIONS. \n</b>\n She takes one from the rack, sets it on a nearby TABLE. She begins \n flipping the pages, and suddenly spies this story: \n\n<b> STRANGE AUTOMOBILE DEATH OF YOUNG COUPLE IN YOKOHAMA\n</b>\n The bodies of a young man and woman were discovered in their \n passenger car at around 10 A.M. September 6th. The location was a \n vacant lot parallel to Yokohama Prefectural Road. Local authorities \n identified the deceased as a 19-year old preparatory school student \n of Tokyo, and a 16-year old Yokohama resident, a student of a \n private all-girls high school. Because there were no external \n injuries, police are investigating the possibility of drug-induced \n suicide...\n\n Just then two men walk by, a GUY IN A BUSINESS SUIT and a youngish \n intern named OKAZAKI. Okazaki is carrying an armload of VIDEOTAPES.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGUY IN SUIT\n</b>\t\tOK, Okazaki, Im counting on you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\t\n</b>\t\tYessir.\n\n The guy in the suit pats Okazaki on the shoulder and walks off. \n\n Okazaki turns to walk away, spots Asakawa bent over the small table \n and peering intently at the newspaper article.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\t\n</b>\t\tMiss Asakawa? I thought you were \n\t\tgoing home early today.\n\n Asakawa turns around and begins speaking excitedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tOkazaki, can I ask you a favor?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\n</b>\t\tSure.\n\n Asakawa points to the newspaper.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tCould you check out this article \n\t\tfor me? Get me some more info.?\t\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\n</b>\t\tI guess...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tGood. Call me as soon as you know \n\t\tmore, OK?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\t\n</b>\t\tMaam.\n\n Asakawa walks off. Okazaki, still carrying the videotapes, leans \n forward to take a look at the article.\n<b> \n</b><b> EXT. APARTMENT PARKING LOT - DAY \n</b>\n Asakawa drives her car into the lot and parks quickly. She gets \n out, runs up the STAIRCASE to the third floor. She stops in front \n of a door, sticks her KEY in the lock, and opens it.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM DAY\n</b>\n A BOY of about 7 is sitting in an ARMCHAIR facing the veranda. We \n can see only the back of his head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tYoichi!\n\n Hearing his name, the boy puts down the BOOK he was reading and \n stands up, facing the door. He is wearing a white DRESS SHIRT with \n a brown sweater-type VEST over it. He sees Asakawa, his mother, \n run in the door. She is panting lightly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tSorry Im late. Oh, youve already \n\t\tchanged.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\n</b>\t\tYup. \n\n He points over to his mothers right.\n\n\t\t\t\tYOICHI (contd)\n\t\tI got your clothes out for you.\n\n Asakawa turns to see a DARK SUIT hanging from one of the living \n room shelves. She reaches out, takes it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tAargh, weve gotta hurry!\n\n She runs into the next room to change.\n\n<b> INT. BEDROOM DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa has changed into all-black FUNERAL ATTIRE. Her hair is \n up, and she is fastening the clasp to a pearl NECKLACE. Yoichi is \n still in the living room.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tDid grandpa call?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tNope.\n\n Yoichi walks into the room and faces his mother.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tWhy did Tomo-chan die? *\n\n\n >* -chan is a suffix in Japanese that denotes closeness or affection. \n >It is most often used for young girls, though it can also be used for \n >boys.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWell... it looks like she was really, \n\t\treally sick.\n\n She takes a seat on the bed.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWill you do me up?\n\n Yoichi fastens the rear button of his mothers dress and zips her up. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tYou can die even if youre young?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIf its something serious... well, yes.\n\n Asakawa turns to face her son, puts an arm around him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tAs hard as it is for us, what your \n\t\tauntie and uncle are going through \n\t\tright now is even harder, so lets \n\t\tnot talk about this over there, OK?\n\n Yoichi nods.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t\t(remembering)\n\t\tYou and her used to play a lot \n\t\ttogether, didnt you?\n\n Yoichi says nothing.\n\n<b> EXT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - NIGHT \n</b>\n RED PAPER LANTERNS mark this place as the site of a wake. Several \n GIRLS in high school uniforms are standing together and talking in \n groups. Asakawa and Yoichi, walking hand in hand, enter the house.\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - NIGHT \n</b>\n There are many PEOPLE milling about, speaking softly. A MAN seated \n at a counter is taking monetary donations from guests and entering \n their information into a LEDGER. Asakawa and Yoichi continue walking, \n down a hallway.\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - NIGHT \n</b>\n Mother and son halt before the open DOOR to the main wake room, where \n guests may show their respects to the departed. The room is laid in \n traditional Japanese-style tatami, a kind of woven straw mat that \n serves as a carpet. Two GUESTS, their shoes off, are kneeling upon \n zabuton cushions. \n\n Kneeling opposite the guests is KOUICHI, Asakawas father. The two \n guests are bowing deeply, and Kouichi bows in response.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tDad.\n\n Kouichi turns to see her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\n</b>\t\tAh!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHow is sis holding up?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\n</b>\t\tShes resting inside right now. \n\t\tShes shaken up pretty badly, you \n\t\tknow. Its best she just take \n\t\tthings easy for a while.\n\n Asakawa nods.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIll go check on auntie and them, \n\t\tthen.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\n</b>\t\tOK. Ah, Yoichi. Why dont you sit \n\t\there for a little while?\n\n He grabs the young boy and seats him on a cushion next to the two guests. \n As the guests resume their conversation with Asakawas father, Yoichis \n eyes wander to the ALTAR at the front of the room set up to honor the \n deceased. It is made of wood, and surrounded by candles, flowers, and \n small paper lanterns. At the center is a PICTURE of the deceased, a \n teenage girl. A small wooden PLAQUE reads her name: Tomoko Ouishi. It \n is the same Tomoko from the first scene.\n\n Yoichi continues to stare at Tomokos picture. He makes a peculiar \n gesture as he does so, rubbing his index finger in small circles just \n between his eyes.\n\n<b> INT. HALLWAY NIGHT\n</b>\n Asakawa walks down the hallway, looking for her aunt. She walks until \n finding the open doorway to the kitchen. There are a few people in \n there, preparing busily. Asakawa sees her AUNT, who rushes into the \n hallway to meet her, holds her fast by the arm. The aunt speaks in a \n fierce, quick whisper.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tAUNT\t\t\n</b>\t\tHave you heard anything more about \n\t\tTomo-chans death?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tNo, I...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tAUNT\t\t\n</b>\t\tBut the police have already finished \n\t\ttheir autopsy!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWell, they said there was no sign of \n\t\tfoul play.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tAUNT\t\n</b>\t\t\t(shaking her head) \n\t\tThat was no normal death. They havent \n\t\tonce opened the casket to let us see\n\t\tthe body. Dont you think thats \n\t\tstrange?\n<b> \n</b> Asakawa looks away, thinking.\n\n<b> INT. HALLWAY NIGHT\n</b>\n Yoichi has wandered off by himself. He stops at the foot of the \n steps, looking up-- and catches a glimpse of a pair of BARE FEET \n running up to the second floor. \n\n A guarded expression on his face, Yoichi walks slowly up the \n stairs. \n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - TOMOKOS BEDROOM - NIGHT \n</b>\n Yoichi has wandered into Tomokos bedroom. The lights are all off, \n and there is an eerie feel to it. Yoichis eyes wander about the \n room, finally coming to rest on the TELEVISION SET. Suddenly, he \n hears his mothers voice from behind him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKWAWA (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tYoichi?\n\n Yoichi turns to face her as she approaches, puts an arm around him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWhat are you doing up here? You\n\t\tshouldnt just walk into other \n\t\tpeoples rooms.\n\n Without replying, Yoichis gaze slowly returns to the television \n set. Asakawa holds him by the shoulders, turning him to meet \n her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tYou go on downstairs, OK?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b><b>\t\tOK.\n</b>\n He turns to leave, and Asakawa follows.\n\n<b> INT. OUSHI HOUSEHOLD - TOP OF THE STAIRS NIGHT\n</b>\n Just as Yoichi and Asakawa are about to descend the steps, \n Asakawas CELL PHONE rings. She opens the clasp to her PURSE.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(to Yoichi) \n\t\tYou go on ahead.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b><b>\t\tK.\n</b>\n He walks down the steps. Asakawa brings out her cell phone, \n answers it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tHello?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\t\n</b>\t\tUh... this is Okazaki. Ive got \n\t\tsome more info on that article for\n\t\tyou. The girl was a student of \n\t\tthe uh, Seikei School for Women in \n\t\tYokahama City.\n\n Asakawa blinks at this, looks disturbed.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(softly) \n\t\tThanks.\n\n She hangs up the phone.\n\n<b> EXT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - NIGHT \n</b>\n Asakawa stands now at the entrance of the house. Dazedly, she \n walks toward a large, hand-painted PLACARD. The placard reads \n that the wake is being held for a student of the Seikei School \n for Women. \n\n Asakawa stares at that placard, making the mental connections. \n She turns abruptly, walks towards a nearby TRIO of HIGH SCHOOL \n<b> GIRLS.\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tExcuse me. This is, um, kind of a\n\t\tstrange question, but by any chance \n\t\twere you friends of that young girl\n\t\tthat died in the car as well?\n\n The three girls turn their faces to the ground.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tPlease. If you know anything...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL RIGHT\t\n</b>\t\tThey all died the same day. Youko. \n\t\tTomoko. Even Iwata, he was in a\n\t\tmotorcycle accident.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL LEFT\t\n</b>\t\tBecause they watched the video.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tVideo?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL LEFT\t\n</b>\t\tThats what Youko said. They all\n\t\twatched some weird video, and \n\t\tafter that their phone rang.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tTomoko-chan watched it, too? \n\t\tWhere?\n\n Girl Left shakes her head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL LEFT\t\n</b>\t\tShe just said they all stayed \n\t\tsomewhere.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL RIGHT\t\n</b>\t\tThere was a girl with Tomoko when \n\t\tshe died. Shes had to be \n\t\thospitalized for shock.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL MIDDLE\n</b>\t\tThey say she wont go anywhere \n\t\tnear a television.\n\n\n<b> INT. NEWS STATION - VIEWING BOOTH DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa and YOSHINO, another news reporter, are watching scenes \n from the Yokohama car death. In the footage there are lots of \n POLICEMEN milling about, one of them trying to pick the door to \n the passenger side. Yoshino is giving Asakawa the blow-by-blow.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOSHINO\n</b>\t\tThe bodies of those found were \n\t\tTsuji Youko, age 17, a student of \n\t\tthe Seikei School for Women, and \n\t\tNomi Takehiko, age 19, preparatory \n\t\tschool student. Both their doors \n\t\twere securely locked.\n\n Onscreen, the policeman has finally picked the lock. The door opens, \n and a girls BODY halffalls out, head facing upwards. Yoshino flicks \n a BUTTON on the control panel, scans the footage frame by frame. He \n stops when he gets a good close-up of the victim. \n\n Her face is twisted into an insane rictus of fear, mouth open, eyes \n wide and glassy. Yoshino and Asakawa lean back in their seats.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOSHINO\n</b>\t\tThis is the first time Ive -ever- \n\t\tseen something like this.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tCause of death?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOSHINO\n</b>\t\tCouldnt say, aside from sudden \n\t\theart failure.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tDrugs?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOSHINO\t\n</b>\t\tThe autopsy came up negative.\n\n\n Yoshino takes the video off pause. Onscreen, a policeman has caught \n the young girls body from completely falling out, and is pushing it \n back into the car. As the body moves into an upright position, we \n can see that the girls PANTIES are mid-way around her left thigh.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOSHINO\n</b>\t\tThese two, about to go at it, \n\t\tsuddenly up and die for no \n\t\tapparent reason. \n\n He sighs.\n\n\t\t\t\tYOSHINO (contd)\n\t\tDo -you- get it?\n\n\n<b> EXT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - DAY \n</b>\n Asakawas CAR is already halted before a modest-sized, two-story HOUSE \n with a small covered parkway for a garage. She gets out of her car, \n closes the door. She stares at the house, unmoving.\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD KITCHEN - DAY \n</b>\n Asakawa stands before her SISTER RYOMI, who is seated at the kitchen \n TABLE. Ryomi is staring blankly away, making no sign of acknowledging \n her sister. The silence continues unabated, and Asakawa, pensive, \n wanders idly into the adjoining dining room. She takes a long look at \n the television, the same television that had puzzled Tomoko by suddenly \n switching itself on, sitting darkly in one corner. Her reflection in \n the screen looks stretched, distorted.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYOMI\t(O.S.) \n</b>\t\tThey tell me that Yoichi came to \n\t\tthe funeral, too. \n\n Asakawa steps back into the kitchen. She addresses her sister, who \n continues to stare out at nothing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tMmm-hmm.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYOMI\n</b>\t\tThey used to play a lot together, didnt they? Upstairs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tYeah...\n\n Ryomi lapses back into a silence. Asakawa waits for her to say more, \n but when it is clear that nothing else is forthcoming, she quietly gives \n up and exits the kitchen.\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD STAIRCASE - DAY \n</b>\n Asakawa climbs the steps to the second floor. She makes her way down \n the hall.\n\n<b> INT. OUISHI HOUSEHOLD - TOMOKOS ROOM - DAY \n</b>\n As if intruding, Asakawa walks slowly, cautiously into Tomokos room. \n The window to the room is open, and a single piece of folded white PAPER \n on Tomokos desk flutters in the breeze. Asakawa walks towards it, picks \n it up. It is a RECEIPT from a photo shop. The developed photos have yet \n to be claimed. \n\n Asakawa senses something, spins to look over her shoulder. Her sister \n has crept quietly up the stairs and down the hall, and stands now in the \n doorway to Tomokos room. She appears not to notice what Asakawa has in \n her hands, as her gaze has already shifted to the sliding closet door. \n She regards it almost druggedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYOMI\n</b>\t\t\t(haltingly) \n\t\tThis... this is where Tomoko died.\n\n<b> FLASHBACK\n</b><b>\t\t\t\tRYOMI (O.S.)\n</b>\t\tTomoko!\n\n Ryomis hands fling aside the CLOSET DOOR. Within, she finds the pale \n blue CARCASS of her daughter, curled up into an unnatural fetal position. \n Tomokos mouth yawns gaping, her eyes glassy and rolled up into the back \n of her head. Her hands are caught in her hair, as if trying to pull it \n out by the roots. It is a horrific scene, one that says Tomoko died as \n if from some unspeakable fear.\n\n<b> PRESENT\n</b>\n Ryomi sinks to her knees, hitting the wooden floor hard. She puts her \n face into her hands and begins sobbing loudly. Asakawa says nothing.\n\n<b> EXT. CAMERA SHOP DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa leaves the camera shop clutching Tomokos unclaimed PHOTOS. She \n walks out onto the sidewalk and begins flipping through them. We see \n Tomoko standing arm-in-arm with Iwata, her secret boyfriend. Tomoko and \n her friends eating lunch. The camera had its date-and-time function \n enabled, and the photos are marked\n\n<b> 97 8 29.\n</b>\n The next shot is of Tomoko, Iwata, and another young couple posing in \n front of a SIGN for a bed and breakfast. The sign reads:\n\n<b> IZU PACIFIC LAND\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tIzu...\n\n Asakawa continues looking through the photos, various shots of the \n four friends clowning around in their room. Suddenly she comes to a \n shot taken the next day, at check out. The friends are lined up, arms \n linked-- and all four of their faces are blurred, distorted as if \n someone had taken an eraser to them and tried to rub them out of \n existence.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT KITCHEN - DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa wears an APRON, and is frying something up on the STOVE. Yoichi \n stands watching.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tLook, Im probably going to be late\n\t\tcoming home tonight, so just stick \n\t\tyour dinner in the microwave when \n\t\tyoure ready to eat, OK?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tK... Mom?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tHmm?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tTomo-chan watched some cursed video!\n\n\n Asakawa leaves the food on the stove, runs over to Yoichi and grabs him \n by the shoulders. She shakes him roughly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWhat did you say? You are not to \n\t\tspeak of this at school, do you \n\t\thear me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\t\t(utterly unfazed) \n\t\tI wont. Im going to school now.\n\n Yoichi walks off. Asakawa goes back to the stove, but stops after only \n a few stirs, staring off and thinking.\n\n Caption-- September 13th. Monday.\n\n<b> EXT. ROAD DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa drives her car speedily along a narrow country road, LEAVES \n blowing up in her wake.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS CAR - DAY \n</b>\n Asakawa mutters to herself, deep in thought.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tTheres no way...\n\n<b> EXT. COUNTRY ROAD DAY\n</b>\n Asakawas car drives past a sign reading:\n\n<b>\tIZU PACIFIC LAND\n</b>\n<b> EXT. IZU PACIFIC LAND - DRIVEWAY DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa has left her car and is walking around the driveway of what is \n less a bed and breakfast and more like a series of cabin-style rental \n<b> COTTAGES. \n</b>\n She wanders about for a while, trying to get her bearings. She pauses \n now in front of a particular cottage and reaches into her PURSE. She \n withdraws the PICTURE from the photomat, the one that showed Tomoko and \n her friends with their faces all blurred. The four are posing in front \n of their cottage, marked in the photograph as B4. Asakawa lowers the \n photo to regard the cottage before her.\n\n<b> B4\n</b>\n She walks to the door, turns the handle experimentally. Its open. \n Asakawa walks in.\n\n<b> INT. PACIFIC LAND - COTTAGE B4 DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa lets her eyes wander around the cottage. It looks very modern, \n all wood paneling and spacious comfort. \n\n Her eyes rest on the TV/VCR setup at the front of the room. Crouching \n before the VCR now, she presses the eject button. Nothing happens. \n She fingers the inside of the deck, finds it empty, then reaches behind \n to the rear of the VCR, searching. Again, there is nothing. Asakawa \n presses the power button on the television, picks up the REMOTE, and \n takes a seat on the SOFA. She runs through a few channels but theyre \n all talk shows, no clues whatsoever. She flicks the TV off and leans \n back in the sofa, sighing.\n\n Just then, she spies a LEDGER on the coffee table. These things are \n sometimes left in hotels in Japan, so that guests can write a few \n comments about their stay for others to read. Asakawa picks the \n ledger up, begins thumbing through it. She stops at a strange PICTURE\n obviously drawn by a child, that shows three rotund, almost entirely \n round personages. She reads the handwritten MESSAGE.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\"My dad is fat. My mom is fat. \n\t\tThats why Im fat, too.\"\n\n She smiles in spite of herself. \n\n Asakawa flips through the rest of the ledger, but theres nothing else \n of any import. \n\n She tosses it back onto the coffee table and, sighing again, leans into \n the sofa and closes her eyes.\n\n<b> EXT. OUTDOOR CAF - DUSK \n</b>\n Asakawa eats silently, alone.\n\n<b> INT. PACIFIC LAND - FRONT RECEPTION - NIGHT \n</b>\n Asakawa has returned to the bed and breakfast. As she walks in the \n door, the COUNTER CLERK rises out of his chair to greet her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCLERK\n</b>\t\tRoom for one?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tUm, actually Im here on business.\n\n She passes the clerk a picture of Tomoko and her three other friends. \n He stares at it for a moment.\n\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tThey would have stayed here on \n\t\tAugust 29th, all four of them. \n\t\tIf theres any information you \n\t\tmight have...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCLERK\n</b>\t\tUh, hang on just a minute. \n\n The clerk turns his back to her, begins leafing through a guest log.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCLERK\t\n</b>\t\t\t(to himself) \n\t\tAugust 29th...\n\n While she waits, Asakawas eyes start to wander around the room. \n Behind the desk is a sign reading Rental Video, and a large wooden \n BOOKSHELF filled with VIDEOTAPES. They are all in their original boxes, \n and she lets her eyes glance over the titles. Raiders of the Lost Ark, \n 48 Hours--\n\n --and then, suddenly, she spies a VIDEOTAPE in a plain, unmarked \n sleeve, tucked away in the back of the very bottom shelf. She feels \n the hairs on the back of her neck rise.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tThat...\n\n The clerk looks up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCLERK\n</b>\t\tHmm?\n\n Asakawa stabs a finger excitedly towards the shelf.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tThat! What tape is that?\n\n The clerk reaches out for it, grabs it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCLERK\t\n</b>\t\tThis? Hmm...\n\n The clerk pulls the tape out of its SLEEVE and checks for a label. \n Its unmarked.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCLERK\n</b>\t\tMaybe one of the guests left it behind\n\n<b> INT. PACIFIC LAND COTTAGE B4 - NIGHT \n</b>\n Asakawa flips on the TV. Its on channel 2, and there is nothing but \n static. She kneels down to slide the tape into the deck and pauses a \n moment, framed in the vaguely spectral LIGHT from the television \n screen. Steeling her nerves, she puts the tape into the machine, picks \n up the remote, and presses play.\n\n\n NOTE: This next scene is entirely visual. If you are reading this \n translation before watching the movie, do yourself a favor; STOP \n reading this now and watch the scene for itself. Afterwards, you can \n come back here to check the meaning of the Japanese characters \n displayed.\n\n\n<b> THE VIDEOTAPE\n</b>\n At first it looks like nothing has happened-- then Asakawa realizes that \n she is now viewing recorded static instead of broadcast static. She \n watches, waiting, but the static continues unbroken. Asakawa looks \n down at the remote, is about to press fast forward, when suddenly the \n picture on the screen clears and for a moment she thinks shes looking \n at the moon.\n\n Its not the moon at all, she realizes. The shape is round like a full \n moon, but it seems to be made up of thin RIBBONS of cloud streaking \n against a night sky. And theres a FACE, she sees, a face hidden in \n shadows, looking down from above. \n\n What is this?\n\n The scene changes now, and Asakawa notes that the tape has that kind of \n grainy quality one sees in 3rd or 4th generation copies. The scene is of \n a WOMAN brushing her long hair before an oval-shaped MIRROR. The nerve-\n wracking grating as if of some giant metallic insect sounds in the \n background, but the lady doesnt seem to notice. The mirror the lady is \n using to brush her hair suddenly changes position from the left part of \n the wall before which she stands, to the right. Almost instantly the \n mirror returns to its original position, but in that one moment in its \n changed location we see a small FIGURE in a white GOWN. The woman turns \n towards where that figure stood, and smiles.\n\n The screen next becomes a twitching, undulating impenetrable sea of the \n kanji characters used in the Japanese language. Asakawa can pick out \n only two things recognizable:\n\n local volcanic eruption\n\n Now the screen is awash in PEOPLE-- crawling, scrabbling, shambling \n masses, some of them moving in reverse. A sound like moaning accompanies \n them.\n<b> -\n</b>\n A FIGURE stands upon a shore, its face shrouded. It points accusingly, \n not towards the screen, but at something unseen off to one side. The \n insect-like screeching sounds louder. \n<b> --\n</b>\n Close up on inhuman, alien-looking EYE. Inside that eye a single \n character is reflected in reverse: SADA, meaning \"chastity.\"\n\n The eye blinks once, twice. The symbol remains.\n<b> ---\n</b>\n A long shot of an outdoor, uncovered WELL.\n<b> ----\n</b>\n Sudden loud, blinding STATIC as the tape ends.\n\n Asakawa turns the TV off, looking physically drained. She sighs shakily \n and slumps forward, resting on her knees. Just then, she glances at the \n television screen. She sees, reflected, a small FIGURE in a white gown \n standing at the rear of the room. Shocked, Asakawa draws in breath, \n spins around.\n\n The room is empty. Asakawa runs to the sofa to collect her jacket--\n\n --and the RINGING of the telephone stops her dead in her tracks. Zombie-\n like, she walks towards the telephone, picks it up wordlessly. \n\n From the other end comes the same metallic, insectoid SQUEAKING heard on \n the video. Asakawa slams the phone down and glances up at the CLOCK. \n Its about seven minutes after 7 P.M.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(to herself) \n\t\tOne week\n\n Asakawa grabs her coat, pops the tape out of the deck, and runs out the \n door.\n\n<b> EXT. STREET DAY\n</b>\n It is dark and raining heavily. Yoichi, Asakawas son, is walking to \n school, UMBRELLA firmly in hand. The sidewalk is quite narrow, and Yoichi \n comes to a halt when a second PERSON comes from the opposite direction, \n blocking his way. Yoichi slowly raises his umbrella, peers up to look at \n this other pedestrian. It is a MAN, a BAG slung over one shoulder. He \n has a beard; unusual for Japan where clean-shaven is the norm. \n\n The two continue looking directly at each other, neither moving nor \n speaking. Yoichi then walks around the persons left and continues on his\n way. The man resumes walking as well.\n\n Caption-- September 14th. Tuesday.\n\n<b> EXT. OUTSIDE AN APARTMENT DOOR - DAY \n</b>\n The bearded man, whose name is RYUJI, reaches out to press the DOORBELL, \n but the door has already opened from within. Asakawa leans out, holding \n the door open for him. Neither of them speaks. Wordlessly, Ryuji enters \n the apartment.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT - DAY \n</b>\n Ryuji puts his bag down, looks around the apartment. The interior is dark, \n ominous somehow. He takes his JACKET off and wanders into the living room. \n Asakawa is in the kitchen behind him, preparing TEA. Ryuji spies the \n collection of FRAMED PHOTOGRAPHS in living room.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tYoichis in elementary school \n\t\talready, is he?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tHis first year. What about you, \n\t\tRyuji? How have you been \n\t\trecently?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tSame as always.\n\n She takes a seat next to him, serves the tea. On the coffee table \n before them is a VIDEOTAPE in a plain, unmarked case.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tAnd money is...?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tIm teaching at university.\n\n Ryuji picks up his cup of tea but stops, grimacing, before it is to his \n lips. He rubs his forehead as if experiencing a sudden headache. Ryuji \n shakes it off and quickly regains his composure.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tAnyway. You said that the phone rang?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tThats right.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tSo if I watch it too, that phone over \n\t\tthere--\n\n He gestures with his mug \n\n\t\t\t\tRYUJI (contd)\n\t\t--should ring.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tRyuji, four people have already \n\t\tdied. On the same day!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(flippant) \n\t\tWell, why dont you try calling \n\t\tan exorcist?\n\n He takes a sip of his tea. Asakawa reaches quickly, grabs something \n from the bookshelf behind her-- a POLAROID CAMERA. She shoves it \n into Ryujis hands, then turns to look down at the floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tTake my picture.\n\n Ryuji raises the camera to his eye.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tTurn this way.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(unmoving) \n\t\tHurry up and take it.\n\n Ryuji snaps off a shot. It comes out the other end and he takes it, \n waits impatiently for an image to appear. When it does, all he can \n do is pass it wordlessly over to Asakawa. Her face is twisted, \n misshapen. \n\n Just like the picture of Tomoko and her friends.\n\n Asakawa stares at it, horrified. By the time she finally looks up, \n Ryuji has already risen from his seat and slid the videotape into the \n VCR. Again, the screen is filled with static, only to be replaced \n with what looks like the moon. Asakawa slams the Polaroid on the \n coffee table and goes outside onto the veranda. \n\n<b> EXT. VERANDA - DAY \n</b>\n Asakawa stares out at a view of the houses shaded in cloud and rain. \n There is a knock on the glass door behind her. A moment later, \n Ryuji slides the door open.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tIts over.\n\n Asakawa re-enters her apartment.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM - DAY\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tWell, it looks like your phones not \n\t\tringing.\n\n Ryuji pops the tape from the deck, hands it to Asakawa.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tMake me a copy of this, will you? \n\t\tId like to do a little research\n\t\tof my own. Theres no reason to \n\t\twrite us off as dead just yet. \n\n He dramatically takes a seat.\n\n\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t(contd)\n\t\tIf theres a video, that means that \n\t\tsomebody had to make it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tTheres the guest list from the \n\t\tcottage to look into... and the \n\t\tpossibility of someone hacking \n\t\tinto the local stations broadcast \n\t\tsignals.\n\n Asakawa pulls a NOTEPAD from her purse and begins busily scribbling \n away.\n\n\n<b> INT. NEWS STATION - DAY \n</b>\n Okazaki putters around.\n\n Caption- September 15th. Tuesday.\n\n<b> INT. NEWS STATION - VIEWING BOOTH DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa sits by herself, reviewing the videotape. She is replaying \n the very last scene, an outdoor shot of a well. She stares at it \n carefully, and notices...\n\n The tape ends, filling the screen with static. A split-second \n afterwards, there is a KNOCK on the door and Okazaki enters, holding \n a FILE. Asakawa momentarily forgets about the video.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\t\n</b>\t\t\t(handing her the file)\n\t\tHeres that guest list you wanted.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tOh, thanks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI\t\n</b>\t\tWhat are you gonna do with this?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tUh... sorry, Im working on \n\t\tsomething personal.\n\n<b> EXT. IN FRONT OF A TRAIN STATION - DAY \n</b>\n Some quick shots of a FOUNTAIN gushing water, PIGEONS flapping away \n looking agitated. CUT to Ryuji sitting on a BENCH. Hes deep in \n thought, writing in a NOTEPAD. There are multitudes of PEOPLE about \n him, and we can hear the sounds of their coming and going. A PAIR \n OF LEGS attached to a woman in white dress, hose, and pumps appears, \n heading directly for Ryuji. Her pace is slow, rhythmical, and as \n that pace progresses all other sounds FADE into the background, so \n that all we can hear is the CLOMP, CLOMP as those legs walk to stand \n just before Ryuji. The pumps are scuffed, dirtied with grime. \n\n A gust of WIND rips by. Ryuji fights the urge to look up as in his \n ears rings the same hollowed, multi-voiced BABBLING heard on the \n videotape. The sound grows stronger.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI (VO)\n</b> \t\tSo, it was you. You did it.\n\n The babbling fades, disappears as slowly the worlds normal \n background sounds return. Ryuji looks up, but the woman in white \n is nowhere to be seen.\n\n<b> EXT. OUTSIDE RYUJIS APARTMENT AFTERNOON\n</b>\n Ryuji rides up on a BICYCLE. He turns the corner towards his \n apartment and finds Asakawa seated on the steps, waiting for him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tHey.\n\n Asakawa notes in his face that something is wrong.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b> \t\tWhat happened to you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(gruffly)\n\t\tNothing.\n\n He enters the building, carrying his bicycle. Asakawa follows.\n\n<b> INT. HALLWAY - AFTERNOON \n</b>\n The two walk down the hallway towards the FRONT DOOR to Ryujis \n apartment. He unlocks the door and they enter.\n\n<b> INT. RYUJIS APARTMENT AFTERNOON\n</b>\n Ryuji and Asakawa enter the living room.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tSo, whatd you come up with?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tI dont think any of the guests on \n\t\tthe list brought the tape with them. \n\t\tI couldnt confirm it face-to-face \n\t\tof course, but even over the phone I \n\t\tgot the feeling they were all being \n\t\tupfront with me.\n\n<b> \t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tHow about the other angle? Pirate \n\t\tsignals or...\n\n Asakawa shakes her head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tTherere no traces of any illegal \n\t\ttelevision signals being broadcast \n\t\taround Izu. \n\n She reaches into her purse, pulls out a large white ENVELOPE.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHeres that copy of the videotape \n\t\tyou wanted.\n\n Ryuji tears the package open. He squats down on the tatami in \n frontof his TV and slides the tape in. Asakawa sits on the \n tatami as well, but positions herself away from the TV and keeps \n her eyes averted. Ryuji glares over his shoulder at her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(sternly) \n\t\tAsakawa.\n\n She reluctantly scoots closer, looks up at the screen. Ryuji \n fast-forwards the tape a bit, stopping at the scene where the \n woman is brushing her long hair before an oval mirror. He puts \n the video on frame-by-frame. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tHave you ever seen this woman?\n\n Asakawa regards the screen intently.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b> \t\tNo...\n\n The tape advances to the scene where the mirror suddenly changes \n positions. When it does, we can again see the small figure in the \n white gown, a figure with long black hair. When Ryuji sees this \n his body stiffens, becomes tense. Asakawa notices but says nothing. \n She also notices something else.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t\t(excitedly) \n\t\tTheres something strange about \n\t\tthis shot.\n\n She takes the remote from Ryuji, rewinds it a ways. Onscreen, the \n woman begins coming her long hair again.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tFrom this angle, the mirror should \n\t\tbe reflecting whoevers filming.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tSo, what does that mean?\n\n Asakawa lets out a short sigh.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWell, if the person who made this \n\t\tis a pro, thered be a way around \n\t\tthat, I guess, but still...\n\n The screen changes, showing the mass of squiggling kanji characters \n again.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\t\t(reading) \n\t\tVolcanic eruption... Eruption where?\n\n He pauses the screen, trying to make sense of what is written.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tThis is gonna be impossible to figure \n\t\tout on just a regular TV screen, \n\t\tdont you think?\n\n They are both still staring at the screen when from behind them comes \n the SOUND of someone opening the front door. Ryuji turns off the TV, \n ejects the tape from the deck.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tCome on in.\n\n Asakawa flashes a look at Ryuji and then turns her head back towards \n the front door to see who has entered. A cute, nervous-looking young \n GIRL with short hair approaches slowly. She is carrying a PLASTIC BAG \n filled with groceries.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tAsakawa, meet my student, Takano Mai.\n\n He turns, addresses Mai.\n\n\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t(contd)\t\n\t\tThis is Asakawa, my ex-wife.\n\n Ryuji gets up and walks conveniently away.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAI\t\t\n</b>\t\tNice to meet you. Im Takano.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tAsakawa. *\n\n\n > * As you may already be aware, Japanese name order is the \n >opposite of Englishs, and even close friends may continue to\n >address one another by their last names. Incidentally, Asakawas\n >first name is Reiko. In this scene, Mai deferentially refers\n >to Ryuji as sensei, meaning teacher.\n\n\n Mai sets the bag of groceries down and chases after Ryuji. He is \n putting on his jacket and getting ready to leave.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAI\t\n</b>\t\tSensei, the people from the \n\t\tpublishing company called about \n\t\tthe deadline on your thesis again. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\t\t(brusquely) \n\t\tWhatre they talkin to you \n\t\tabout it for?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAI\t\t\n</b>\t\tBecause they can never get a \n\t\thold of you.\n\n Ryuji picks up his keys, video firmly in hand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tAsk them to wait another week.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAI\t\t\n</b>\t\tSensei, ask them yourself, \n\t\tplease.\n\n Ryuji is already headed for the door. His back is to her as he \n responds.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b><b>\t\tOK, OK.\n</b>\n Asakawa walks after him. They leave.\n\n Mai pouts unhappily a bit, and then breaks into a smile as an idea \n crosses her mind. She walks across the room to where Ryuji has set \n up a large BLACKBOARD filled with mathematical equations. Grinning, \n Mai rubs out part of one equation with her sleeve and writes in a \n new value.\n\n<b> INT. NEWS STATION HALLWAY - NIGHT \n</b>\n Asakawa and Ryuji stride purposefully. They stop before a DOOR to \n the right, which Asakawa unlocks. They both walk in.\n\n<b> INT. NEWS STATION - VIEWING BOOTH - NIGHT \n</b>\n Asakawa and Ryuji sit in a completely darkened room, their eyes \n glued to the television MONITOR. They are again watching the scene \n with the fragmented kanji characters, but despite their efforts have \n been able to identify only one additional word, bringing the total \n to three:\n\n\tvolcanic eruption\t local\t residents\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tThis is impossible.\n\n Ryuji fast forwards, stopping at the scene with the kanji reflected\n inside an alien-looking EYE. He reads the kanji aloud. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tSada... \n\n Ryuji moves to make a note of this, notices the time.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tIs Yoichi gonna be all right?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(sadly) \n\t\tHes used to it...\n\n Short silence. Ryuji breaks it by gesturing towards the screen. \n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tWhoever made this had to have left \n\t\tsome kind of clue behind. Theyre \n\t\tprobably waiting for us to find it.\n\n Asakawa turns a DIAL to bring up the volume, which up until now has \n been on mute. The room is filled with an eerie, metallic GRATING, \n and Asakawa spins the dial again, shutting it off. Just as she does, \n Ryujis eyes widen.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tWait a minute.\n\n He turns the dial again, punches a few buttons as if searching for \n something. He listens carefully, and when he hears that strange \n something again he stops, looks at the screen.\n\n It is paused at the scene with the figure, pointing, a CLOTH draped \n over its head. The figure now looks oddly like a messenger.\n\n Ryuji and Asakawa exchange glances. This could be it. Ryuji flips \n some more switches, setting the sound for super-slow mo. What follows \n is a strange, labored sort of speech- a hidden message-- framed in \n the skittering distortion of the tape in slow motion. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTAPE\t\n</b>\t\tShoooomonnn bakkkkkarrri toou... \n\t\tboooouuuukonn ga kuuru zouuu...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\t\t(repeating) \n\t\tShoumon bakkari, boukon ga kuru \n\t\tzo. Did you hear that, too?\n\n Asakawa nods. Ryuji is already writing it down excitedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWhat does that mean?\n\n Ryuji tears the sheet of paper off the notepad, folds it, and tucks \n it into his shirt pocket.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tIm gonna check it out.\n\n<b> EXT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT COMPLEX - MORNING \n</b>\n Yoichi is walking to school. He looks back over his shoulder, just \n once,then resumes walking.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT - MORNING\n</b>\n All the lights are turned off, and she is sitting on the living room \n couch watching the footage of her caf interview with the junior high \n school girls. \n\n Caption-- September 16th. Thursday.\n\n Just when the girl in the interview mentions that whomever watches \n the video is supposed to afterwards receive a phone call, Asakawas \n own phone RINGS, startling her. She runs to answer it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tHello?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI (O.S.)\n</b>\t\tIve got it. Its a dialect, just \n\t\tlike I thought. SHOUMON means \n\t\tplaying in the water and BOUKON\n \t\tmeans monster. *\n\n\n >* Translated from standard Japanese, the phrase from the videotape \n >would initially have sounded like, \"If only SHOUMON then the \n >BOUKON will come.\" These two capitalized words, later identified to \n >be dialectical, were at the time completely incomprehensible to Ryuji \n >and Asakawa. Dialect can vary dramatically from region to region in \n >Japan, to the point of speakers of different dialect being unable to\n >understand one another. \n\n >The phrase on the tape can now be rendered, \"If you keep playing in \n >the water, the monster will come for you.\"\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tBut, dialect from where?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tOshima. And the site of our \n\t\teruption is Mt. Mihara.\n\n<b> INT. LIBRARY - NIGHT \n</b>\n Ryuji and Asakawa are seated at cubicles, looking through bound \n ARCHIVES of old newspaper articles. Asakawa sneaks a look at Ryuji, \n stands up and walks off a little ways. She has already pulled out her \n cell phone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(whispering, on phone) \n\t\tYoichi? Im gonna be a little \n\t\tlate tonight, honey. \n\n Ryuji looks over his shoulder at her, scowls.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tYou can do it yourself, right? OK. \n\t\tSorry. Bye.\n\n She hangs up, returns to her seat at the cubicle. She resumes her \n scanning of the newspaper articles, and Ryuji shoots her another scowl. \n Asakawa turns a page and then stops, frowning. She has spied an article \n that looks like...\n\n Nervously, Asakawa puts the thumb and forefinger of each hand together, \n forming the shape of a rectangle. Or a screen. She places the rectangle\n over the article she has just discovered, its headlines reading:\n\n Mount Mihara Erupts \tLocal Residents Urged to Take Precautions\n\n Ryuji notices her, leans forward excitedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tIve got it! This old article...\n\n The two scan the remainder of the page, and find a smaller, related \n article.\t\n\n Did Local Girl Predict Eruption?\n A young lady from Sashikiji prefecture...\n\n The two read over both articles, absorbing the details. Ryuji stands \n suddenly, gathering his things.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tWhat are you doing?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tHas your newspaper got someone out \n\t\tthere at Oshima?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tI think so. There should be a \n\t\tcorrespondent out there.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tI need you to find out, and let me \n\t\tknow how to get hold of him.\n\t\tTonight.\n\n He begins walking briskly away. Asakawa chases after him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWhat do you think youre--?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\t\t(angrily) \n\t\tYouve only got four days left, \n\t\tAsakawa! Your newspaper contact \n\t\tand I can handle this from here \n\t\ton out. You just stay with Yoichi.\n\n Ryuji strides off. Asakawa stands motionless.\n\n<b> EXT. COUNTRY ROAD - DAY \n</b>\n A car speeds along. CUT to a gravel DRIVEWAY leading up to a wooden, \n traditional-style HOUSE. Kouichi, Asakawas father, is standing before \n the entrance and puttering around in his GARDEN. The car from the \n previous shot drives up, comes to a halt. The passenger door opens and \n Yoichi hops out, running towards the old man. Asakawa walks leisurely \n after her son.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tGrandpa!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\t\n</b>\t\tWhoa, there! So, you made it, huh?\n\n Caption-- September 17th. Friday.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tYoichi says hes looking forward to \n\t\tdoing some fishing with you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\t\n</b>\t\tIs that so?\n\n Yoichi begins tugging excitedly at his grandfathers arm.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tCmon grandpa, lets go!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\t\n</b>\t\tOK, OK. Well get our things \n\t\ttogether and then we can go.\n\n\n<b> EXT. RIVER DAY \n</b>\n Asakawa stands on a RIVERBANK while her father and Yoichi, GUMBOOTS on, \n are ankle-deep in a shallow river. Yoichi holds a small NET, and \n Asakawas dad is pointing and chattering excitedly. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\n</b>\t\tThere he is! Cmon, there he is, \n\t\tdont let him go!\n\n Yoichi tries to scoop up the fish his grandfather is pointing out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\n</b>\t\tOh, oh! Ah... guess he got away, \n\t\thuh?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tThat was your fault, grandpa.\n\n Asakawas father laughs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\t\n</b>\t\tWell, whaddya say we try again?\n\n He begins sloshing noisily out to the center of the stream, Yoichi in \n tow.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUICHI\n</b>\t\tWell get im this time.\n\n Asakawa looks away, pensive.\n\n<b> INT. KOUICHIS HOUSE - LIVING ROOM - NIGHT \n</b>\n Yoichi is passed out asleep on the tatami mats. A TELEVISION looms \n inone corner of the living room, but it is switched off. The \n SLIDING DOORS to the adjacent guest room are open and we can see \n futons set out, ready for bed.\n\n Asakawa enters the living room and, seeing Yoichi, scoops him up in\n her arms and carries him over to the guest room.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\n</b>\t\t\t(sleepily) \n\t\tHow was work, mommy?\n\n Asakawa tucks him into the futons and walks silently off.\n\n<b> INT. KOUICHIS HOUSE - STAIRCASE NIGHT \n</b>\n Asakawa stands at the foot of the staircase, telephone RECEIVER in \n hand. The phone rests on a small STAND by the staircase.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tHello?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI (O.S.)\n</b>\t\tYeah. Your Oshima contact came \n\t\tthrough. It looks like the woman \n\t\twho predicted the Mihara eruption \n\t\tis the same woman from the video.\n\n<b> INT. RYUJIS APARTMENT NIGHT\n</b>\n Ryuji is crouched in front of the TV, REMOTE in hand. The screen is \n paused on the scene of the woman brushing her long hair.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tHer name is Yamamura Shizuko. She \n\t\tcommitted suicide forty years ago \n\t\tby throwing herself into Mt. Mihara.\n\n<b> INT. KOUJIS HOUSE STAIRCASE - NIGHT \n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHave you got anything else?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tIm gonna have to check it for \n\t\tmyself. Ill be leaving for \n\t\tOshima tomorrow morning.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tOshima? Ive only got three days \n\t\tleft!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI (O.S.)\n</b>\t\tI know. And Ive got four.\n\n Short silence.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI (O.S.)\n</b>\t\tIll be in touch.\n\n Ryuji hangs up. Asakawa, deep in thought, slowly places the phone \n back in its CRADLE. She turns around to walk back down the hallway \n only to find her father standing there, face full of concern.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKOUJI\n</b>\t\tWhats happened?\n\n Asakawa shakes her head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tNothing. I just had some things \n\t\tleft over from work.\n\n She walks past her father, who glances worriedly after her over his \n shoulder.\n\n<b> INT. KOUJIS HOUSE - GUEST ROOM NIGHT\n</b>\n The lights are all off and Asakawa is asleep in her futon. Her eyes \n suddenly fly open as a VOICE sounding eerily like her deceased niece \n Tomoko calls out to her.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTOMOKO (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tAuntie?\n\n Asakawa looks around the room, gets her bearings. Her eyes fall on \n the futon next to hers.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tYoichi?\n\n There is a BODY in that futon, but it is full-grown, dressed all in \n black. It is curled into a fetal position and has its head turned \n away.\n\n Suddenly, the IMAGE from the video of the figure with its face \n shrouded springs to Asakawas mind. Just an instant, its pointing \n visage materializes, and then disappears. It reappears a moment \n later, pointing more insistently now, and disappears again. \n\n Asakawa blinks her eyes and realizes that the futon next to hers is \n empty. Yoichi is nowhere to be seen.\n\n Just then, she hears that high-pitched, metallic SQUEAKING from the \n video. Eyes wide with horror, she flings the sliding doors apart--\n --and there, seated before the television, is Yoichi.\n\n He is watching the video.\n\n It is already at the very last scene, the shot of the outdoor well. \n CLOSEUP on the screen now, and for just an instant we can see that \n something is trying to claw its way out of the well. The video cuts \n off, and the screen fills with static. \n\n Shrieking, Asakawa races over to Yoichi, covers his eyes though it is \n already too late. She scoots over to the VCR, ejects the tape and \n stares at it uncomprehendingly. She is then at Yoichis side again, \n shaking him roughly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tYoichi! You brought this with you, \n\t\tdidnt you? Why?!?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tTomo-chan...\n\n Asakawa freezes, her eyes wide.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI\t\n</b>\t\tTomo-chan told me to watch it.\n\n<b> EXT. OCEAN DAY\n</b><b> \n</b> WAVES are being kicked up by a large PASSENGER SHIP as it speeds on \n its way. CUT to Asakawa and Ryuji standing on deck, looking out over \n the waves.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tI shouldve been more careful. \n\t\tWhen I was at your place that \n\t\tday, I could feel something \n\t\tthere. I thought it was just \n\t\tbecause of the video... \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tYou mean that Tomoko\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tThats not Tomoko. Not anymore.\n\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tYoichi... he can see them too, \n\t\tcant he?\n\n Ryuji nods his head, lowers it sadly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tIts all my fault. First Tomoko \n\t\tdied, then those three others. It \n\t\tshould have stopped there, but it \n\t\tdidnt. Because of me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tI wonder...\n\n Asakawa turns to Ryuji suddenly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHow did the rumors about the \n\t\tvideo even start in the first \n\t\tplace?\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tThis kind of thing... it doesnt \n\t\tstart by one person telling a \n\t\tstory. Its more like everyones \n\t\tfear just takes on a life of its \n\t\town.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tFear...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tOr maybe its not fear at all. \n\t\tMaybe its what we were \n\t\tsecretly hoping for all along.\n\n<b> EXT. PORT DAY \n</b>\n The ship has docked, its GANGPLANK extended. Ryuji and Asakawa walk \n the length of the gangplank towards the shore. A man named MR. \n HAYATSU is already waiting for them. He holds up a white SIGNBOARD \n in both hands.\n<b> \n</b><b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tMr. Hayatsu?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\t\n</b>\t\tAah, welcome! You must be tired \n\t\tafter your long trip. Please, \n\t\tthis way.\n\n Mr. Hayatsu leads Asakawa and Ryuji to an awaiting minivan.\n\n Caption-- September 18th. Saturday.\n\n<b> INT. HAYATSUS MINIVAN - DAY \n</b>\n Ryuji and Asakawa sit in the back. Mr. Hayatsu is behind the wheel, \n chattering away.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\t\n</b>\t\tBack in the old days, the Yamamuras\n\t\tused to head fishing boats out in \n\t\tSashikiji, though they dont much \n\t\tanymore. You know, one of Shizukos \n\t\tcousins is still alive. Hes just an \n\t\told man now. His son and his \n\t\tdaughter-in-law run an old-fashioned \n\t\tinn. I went ahead and booked \n\t\treservations for yall, hope thats \n\t\talright...\n\n Asakawa gives the briefest of nods in reply, after which the \n minivan lapses into silence. Asakawa looks dreamily out at the \n mountain-studded landscape, then suddenly snaps to.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t\t(to Ryuji) \n\t\tWhy did Yamamura Shizuko commit \n\t\tsuicide?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tShe was taking a real beating \n\t\tin the press, being called a \n\t\tfraud and all sorts of names. \n\t\tAfter a while she just lost it. \n\n CUT to a scene of the minivan speeding along a country road.\n\n<b> INT. HAYATSUS MINIVAN DAY \n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tShizuko was getting a lot of \n\t\tattention around the island after\n\t\tpredicting the eruption of Mt. \n\t\tMihara. Seems that for some time \n\t\tshed had a rather unique ability:\n\t\tprecognition. It was around then\n\t\tthat she attracted the attention \n\t\tof a certain scholar whom you may \n\t\thave heard of; Ikuma Heihachiro. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHe was driven out of the university, \n\t\twasnt he?\n\n Ryuji nods.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tThis Professor Ikuma convinces \n\t\tShizuko to go to Tokyo with him, \n\t\twhere he uses her in a series of \n\t\tdemonstrations meant to prove the \n\t\texistence of ESP. At first shes \n\t\tthe darling of the press, but the \n\t\tnext thing you know theyre \n\t\tknocking her down, calling her a \n\t\tfraud. Hmph. Forty years later,\n\t\tthe media still hasnt changed that\n\t\tmuch.\n\n Asakawa continues, ignoring Ryujis barb.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIve heard this story. But... Im \n\t\tsure I remember hearing that somebody \n\t\tdied at one of those demonstrations.\n\n A strange look crosses Ryujis face. He looks away, ignores her \n for a moment.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tAfter getting kicked out of \n\t\tuniversity, Ikuma just vanished, \n\t\tand no ones been able to get hold \n\t\tof him since. Hes probably not \n\t\teven alive anymore.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tBut, why even try looking for him?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tBecause hes supposed to have had a \n\t\tchild with Shizuko. A daughter.\n\n Asakawa freezes. In her mind, she sees a small FIGURE dressed in \n white, its face hidden by long, black HAIR. It is the figure from \n the video.\n\n<b> EXT. OUTSIDE YAMAMURA VILLA - DAY \n</b>\n Mr. Hayatsu leads Asakawa and Ryuji to the entrance.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\t\n</b>\t\tHello?\n\n The INKEEPER, a middle-aged lady named KAZUE wearing a traditional \n KIMONO, comes shuffling up. She addresses Mr. Hayatsu.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\t\n</b>\t\tThank you.\n\n She turns to Asakawa and Ryuji.\n\n\t\t\t\tKAZUE (contd)\n\t\tWelcome.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\n</b>\t\tWell, Ill be off then.\n\n He gives a little bow and is off. Kazue, meanwhile, has produced \n two pairs of SLIPPERS, which she offers to Ryuji and Asakawa.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\n</b>\t\tPlease.\n\n Ryuji and Asakawa begin removing their shoes. \n\n<b> INT. YAMAMURA VILLA STAIRCASE - DAY \n</b>\n Kazue leads Ryuji and Asakawa up a shadowed, wooden STAIRCASE.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\n</b>\t\tAnd for your rooms, how shall we...? \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tSeparate, please.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\n</b>\t\tSir.\n\n<b> INT. YAMAMURA VILLA - 2ND FLOOR DAY\n</b>\n Kazue gives a little bow.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\n</b>\t\tThis way.\n\n Kazue turns to the right. Almost immediately after reaching the \n top of the steps, however, a strange look crosses Ryujis face. \n He heads down the opposite end of the corridor, Asakawa close \n behind.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\n</b>\t\t\t(alarmed) \n\t\tSir!\n\n Ryuji flings open the SLIDING DOOR to one of the older rooms. There, \n hanging from one of the walls, is the oval-shaped MIRROR from the \n video, the one used by the mysterious lady to brush her long hair. \n Ryuji stares at the mirror, almost wincing. He turns around as if \n to look at Asakawa,but continues turning, looks past her. Asakawa \n follows his gaze, as does Kazue. Standing at the end of the corridor \n is an old man, MR. YAMAMURA. \n\n Yamamura regards them silently, balefully. Breaking the silence, \n Kazue gestures for Asakawa and Ryuji to follow.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\n</b>\t\t\t(softly) \n\t\tPlease, this way.\n\n Asakawa races past the innkeeper towards the old man. He keeps his \n back turned towards her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tPlease! If you could just answer \n\t\ta few questions, about Shizuko...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\n</b>\t\tI got nuthin to say.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIts about Shizukos daughter.\n\n The old man says nothing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tShe did have a daughter, didnt she?\n\n Yamamura regards her for a moment, then turns to walk away.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\t\n</b> \t\tYoure wasting your time.\n\n<b> INT. YAMAMURA VILLA - DINING ROOM NIGHT\n</b>\n The TABLE is laid out with an elaborate-looking DINNER. Asakawa \n sits alone, knees curled up to her chin, eyes wide and frightened. \n She is whimpering softly to herself. Just then, the DOOR slides \n open and Ryuji walks in. He sits at the table and picks up a \n pair of CHOPSTICKS.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tArent you gonna eat?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tUmm...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tHm?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tYoull stay with me wont you? \n\t\tWhen its time for me to die.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tOh, stop it.\n\n Asakawa scoots across the tatami mats towards the table, grabs \n Ryuji fiercely by the arm.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tYoull stay, wont you? If you \n\t\tstayed, maybe youd learn something\n\t\tthat could help Yoichi--\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tI said stop it! Have you forgotten \n\t\tThere was a girl with Tomoko when \n\t\tshe died? That girls now in a \n\t\tmental institution. Who knows what \n\t\tcould happen. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tBut you could stay with me, Ryuji. \n\t\tYoud be OK.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(angrily)\n\t\tWhy, because Im already not \n\t\tright in the head?\n\n Asakawa releases her hold on Ryujis arm, lowers her head. Ryuji \n slams his chopsticks down angrily.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tIf thats the case, why not just\n\t\tlet things run its course, get rid\n\t\tof father -and- son? Yoichi was a\n\t\tmistake, anyway.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tStop it!\n\n Short silence. When Ryuji speaks up again, his voice is soft, \n reassuring.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tWe still have two days left...\n\n Just then the VOICE of the innkeeper calls tentatively out from \n the other side of the sliding door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tExcuse me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tCome in.\n\n Kazue slides the door open. She stands hesitantly in the doorway, \n something tucked under one arm.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\t\n</b>\t\tIts about Miss Shizuko. \n\n Ryuji shoots a glance at Asakawa and stands up from the table, \n walks towards the innkeeper.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\t\n</b>\t\tThis is all that there is...\n\n Kazue produces an old black and white PHOTOGRAPH. The photo shows a \n WOMAN, seated, dressed in a KIMONO. A MAN in a Western-style SUIT \n stands beside her. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tIs this Professor Ikuma?\n\n Hearing this Asakawa leaps up, walks over to examine the picture for \n herself.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tKAZUE\n</b>\t\t...yes. This picture is from before \n\t\tId entered the household. \n\n She pauses a moment.\n\n\t\t\t\tKAZUE (contd)\n\t\tI should go now.\n\n The innkeeper scuttles off, leaving Asakawa and Ryuji alone with the \n photograph. Unbidden, the VOICE from the video enters their \n thoughts.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tShoumon bakkari... boukon ga kuru zo...\n\n\n<b> EXT. IZU SEASHORE - DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa watches Ryuji stride down the shore.\n\n Caption-- September 19th. Monday.\n\n Ryuji strolls up to find old man Yamamura sitting alone, staring \n out at the sea. Yamamura glances up to see Ryuji approaching. \n Ryuji takes a seat next to the old man, but its Yamamura who speaks \n first. The deep basso of his voice emphasizes the drawl of his \n accent.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\t\n</b>\t\tYalld do best to be off soon. \n\t\tSeas probably gonna be rough \n\t\ttonight.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tWhat kind of a child was Shizuko?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA \n</b>\t\tShizuko was... different. Shed come \n\t\tout here by herself everday an just\n\t\tstare out at the ocean. The fishermen \n\t\tall took a dislikin to her. Oceans \n\t\tan unlucky place for us, ysee: every \n\t\tyear it swallows up more of our own. \n\t\tYou keep starin out at somethin \n\t\tike that... \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b> \t\tShoumon bakkari shiteru to, boukon ga \n\t\tkuru zo. If you keep playing in the \n\t\twater, the monster will come for you.\n\n Yamamura looks at Ryuji, surprised. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tShizuko could see inside people, \n\t\tcouldnt she? Down to the places \n\t\ttheyd most like to keep hidden. It \n\t\tmust have been difficult for her...\n\n Yamamura rises unsteadily to his feet, features twisted angrily.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\n</b> \t\tPlease leave! Now!\n\n Ryuji stands, takes hold of Yamamuras arm.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tIve got a little of that ability \n\t\tmyself. It was you who spread the \n\t\tword about Shizuko, wasnt it? \n\t\tAnd you who first contacted \n\t\tProfessor Ikuma?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\t\n</b>\t\tWhatre you--?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tYou thought youd be able to make \n\t\tsome money off her. You even got \n\t\tsome, from one of the newspapers.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\t\t\n</b>\t\tLeave me the hell alone!\n\n Mr. Yamamura strides angrily off. Both Ryuji and Asakawa take \n pursuit, Ryuji calling out from behind Yamamuras back.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tTell us about Shizukos daughter. \n\t\tWho was she?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\t\n</b>\t\tI dont know!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tShe was there, with Shizuko. She \n\t\thad to be.\n\n Yamamuras pace, which has become increasingly erratic, finally \n causes him to stumble and fall. Ryuji comes up behind him, \n grasping him firmly. At their touch Ryujis power awakens, and as \n he peers into the old mans mind there is a sudden blinding\n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n The setting is a large MEETING HALL. A number of people are seated \n in folding chairs before a STAGE, on which are a four MEN in BUSINESS \n SUITS and a WOMAN in a KIMONO. A BANNER hangs above the stage, which \n reads PUBLIC DEMONSTRATION ON THE EXISTENCE OF CLAIRVOYANCE. \n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n Ryuji eyes widen as he realizes he is seeing Shizukos demonstration \n before the press. He also realizes--\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(to Yamamura)\n\t\tYou were there!\n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n YAMAMURA SHIZUKO, the woman in the kimono, is sitting at a TABLE \n onstage. Her face is calm and expressionless. Standing off to one \n side and peering from behind the curtains is a young Mr. Yamamura.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t(O.S.) \n</b>\t\tYou stood there and watched the \n\t\tdemonstration.\n\n CUT back to the beach. Asakawa comes running up toward Ryuji and the \n prone Mr. Yamamura. Suddenly there is another\n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n Asakawa, her eyes wide, finds herself inside the scene, reliving it \n as if she had actually been there. She watches as Shizuko receives \n a sealed clay POT in both hands. Shizuko regards the pot a moment \n and then places it gently on the table before her. She takes a \n calligraphy STYLUS from the table, begins writing on a thin, \n rectangular sheet of RICE PAPER. The members of the press talk \n excitedly, craning their necks for a better look.\n\n Onstage, a JUDGE holds up the phrase written by Shizuko and the \n folded sheet of paper taken from the sealed pot. The phrase on both \n sheets is identical.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJUDGE\t\t\n</b>\t\tMatch.\n\n Cameras begin FLASHING excitedly. Shizukos features melt into a soft \n smile. \n\n The experiment is performed again, and again the phrase written by \n Shizuko corresponds to the sealed sheet of paper.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJUDGE\n</b>\t\tMatch.\n\n Again and again, Shizuko unerringly demonstrates her power to see \n the unseen. Finally, a bearded REPORTER explodes from his chair, \n begins striding angrily towards the stage.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tREPORTER\t\n</b>\t\tFaker! This is nothing but trickery, \n\t\tand the lowest form of trickery at \n\t\tthat. \n\n The reporter stops at the foot of the stage, points his finger \n accusingly at Shizuko.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tREPORTER\t\n</b>\t\tWhat are you trying to pull, woman?\n\n A SECOND REPORTER sitting in the front row also rises to his feet.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tREPORTER #2\t\n</b>\t\tThats right! Professor Ikuma, \n\t\tyoure being fooled!\n\n By now most of the press has risen from their chairs, pointing and \n shouting angrily. Onstage, Shizuko backs away, eyes wide and \n frightened. She covers both ears, trying to block out the increasing \n din. Professor Ikuma holds her protectively by the shoulders. The \n first reporter is still shouting angrily, his voice rising above the \n others. Suddenly, a pained look crosses his face and he collapses to \n the floor. The crowd, and Asakawa as well, see that the reporters \n face is contorted into a grotesque mask of fear.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tREPORTER #3\t\n</b>\t\tWhats happened?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tREPORTER #4\t\n</b>\t\tHes dead!\n\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tREPORTER #5\t\n</b>\t\t\t(to Shizuko) \n\t\tWitch!\n\n Professor Ikuma begins leading Shizuko offstage. They stop as someone \n unseen steps up, blocking their passage. Shizukos eyes widen, her \n head shaking in disbelief.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSHIZUKO\n</b>\t\tSadako? Was it you?\n\n CUT to Ryuji on the beach. He looks up excitedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tSadako?!\n\n He recalls the image from the video, the alien eye with the single \n character SADA reflected in reverse. *\n\n\n >* The majority of girls' names in Japanese end in either -mi (\"beauty\") \n >or -ko (\"child\"). Thus, Sadako means \"Chaste child.\" Sadako is, of \n >course, the mysterious daughter of Shizuko and Professor Ikuma.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tSadako killed him? She can kill \n\t\tjust with a thought?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\t\n</b>\t\tShes... a devil spawn.\n\n CUT back to the demonstration hall. Sadako, her face completely hidden \n by her long hair, runs offstage... and heads directly for Asakawa. \n Asakawa instinctively raises her arm, and Sadako grasps it fiercely. \n All the nails on Sadako hand are stripped away; her fingers are raw, \n bloody stumps.\n\n CUT back to the beach. Asakawa, still caught in the throes of the \n vision, has begun to swoon. Finally her legs give out and she crumples \n to the beach. Ryuji grabs hold of her supportively. He glances down at \n her wrist, sees an ugly, purple BRUISE already beginning to form. \n\n The bruise is in the shape of five long, spindly fingers.\n\n Mr. Yamamura slowly rises to a sitting position, and together the three \n watch the approach of ominous, dark STORM CLOUDS.\n\n<b> INT. MR. HAYATSUS HOUSE DUSK\n</b>\n Asakawa is on the phone, her voice almost frantic.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tThats right. After Yamamura Shizuko \n\t\tcommitted suicide, Professor Ikuma\n\t\ttook the daughter and ran. No, no one\n\t\tknows where they went. Thats why I \n\t\tneed -you- to find out where they are. \n\t\tEven if the professors dead, Sadako \n\t\tshould still be in her forties. Ill \n\t\texplain it all later, but right now \n\t\tjust hurry!\n\n Asakawa slams the phone down. PAN to show Ryuji slumped in one corner \n of the room, his back to the wall.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tSadakos probably already dead. She\n\t\tcould kill people with just a thought, \n\t\tremember? Her mother wasnt even \n\t\tclose to that.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(flustered) \n\t\tWell, what about that video? If \n\t\tSadakos dead then who made it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tNobody made it. It wasnt made at \n\t\tall. That video... is the pure, \n\t\tphysical manifestation of Sadakos \n\t\thatred.\n\n Ryuji turns to regard Asakawa, his eyes blank.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tWeve been cursed.\n\n There is a moment of silence before Mr. Hayatsu slides the door open, \n almost falling into the room. He is out of breath, and speaks rapidly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\t\n</b>\t\tIts no good. With the typhoon \n\t\tcoming in, all ships are \n\t\ttemporarily staying docked.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tWhat about the fishing boats? \n\t\tTell their captains Ill pay.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\n</b>\t\tFishing boats? Sir, without knowing \n\t\twhether this typhoon is going to hit \n\t\tus or not, I think itd be better to \n\t\twait and see how things turn--\n\n Ryuji interrupts him, slamming both palms on the table. Glasses \n rattle wildly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tFine! Ill try searching myself!\n\n Ryuji stands and races past Mr. Hayatsu out into the rain. Hayatsu \n takes pursuit, calling after him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\t\n</b>\t\tMr. Takayama!? Mr. Takayama...\n\n Asakawa, left alone, stares down at the tatami mats.\n\n<b> EXT. OCEAN - NIGHT \n</b>\n White-capped waves roll angrily in a black sea.\n\n<b> INT. MR. HAYATSUS HOUSE NIGHT\n</b>\n Asakawa sits at a table, alone, her hands clasped as if in prayer. Her \n eyes are wide and glassy. The phone RINGS suddenly and Asakawa dives \n for it, wrenching it from the cradle before it can ring a second time.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tHello?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tMrs. Asakawa? Im sorry. I tried, \n\t\tbut I couldnt come up with any \n\t\tleads at all.\n\n A look of abject fear crosses Asakawas face. She begins retreating \n into herself.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tOKAZAKI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tHello?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t\t(softly) \n\t\tThank you...\n\n Asakawa slowly places the phone back in its cradle. Almost immediately, \n her face begins to crumple. She falls to her knees, sobbing into the \n floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tYoichi...\n\n She cries a while longer but suddenly stops. Her face, eyes streaked \n with tears, shoots suddenly up, stares directly at the telephone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t \n</b>\t\t\t(softly) \n\t\tIzu...\n\n<b> EXT. IZU WHARF NIGHT\n</b>\n Asakawa stands looking down on the wharf, scanning. \n\n Several FISHING BOATS are docked. The wind whips her hair crazily \n around. She continues scanning, and suddenly she spies--\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\t\t(calling) \n\t\tRyuji!\n\n Asakawa runs down onto the wharf, heading towards Ryuji. He is \n in mid-conversation with Mr. Hayatsu.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tRyuji! The phone in my apartment \n\t\tnever rang! It only ever rang at\n\t\tthe rental cottage! Professor \n\t\tIkuma mustve...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tAnd weve got no way of going back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYATSU\t\n</b>\t\tIts too dangerous! The thought of \n\t\tanybody going out in this weather...\n\n The three fall into silence as they realize the powerlessness of their \n situation. Suddenly, a deep VOICE booms from behind them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tIll take you out.\n\n The three spin around to see Mr. Yamamura, his ROBES flapping in the \n gusty night air. He begins walking towards them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\t\n</b>\t\tSadako is callin yall, reckon. \n\t\tMayhap to drag you down under the \n\t\twater.\n\n Short silence. Ryuji shoots a short questioning glance at Asakawa, \n turns back to face Mr. Yamamura.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tPlease. Take us out.\n\n\n\n<b> EXT. OCEAN NIGHT\n</b>\n A tiny FISHING BOAT is tossed about on the waves. Mr. Yamamura stands \n at the wheel, his face expressionless.\n\n<b> INT. MR. YAMAMURAS FISHING BOAT NIGHT\n</b>\n Ryuji and Asakawa are crouched close together in the cabin. Asakawas \n expression is dreamy, faraway.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIts funny. Im not afraid at all. \n\n Ryuji leans over, rubs her hand comfortingly. Suddenly he switches \n back into analytical mode.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tSadako probably died back out there\n\t\tat Izu, before the rental cottages \n\t\twere ever built.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tSo, Sadako was Professor Ikumas \n\t\tdaughter?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(nodding) \n\t\tIkuma smuggled her out in secret. \n\t\tHis relationship with Shizuko was \n\t\talready a scandal, and one of the \n\t\treasons he got drummed out of the \n\t\tuniversity... Weve gotta find \n\t\tSadakos body.\n\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t\t(excitedly) \n\t\tIs that going to break the curse? \n\t\tWill Yoichi be all right?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tIts all weve got left to try.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tJust one more day...\n\n Ryuji puts his arm around Asakawa.\n\n<b> EXT. MR. YAMAMURAS FISHING BOAT - DAWN \n</b>\n Ryuji stands on deck, looking out over the water. He heads down \n below toward the captains area. Mr. Yamamura is at the wheel.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tWe made it. Maybe Sadako doesnt \n\t\thave it out for us after all.\n\n Long pause as Mr. Yamamura says nothing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA\n</b>\t\tShizuko... she used to -speak- to \n\t\tthe ocean, just ramble away. One \n\t\ttime I hid, listenin to one of her \n\t\tconversations.\n\n Mr. Yamamura pauses again.\n\n\t\t\t\tYAMAMURA (contd)\t\n\t\tAnd it werent in no human language.\n\n\n<b> EXT. MR. YAMAMURAS FISHING BOAT DAWN\n</b>\n Asakawa has climbed out on deck and is looking up towards the sunrise.\n\n Caption-- September 20th. Monday.\n\n<b> EXT. HARDWARE STORE DAY\n</b>\n Ryuji races out of the store, loaded down with supplies. He holds a \n pair of BUCKETS in one hand and a CROWBAR and SHOVEL in the other. A \n length of ROPE is coiled over his left shoulder. He runs towards a \n RENTAL CAR, passing by Asakawa who stands at a PAYPHONE, receiver in \n hand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tHello?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tYoichi? Its mommy. I just called \n\t\tto say Ill be coming home tomorrow.\n\n Ryuji shoots a look at her over his shoulder.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tIm tired of it here, mom! I wanna\n\t\tgo back to school.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling) \n\t\tYoichi, its rude to your grandpa \n\t\tto talk like that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tHes laughing. You wanna talk to him?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tNo, thats...\n\n Asakawa pauses, her voice hitching. She seems about to lose \n her composure.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tIm sorry, Yoichi. Ill... Ill \n\t\tsee you tomorrow. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOICHI (O.S.)\t\n</b>\t\tWhats wrong?\n\n Asakawas face scrunches up in an effort to hold back tears.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tMommys got something she has to do. \n\t\tSay hello to grandpa for me, OK?\n\n Ryuji stands by the car, scowling over at Asakawa. He shuts the DOOR \n just short of a slam. CUT to Asakawa hanging up the phone. She half-\n runs towards the rental car and enters the passenger side, staring \n blankly into space. Ryuji slides into the drivers seat, buckles his \n<b> SEATBELT. \n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tWhat time was it when you first \n\t\twatched the video?\n\n Asakawa glances at her watch.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tSeven or eight minutes past \n\t\tseven. PM. No more than ten \n\t\tminutes past.\n<b> \t\t\n</b><b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tIf the rumors are true, that \n\t\ttime is gonna be our deadline.\n\n Asakawa buckles up as Ryuji steps on the gas.\n\n<b> INT. RENTAL CAR DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa sits in the passenger side. Her face is almost angelic, \n with the faintest hint of a smile. Ryuji shoots a questioning look \n at her.\n\n<b> EXT. COUNTRY ROAD DAY\n</b>\n The white rental car tears past the SIGN reading Izu Pacific Land. \n The car continues into the LOT, screeching around corners before \n coming to an abrupt halt. Asakawa, her face still oddly expressionless, \n gets out of the passenger side. Ryuji exits as well, the hint of a \n shudder running through him as he regards the series of rental cabins.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\t-Here-.\n\n CUT to Asakawa and Ryuji walking up the gravel PATH towards the rental \n cabins. Ryuji looks back over his shoulder as both he and Asakawa stop \n before cabin B4. The cabin is on STILTS, its underbelly fenced off by \n wooden LATICEWORK. Ryuji drops most of his supplies to the ground, but \n keeps hold of the PICK. He raises the pick over one shoulder and begins \n smashing away at the latticework. When he has cleared enough space for \n passage, he begins picking up supplies and tossing them hastily within. \n When finished, he holds a hand out for Asakawa. The two enter the \n earthen basement.\n\n\n<b> UNDER COTTAGE B4 - DAY \n</b>\n Ryuji pulls a FLASHLIGHT out, flicks it on. The BEAM arcs outwards, \n illuminating what looks more like an old mine shaft than a modern \n rental cottage. The beam halts when it suddenly encounters an old \n STONE WELL. The well is badly chipped on one side, and sealed off \n with a solid-looking stone LID. Ryuji rushes quickly towards it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tI knew it! The well.\n\n He squats down beside the well, setting the flashlight on the \n lid. Asakawa sinks slowly down beside him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tThe well...\n\n Ryuji reaches out and takes Asakawas hand. He sets their enclasped \n hands onto the lid, and together they begin lightly tracing the \n surface of the lid with their free hands. Asakawa closes her eyes in \n concentration... and suddenly, as with the incident on the beach, \n Asakawa finds herself drawn into Ryujis psychometric VISION.\n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n The picture is black and white, grainy like old film. A YOUNG GIRL in \n a WHITE GOWN walks slowly towards an open well. She places her hand on \n the LIP of the well, peers curiously down. \n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n Asakawa looks up, her eyes wide open.\n\n<b> FLASH\n</b><b> \n</b> There is now a second person in the vision, an ELDERLY MAN in an old-\n fashioned tweed SUIT standing behind the young girl. He suddenly \n produces some BLADED OBJECT, and strikes the girl savagely across the \n back of the head. \n\n The girl falls forward. The man drops to the ground, grabbing the girl \n behind the knees and hoisting her limp BODY over the lip and into the \n well. The body falls into its depths.\n\n Panting heavily, the man leans forward and grasps the lip of the well \n with both hands, looking down. He flashes a guilty look in either \n direction, checking that his crime has gone unnoticed, and as he does \n so Asakawa realizes that she knows this face. The image from the \n videotape, like a face in the moon: it had been Sadako inside the well, \n looking up to see this man staring back down at her.\n\n This man whose name is Professor Ikuma Heihachiro.\n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tHer own father!\n\n The energy seems to drain out of Asakawa in a rush, and her body \n crumbles. Ryuji catches hold of her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\t\n</b>\t\tIt was Ikuma who put this lid on. \n\t\tAnd Sadakos still inside.\n\n Ryuji stands quickly, takes hold of the crowbar. He inserts it under \n the lid and begins trying to pry it off, face scrunched with effort. \n Asakawa digs her fingers in and lends her own strength as well. Slowly,\n the lid begins to move. Ryuji tosses the crowbar aside and the two \n lean the combined weight of their bodies into it. The lid slides off, \n dropping to the earth with a dull THUD. Ryuji sits to one side, winded \n with effort, as Asakawa takes hold of the flashlight. She shines it \n down into the well, but it only seems to intensify the gloom. What \n WATER she can see looks fetid and brackish. Ryuji sees her expression \n and begins removing his JACKET.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tIll go.\n\n He walks off, leaving Asakawa alone.\n\n CUT to an overhead shot of the well. A ROPE is fastened to one side, \n and Ryuji has already begun lowering himself down. His eyes wander \n overthe grime-smeared WALLS, and with a shudder he begins to pick out \n human FINGERNAILS. Torn loose and spattered with blood, countless \n fingernails line the sides of the well. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b> \t\tSadako was alive! Shed tried to \n\t\tclimb her way out.\n\n Ryujis face twists into a grimace as if momentarily experiencing \n Sadakosterrible agony. He waits a moment longer before edging his \n way down the rope again, finally SPLASHING to rest at the bottom of \n the well. He holds his flashlight above the brackish water, calls up \n to Asakawa.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tLower the buckets!\n\n Asakawa nods and lowers two plastic BUCKETS fastened to a rope. Ryuji \n grabs one and scoops up a bucketful of water, tugging on the rope when \n finished.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tTake it up!\n\n Asakawa hoists the bucket up to the rim of the well. She walks a small \n distance and tosses the contents out onto the ground. She happens to \n glance through the wooden lattice to the outside, and with a start \n realizes that the sun has already started to set. A nervous glance at \n her WATCH later and she is back at the well, lowering the empty bucket \n to find another full one already awaiting her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tTake it up!\n\n In the well, Ryuji glances at his watch. He looks at it for a long \n moment, the expression on his face saying Were not going to make it. \n Time passes as Asakawa pulls up bucketload after bucketload, her \n strength beginning to fade. She half-stumbles, glances up... and is \n shocked to realize that NIGHT has fallen.\n\n CUT to Asakawa slowly pulling up yet another bucket, her strength \n almost gone. She looks at her watch and sees that it is now past \n 6:00. She calls frantically down to Ryuji.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIts already six!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(explosively) \n\t\tI know! Hurry up and TAKE IT UP!!\n\n The bucket slowly jerks into motion. Asakawa pulls it up to the rim \n of the well, holds it unsteadily. She takes one faltering step and \n falls, spilling the buckets contents onto the ground. \n\n CUT to Ryuji in the well, standing ready with another bucketful.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b> \t\tTake it up!\n\n Nothing happens. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tAsakawa!\n\n The bucket begins moving, even slower than before. CUT to Asakawa, \n her body trembling with effort. By now its all she can do to simply \n keep her body moving. She glances behind her, sees through the wooden \n lattice that it is now pitch black. A look of resignation crosses her \n face and she releases her hold on the bucket, her body crumpling and \n falling in on itself. \n<b> \n</b> CUT to the bucket splashing back into the well, narrowly missing \n Ryuji.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\t\t(fuming) \n\t\tWhat the hell are you doing? Trying \n\t\tto get me killed?\n\n CUT back to Asakawa, her face dead. Ryuji calls out from the well.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI (O.S.) \n</b>\t\tHey!\n\n Asakawa falls backward onto the ground, arms splayed. CUT to the rim \n of the well. Ryuji pulls himself up over the rim, catches sight of \n Asakawa.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tAsakawa!\n\n She lifts her head up but says nothing as Ryuji walks over to her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tWell change. Youre in no condition \n\t\tto keep this up.\n\n Asakawa suddenly springs into life. Her voice is frantic, fearful.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA:\t\n</b>\t\tNo!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tWho do you expect to pull up these \n\t\tbuckets, then?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tBut, we dont even know if its doing \n\t\tany good...\n\n Ryuji strides forward and slaps Asakawa painfully across the cheek. \n He begins shaking her roughly for good measure.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tAnd what about Yoichi, huh? Is his\n\t\tmother not coming to pick him up \n\t\tafter all?\n\n He releases his hold on her. The two stare at each other a long time, \n saying nothing.\n<b> \n</b> CUT to an overhead shot of Asakawa being lowered into the well. CUT \n now to Asakawa inside the well, her face and clothes covered with \n grime, body simultaneously limp with exhaustion and tense with fright. \n Unable to resist the impulse, Asakawa slowly looks over her shoulder \n and down into the well. The dankness, the claustrophobia seeps in \n and she draws in her breath in the first signs of panic.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tDont look down!\n\n She returns her gaze, cranes her neck upward. CUT to Ryuji leaning \n over the rim of the well, peering down at her. For an instant, \n everything becomes monochrome. Its not Ryuji looking down at her at \n all; its Professor Ikuma, checking to see if shes still alive or \n if the blow to the back of her head has finished her off. CUT to \n Asakawa, her eyes wide with fright.\n\n Asakawa comes to rest at the bottom of the well. A FLASHLIGHT hangs \n from another rope, but its beam has almost no effect on the darkness. \n Asakawa crouches forward, hands moving searchingly through the water. \n She calls out pleadingly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tWhere are you? Please, come out.\n\n Asakawa straightens, unties herself from the rope. A full bucket \n already awaits. She tugs on the rope and Ryuji pulls it up. \n\n She scoops up a second bucket, but something stops her from sending \n it up. Instead, she begins running her arms through the water again, \n her voice close to tears.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tPlease. Where are you?\n\n Asakawa continues her blind fumbling, which sends up little splashes \n of stagnant water. With a start, she realizes that her fingers have \n caught something. Seaweed? Asakawa draws her hands close for a \n better look... and sees that is HAIR. A thick clump of long, black \n hair.\n\n Suddenly a pale, thin ARM shoots out from beneath the water, catching \n Asakawa just below the wrist. Asakawas ears are filled with a SOUND \n like moaning as something slowly rises from its watery slumber. It \n is a GIRL, her face completely hidden by long, black hair. CUT to a \n shot of Asakawas face. Far from being frightened, her features are \n oddly placid. She regards the fearsome thing before her with an \n almost tender look. Asakawa reaches out, lightly strokes that long \n hair. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIts you...\n\n She strokes the hair again, and abruptly it peels right off the head \n with a loud SQUELCH. Revealed is not a face at all but a SKULL. Its \n sockets are at first menacingly empty, but then begin to ooze the \n green SLUDGE it has pulled up from the bottom of the well. Like a \n mother comforting a frightened child, Asakawa pulls the skeletal \n remains to her breast, strokes the bony head comfortingly. Her eyes \n begin to glaze.\n\n CUT to Ryuji racing up to the rim of the well, leaning down intently.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tHey! Asakawa! Its already 10 \n\t\tminutes past seven! We did it!\n\n Down in the well, Asakawa continues staring blankly ahead. Her body \n suddenly falls forward, limp.\n\n<b> EXT. OUTSIDE COTTAGE B4 NIGHT\n</b>\n Three POLICE CARS are parked outside the rental cottages, crimson \n headlights flashing. A few COPS walk by, two of them carrying \n something off in white PLASTIC BAGS. CUT to Ryuji and Asakawa \n sitting on the curb. Asakawa is staring off at something, a BLANKET \n draped over her shoulder. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tWhy would Ikuma have killed her? \n\t\tHis own daughter...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tMaybe she wasnt his daughter at all. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tWhat?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tMaybe her father... wasnt even human.\n\n The two exchange glances. Ryujis gaze falls to Asakawas WRIST, \n which he suddenly takes and holds close to his face. The ugly \n bruise where Sadako had grabbed her has disappeared.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tIts gone... \n\n He shakes his head, clearing his analytical mind of their ordeal.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tEnough, already. Its over. Cmon. \n\t\tIll take you home.\n\n Ryuji stands, pulls Asakawa to her feet.\n\n<b> EXT. OUTSIDE ASKAWAS APARTMENT - NIGHT \n</b>\n Ryujis white CAR pulls up into the parking lot. He and Asakawa \n get out, regard each other from opposite sides of the car. There is \n a long moment where neither of them says anything.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\t\n</b>\t\tGet some rest. \n\n He flashes her the slightest of grins. \n\n\t\t\t\tRYUJI (contd)\n\t\tI still have a thesis to finish. \n\n CUT to a shot of Ryuji and Asakawa, the car creating an almost \n metaphoric distance between them. \n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\t...thank you.\n\n Ryuji nods silently by way of reply. He gets into his car and \n drives off. Asakawa watches him go, and then walks towards the \n entrance of her apartment.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT BEDROOM MORNING\n</b>\n Asakawa walks into her room, sits on the edge of her bed. It is \n now morning, and she sits dazedly watching the sun come up.\n\n<b> INT. RYUJIS APARTMENT MORNING\n</b>\n Ryuji sits busily scribbling into a NOTEBOOK. He stops writing a \n moment to regard his notes while taking a sip of COFFEE. He \n glances over at his BLACKBOARD for confirmation when a small scowl \n crosses his brow. Its gone a moment later as he chuckles wryly \n to himself.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tThat girl...\n\n Ryuji stands, walks over to the blackboard. He fixes Mais little \n prank with a single chalk stroke. \n\n<b> EXT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT VERANDA MORNING\n</b>\n Asakawa emerges, taking in the dawn. At first her face is calm and \n tranquil... but her features change as the sun almost noticeably \n darkens and a WIND begins to kick up her hair. She now looks very \n anxious.\n\n Caption-- September 21st. Tuesday.\n\n\n NOTE: This next scene is entirely visual. If you are reading this \n translation before watching the movie, do yourself a favor; STOP \n reading this now and watch the scene for itself.\n\n\n<b> INT. RYUJIS APARTMENT MORNING\n</b>\n Ryuji is busy scribbling away at his notes again. His hand suddenly \n ceases, eyes dancing worriedly as he hears a faint...\n\n No.\n\n Breath rattling fearfully in his throat, Ryuji spins around to face \n the TELEVISION SET. He gets out of his seat for a better look, \n falling to his knees on the tatami. \n\n The image that fills the screen is the last scene from the videotape; \n the shot of the well. \n\n The SOUND from before comes louder now, more insistent, a metallic \n screeching that both repulses and beckons him closer. Ryuji crawls on \n all fours towards the SCREEN, stares at its unchanging image with \n terrible foreboding.\n\n There is a flash of MOTION as something shoots out of the well. A \n hand. First one, and then another, as Sadako, still in her grimy white \n dress, face hidden beneath long, oily strands of hair, begins slowly \n pulling herself out. The television screen jumps unsteadily, fills \n with static as if barely able to contain her image. \n\n CUT back and forth between Ryuji, who is beginning to visibly panic, \n and the television, which shows Sadako lurching ever closer.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\t\t(almost frantic) \n\t\tWhy?!\n\n The TELEPHONE rings, and Ryuji spins round towards it, breath catching \n in his throat. He looks at the phone, over his shoulder at the \n television, back to the phone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tThats it! Asakawa...\n\n Ryuji scrambles wildly towards the phone. He takes the receiver but \n is unable to do more than clutch it fearfully as his gaze is drawn \n inexorably back to the television. Sadakos shrouded face has filled \n the entire screen... and then, television popping and crackling, she \n jerks forward and emerges from the television onto the floor of \n Ryujis apartment. Ryuji backs away, screaming in terror.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRYUJI\n</b>\t\tAaargh!\n\n Sadako lies prone, collapsed, hair splayed out like a drowned corpse. \n Only her FINGERS are active, crawling, feeling. The TIPS of her \n fingers are little more than bloodied stumps, not a single fingernail \n on them. She uses the strength in those fingers to pull herself \n forward, coming jerkily to her feet. The joints of her body twist \n unnaturally, more insect-like than human.\n\n Ryuji flings the phone aside and begins scrambling about the apartment \n as if looking for cover. The strength has already begun to fade from \n his body, however, and his movements are clumsy, exaggerated. He falls \n to the floor, panting heavily. \n\n Sadako turns to regard him, and for just an instant we can see beneath \n her impenetrable shroud of hair; a single EYE burns with manic, \n unbridled hatred. \n\n Its gaze meets Ryujis, and his face twists into a grimace as he \n SCREAMS loudly.\n\n<b> FLASH\n</b>\n<b> EXT. KOUJIS HOUSE - FRONT YARD DAY\n</b>\n Yoichi sits on the lawn, doodling into a large SKETCHPAD. He \n suddenly stops, eyes registering that he has somehow felt his fathers \n death.\n<b> \n</b><b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa clutches the RECEIVER to her ear. She can still hear the \n sounds of metallic SCREECHING coming from the video, though they are \n now becoming softer.\n\n<b> EXT. OUTSIDE RYUJIS APARTMENT BUILDING DAY\n</b>\n Asakawa comes running down a side street, turning the corner and \n making for the entrance to Ryujis apartment building. There is a \n single GUARD posted at the entrance. He reaches out, catches Asakawa \n lightly by the arm.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGUARD\n</b>\t\tAre you a resident here, maam?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tIm Takayama Ryujis wife!\n\n The guard drops his hand, and Asakawa makes for the entrance.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGUARD\n</b>\t\tIm sorry maam, but theyve already \n\t\ttaken the body away.\n\n Asakawas spins around, eyes wide. Body?\n\n<b> INT. HALLWAY OUTSIDE RYUJIS APARTMENT DAY\n</b>\n Mai is there, slumped against one wall. Asakawa comes running up, \n dropping to her knees and grasping Mai by the shoulders.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tWhat happened?\n\n Mai shakes her head dreamily.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAI\n</b>\t\tWhen I got here he was just \n\t\tlying there...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\t\n</b>\t\tDid he say anything to you? About \n\t\ta videotape?\n\n Mai shakes her head again, shakes it harder until the breath \n catches in her throat.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAI\n</b>\t\tHis face...\n\n Mai falls into silence, curls up on herself. Asakawa leaves her \n and crosses toward the door to Ryujis apartment.\n\n<b> INT. RYUJIS APARTMENT - DAY \n</b>\n The front DOOR opens wildly, noisily forward. Asakawa comes \n rushing in, eyes darting about the apartment. She thinks \n frantically to herself.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA (VO)\n</b>\t\tRyuji... why? Does this mean that\n\t\tYoichi will die, too? Is the curse \n\t\tnot broken yet?\n\n Her gaze falls to the television set. She dives forward, presses \n the eject button on the VCR. Sure enough, the TAPE is still in \n the deck. She takes the tape and leaves.\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM NIGHT\n</b>\n Asakawa walks slowly, dreamily forward. She drops the videotape \n loudly onto the coffee table and slouches into a CHAIR. Her eyes \n fall to the framed photographs of Yoichi on one of the shelves. \n This snaps Asakawa out of her daze and she begins whispering \n intently to herself, thinking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tI was the only one to break \n\t\tSadakos curse. Ryuji... why...? \n\t\tSomething I did that you didnt... \n\t\tSomething I did that you didnt... \n\n Asakawa gives up, lowers her face into her hands. When she looks \n up again, she happens to glance at the television screen-- and \n its GLARE reveals that there is someone ELSE in the room with her. \n It is the figure from the videotape, the silent accuser with the \n cloth draped over its face. With a start, Asakawa realizes that \n the figure is wearing Ryujis clothes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tRyuji?!\n\n She spins around, but the room is empty. Asakawas mind races. \n The figure had been pointing towards her BAG. She stands, \n rummages in her bag to produce her copy of the cursed videotape. \n She takes Ryujis COPY in her other hand, her eyes darting \n between the two tapes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tSomething I did that you didnt...\n\n It suddenly clicks home as Asakawa looks full-on at Ryujis \n version of the tape, plainly marked COPY.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA\n</b>\t\tWhat broke the curse was that I copied \n\t\tthe tape and showed it to someone else!\n\n CUT to Asakawa slowly pulling her VCR from the television stand. \n A look of almost frightening resolve etches her face.\n\n<b> EXT. HIGHWAY DAY\n</b>\n ARIAL SHOT of Asakawas car. We hear her VOICE on the cell \n phone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tASAKAWA (O.S.)\n</b> \t\tDad? Its me. Im on my way over.\n \t\tLook, dad, Ive got something to ask. \n\t\tIts for Yoichi...\n\n<b> INT. ASAKAWAS CAR DAY\n</b>\n CLOSEUP on the VCR in the passenger side. CUT to Asakawa at the \n wheel as time spirals forward, the decisions of the present \n already become rumor of the future.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL A (VO) \n</b>\t\tThey say theres a way you can stay \n\t\talive after you watch the video. \n\t\tYouve gotta make a copy of it, and \n\t\tshow it to somebody else inside a week.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL B (VO) \n</b>\t\tBut what about the person you show it \n\t\tto?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL A (VO) \n</b>\t\tWell, then they make a copy and show it \n\t\tto somebody else. Again, inside a week.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL C (VO) \n</b>\t\t\t(laughing)\n\t\tThen theres no end to it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL A (VO) \n</b>\t\tThats just it. There -is- no end. But \n\t\tif it meant not dying... youd do it, \n\t\twouldnt you?\n\n Asakawas eyes begin to well. Her car speeds along the highway, \n to the direction of menacing-looking STORM CLOUDS.\n\n Caption-- September 22nd. Wednesday.\n\n\n\n\n FADE TO BLACK as the CAPTION turns blood red."},"answers":{"kind":"list like","value":["Masami and Tomoko"],"string":"[\n \"Masami and Tomoko\"\n]","isConversational":false},"length":{"kind":"number","value":17497,"string":"17,497"},"dataset":{"kind":"string","value":"narrativeqa"},"language":{"kind":"string","value":"en"},"all_classes":{"kind":"null"},"_id":{"kind":"string","value":"9faec974fe4711c5b929ebc90f89336aeafe4ad8c5801872"}}},{"rowIdx":1794,"cells":{"input":{"kind":"string","value":"In what war did Rogers learn his battle knowledge?"},"context":{"kind":"string","value":"Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nARMAGEDDON--2419 A.D.\n\n_By Philip Francis Nowlan_\n\n\n _Here, once more, is a real scientifiction story plus. It is a story\n which will make the heart of many readers leap with joy._\n\n _We have rarely printed a story in this magazine that for scientific\n interest, as well as suspense, could hold its own with this\n particular story. We prophesy that this story will become more\n valuable as the years go by. It certainly holds a number of\n interesting prophecies, of which no doubt, many will come true. For\n wealth of science, it will be hard to beat for some time to come. It\n is one of those rare stories that will bear reading and re-reading\n many times._\n\n _This story has impressed us so favorably, that we hope the author\n may be induced to write a sequel to it soon._\n\n\n\n\nForeword\n\n\nElsewhere I have set down, for whatever interest they have in this, the\n25th Century, my personal recollections of the 20th Century.\n\nNow it occurs to me that my memoirs of the 25th Century may have an\nequal interest 500 years from now--particularly in view of that unique\nperspective from which I have seen the 25th Century, entering it as I\ndid, in one leap across a gap of 492 years.\n\nThis statement requires elucidation. There are still many in the world\nwho are not familiar with my unique experience. Five centuries from now\nthere may be many more, especially if civilization is fated to endure\nany worse convulsions than those which have occurred between 1975 A.D.\nand the present time.\n\nI should state therefore, that I, Anthony Rogers, am, so far as I know,\nthe only man alive whose normal span of eighty-one years of life has\nbeen spread over a period of 573 years. To be precise, I lived the first\ntwenty-nine years of my life between 1898 and 1927; the other fifty-two\nsince 2419. The gap between these two, a period of nearly five hundred\nyears, I spent in a state of suspended animation, free from the ravages\nof katabolic processes, and without any apparent effect on my physical\nor mental faculties.\n\nWhen I began my long sleep, man had just begun his real conquest of the\nair in a sudden series of transoceanic flights in airplanes driven by\ninternal combustion motors. He had barely begun to speculate on the\npossibilities of harnessing sub-atomic forces, and had made no further\npractical penetration into the field of ethereal pulsations than the\nprimitive radio and television of that day. The United States of America\nwas the most powerful nation in the world, its political, financial,\nindustrial and scientific influence being supreme; and in the arts also\nit was rapidly climbing into leadership.\n\nI awoke to find the America I knew a total wreck--to find Americans a\nhunted race in their own land, hiding in the dense forests that covered\nthe shattered and leveled ruins of their once magnificent cities,\ndesperately preserving, and struggling to develop in their secret\nretreats, the remnants of their culture and science--and the undying\nflame of their sturdy independence.\n\nWorld domination was in the hands of Mongolians and the center of world\npower lay in inland China, with Americans one of the few races of\nmankind unsubdued--and it must be admitted in fairness to the truth, not\nworth the trouble of subduing in the eyes of the Han Airlords who ruled\nNorth America as titular tributaries of the Most Magnificent.\n\nFor they needed not the forests in which the Americans lived, nor the\nresources of the vast territories these forests covered. With the\nperfection to which they had reduced the synthetic production of\nnecessities and luxuries, their remarkable development of scientific\nprocesses and mechanical accomplishment of work, they had no economic\nneed for the forests, and no economic desire for the enslaved labor of\nan unruly race.\n\nThey had all they needed for their magnificently luxurious and degraded\nscheme of civilization, within the walls of the fifteen cities of\nsparkling glass they had flung skyward on the sites of ancient American\ncenters, into the bowels of the earth underneath them, and with\nrelatively small surrounding areas of agriculture.\n\nComplete domination of the air rendered communication between these\ncenters a matter of ease and safety. Occasional destructive raids on the\nwaste lands were considered all that was necessary to keep the \"wild\"\nAmericans on the run within the shelter of their forests, and prevent\ntheir becoming a menace to the Han civilization.\n\nBut nearly three hundred years of easily maintained security, the last\ncentury of which had been nearly sterile in scientific, social and\neconomic progress, had softened and devitalized the Hans.\n\nIt had likewise developed, beneath the protecting foliage of the forest,\nthe growth of a vigorous new American civilization, remarkable in the\nmobility and flexibility of its organization, in its conquest of almost\ninsuperable obstacles, in the development and guarding of its industrial\nand scientific resources, all in anticipation of that \"Day of Hope\" to\nwhich it had been looking forward for generations, when it would be\nstrong enough to burst from the green chrysalis of the forests, soar\ninto the upper air lanes and destroy the yellow incubus.\n\nAt the time I awoke, the \"Day of Hope\" was almost at hand. I shall not\nattempt to set forth a detailed history of the Second War of\nIndependence, for that has been recorded already by better historians\nthan I am. Instead I shall confine myself largely to the part I was\nfortunate enough to play in this struggle and in the events leading up\nto it.\n\n[Illustration: Seen upon the ultroscope viewplate, the battle looked as\nthough it were being fought in daylight, perhaps on a cloudy day, while\nthe explosions of the rockets appeared as flashes of extra brilliance.]\n\nIt all resulted from my interest in radioactive gases. During the latter\npart of 1927 my company, the American Radioactive Gas Corporation, had\nbeen keeping me busy investigating reports of unusual phenomena observed\nin certain abandoned coal mines near the Wyoming Valley, in\nPennsylvania.\n\nWith two assistants and a complete equipment of scientific instruments,\nI began the exploration of a deserted working in a mountainous district,\nwhere several weeks before, a number of mining engineers had reported\ntraces of carnotite[1] and what they believed to be radioactive gases.\nTheir report was not without foundation, it was apparent from the\noutset, for in our examination of the upper levels of the mine, our\ninstruments indicated a vigorous radioactivity.\n\n [1] A hydrovanadate of uranium, and other metals; used as a source\n of radium compounds.\n\nOn the morning of December 15th, we descended to one of the lowest\nlevels. To our surprise, we found no water there. Obviously it had\ndrained off through some break in the strata. We noticed too that the\nrock in the side walls of the shaft was soft, evidently due to the\nradioactivity, and pieces crumbled under foot rather easily. We made our\nway cautiously down the shaft, when suddenly the rotted timbers above us\ngave way.\n\nI jumped ahead, barely escaping the avalanche of coal and soft rock, but\nmy companions, who were several paces behind me, were buried under it,\nand undoubtedly met instant death.\n\nI was trapped. Return was impossible. With my electric torch I explored\nthe shaft to its end, but could find no other way out. The air became\nincreasingly difficult to breathe, probably from the rapid accumulation\nof the radioactive gas. In a little while my senses reeled and I lost\nconsciousness.\n\nWhen I awoke, there was a cool and refreshing circulation of air in the\nshaft. I had no thought that I had been unconscious more than a few\nhours, although it seems that the radioactive gas had kept me in a state\nof suspended animation for something like 500 years. My awakening, I\nfigured out later, had been due to some shifting of the strata which\nreopened the shaft and cleared the atmosphere in the working. This must\nhave been the case, for I was able to struggle back up the shaft over a\npile of debris, and stagger up the long incline to the mouth of the\nmine, where an entirely different world, overgrown with a vast forest\nand no visible sign of human habitation, met my eyes.\n\nI shall pass over the days of mental agony that followed in my attempt\nto grasp the meaning of it all. There were times when I felt that I was\non the verge of insanity. I roamed the unfamiliar forest like a lost\nsoul. Had it not been for the necessity of improvising traps and crude\nclubs with which to slay my food, I believe I should have gone mad.\n\nSuffice it to say, however, that I survived this psychic crisis. I shall\nbegin my narrative proper with my first contact with Americans of the\nyear 2419 A.D.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nFloating Men\n\n\nMy first glimpse of a human being of the 25th Century was obtained\nthrough a portion of woodland where the trees were thinly scattered,\nwith a dense forest beyond.\n\nI had been wandering along aimlessly, and hopelessly, musing over my\nstrange fate, when I noticed a figure that cautiously backed out of the\ndense growth across the glade. I was about to call out joyfully, but\nthere was something furtive about the figure that prevented me. The\nboy's attention (for it seemed to be a lad of fifteen or sixteen) was\ncentered tensely on the heavy growth of trees from which he had just\nemerged.\n\nHe was clad in rather tight-fitting garments entirely of green, and wore\na helmet-like cap of the same color. High around his waist he wore a\nbroad, thick belt, which bulked up in the back across the shoulders,\ninto something of the proportions of a knapsack.\n\nAs I was taking in these details, there came a vivid flash and heavy\ndetonation, like that of a hand grenade, not far to the left of him. He\nthrew up an arm and staggered a bit in a queer, gliding way; then he\nrecovered himself and slipped cautiously away from the place of the\nexplosion, crouching slightly, and still facing the denser part of the\nforest. Every few steps he would raise his arm, and point into the\nforest with something he held in his hand. Wherever he pointed there was\na terrific explosion, deeper in among the trees. It came to me then that\nhe was shooting with some form of pistol, though there was neither flash\nnor detonation from the muzzle of the weapon itself.\n\nAfter firing several times, he seemed to come to a sudden resolution,\nand turning in my general direction, leaped--to my amazement sailing\nthrough the air between the sparsely scattered trees in such a jump as I\nhad never in my life seen before. That leap must have carried him a full\nfifty feet, although at the height of his arc, he was not more than ten\nor twelve feet from the ground.\n\nWhen he alighted, his foot caught in a projecting root, and he sprawled\ngently forward. I say \"gently\" for he did not crash down as I expected\nhim to do. The only thing I could compare it with was a slow-motion\ncinema, although I had never seen one in which horizontal motions were\nregistered at normal speed and only the vertical movements were slowed\ndown.\n\nDue to my surprise, I suppose my brain did not function with its normal\nquickness, for I gazed at the prone figure for several seconds before I\nsaw the blood that oozed out from under the tight green cap. Regaining\nmy power of action, I dragged him out of sight back of the big tree. For\na few moments I busied myself in an attempt to staunch the flow of\nblood. The wound was not a deep one. My companion was more dazed than\nhurt. But what of the pursuers?\n\nI took the weapon from his grasp and examined it hurriedly. It was not\nunlike the automatic pistol to which I was accustomed, except that it\napparently fired with a button instead of a trigger. I inserted several\nfresh rounds of ammunition into its magazine from my companion's belt,\nas rapidly as I could, for I soon heard, near us, the suppressed\nconversation of his pursuers.\n\nThere followed a series of explosions round about us, but none very\nclose. They evidently had not spotted our hiding place, and were firing\nat random.\n\nI waited tensely, balancing the gun in my hand, to accustom myself to\nits weight and probable throw.\n\nThen I saw a movement in the green foliage of a tree not far away, and\nthe head and face of a man appeared. Like my companion, he was clad\nentirely in green, which made his figure difficult to distinguish. But\nhis face could be seen clearly. It was an evil face, and had murder in\nit.\n\nThat decided me. I raised the gun and fired. My aim was bad, for there\nwas no kick in the gun, as I had expected, and I hit the trunk of the\ntree several feet below him. It blew him from his perch like a crumpled\nbit of paper, and he _floated_ down to the ground, like some limp, dead\nthing, gently lowered by an invisible hand. The tree, its trunk blown\napart by the explosion, crashed down.\n\nThere followed another series of explosions around us. These guns we\nwere using made no sound in the firing, and my opponents were evidently\nas much at sea as to my position as I was to theirs. So I made no\nattempt to reply to their fire, contenting myself with keeping a sharp\nlookout in their general direction. And patience had its reward.\n\nVery soon I saw a cautious movement in the top of another tree. Exposing\nmyself as little as possible, I aimed carefully at the tree trunk and\nfired again. A shriek followed the explosion. I heard the tree crash\ndown; then a groan.\n\nThere was silence for a while. Then I heard a faint sound of boughs\nswishing. I shot three times in its direction, pressing the button as\nrapidly as I could. Branches crashed down where my shells had exploded,\nbut there was no body.\n\nThen I saw one of them. He was starting one of those amazing leaps from\nthe bough of one tree to another, about forty feet away.\n\nI threw up my gun impulsively and fired. By now I had gotten the feel of\nthe weapon, and my aim was good. I hit him. The \"bullet\" must have\npenetrated his body and exploded. For one moment I saw him flying\nthrough the air. Then the explosion, and he had vanished. He never\nfinished his leap. It was annihilation.\n\nHow many more of them there were I don't know. But this must have been\ntoo much for them. They used a final round of shells on us, all of which\nexploded harmlessly, and shortly after I heard them swishing and\ncrashing away from us through the tree tops. Not one of them descended\nto earth.\n\nNow I had time to give some attention to my companion. She was, I found,\na girl, and not a boy. Despite her bulky appearance, due to the peculiar\nbelt strapped around her body high up under the arms, she was very\nslender, and very pretty.\n\nThere was a stream not far away, from which I brought water and bathed\nher face and wound.\n\nApparently the mystery of these long leaps, the monkey-like ability to\njump from bough to bough, and of the bodies that floated gently down\ninstead of falling, lay in the belt. The thing was some sort of\nanti-gravity belt that almost balanced the weight of the wearer, thereby\ntremendously multiplying the propulsive power of the leg muscles, and\nthe lifting power of the arms.\n\nWhen the girl came to, she regarded me as curiously as I did her, and\npromptly began to quiz me. Her accent and intonation puzzled me a lot,\nbut nevertheless we were able to understand each other fairly well,\nexcept for certain words and phrases. I explained what had happened\nwhile she lay unconscious, and she thanked me simply for saving her\nlife.\n\n\"You are a strange exchange,\" she said, eying my clothing quizzically.\nEvidently she found it mirth provoking by contrast with her own neatly\nefficient garb. \"Don't you understand what I mean by 'exchange?' I mean\nah--let me see--a stranger, somebody from some other gang. What gang do\nyou belong to?\" (She pronounced it \"gan,\" with only a suspicion of a\nnasal sound.)\n\nI laughed. \"I'm not a gangster,\" I said. But she evidently did not\nunderstand this word. \"I don't belong to any gang,\" I explained, \"and\nnever did. Does everybody belong to a gang nowadays?\"\n\n\"Naturally,\" she said, frowning. \"If you don't belong to a gang, where\nand how do you live? Why have you not found and joined a gang? How do\nyou eat? Where do you get your clothing?\"\n\n\"I've been eating wild game for the past two weeks,\" I explained, \"and\nthis clothing I--er--ah--.\" I paused, wondering how I could explain that\nit must be many hundred years old.\n\nIn the end I saw I would have to tell my story as well as I could,\npiecing it together with my assumptions as to what had happened. She\nlistened patiently; incredulously at first, but with more confidence as\nI went on. When I had finished, she sat thinking for a long time.\n\n\"That's hard to believe,\" she said, \"but I believe it.\" She looked me\nover with frank interest.\n\n\"Were you married when you slipped into unconsciousness down in that\nmine?\" she asked me suddenly. I assured her I had never married. \"Well,\nthat simplifies matters,\" she continued. \"You see, if you were\ntechnically classed as a family man, I could take you back only as an\ninvited exchange and I, being unmarried, and no relation of yours,\ncouldn't do the inviting.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nThe Forest Gangs\n\n\nShe gave me a brief outline of the very peculiar social and economic\nsystem under which her people lived. At least it seemed very peculiar\nfrom my 20th Century viewpoint.\n\nI learned with amazement that exactly 492 years had passed over my head\nas I lay unconscious in the mine.\n\nWilma, for that was her name, did not profess to be a historian, and so\ncould give me only a sketchy outline of the wars that had been fought,\nand the manner in which such radical changes had come about. It seemed\nthat another war had followed the First World War, in which nearly all\nthe European nations had banded together to break the financial and\nindustrial power of America. They succeeded in their purpose, though\nthey were beaten, for the war was a terrific one, and left America, like\nthemselves, gasping, bleeding and disorganized, with only the hollow\nshell of a victory.\n\nThis opportunity had been seized by the Russian Soviets, who had made a\ncoalition with the Chinese, to sweep over all Europe and reduce it to a\nstate of chaos.\n\nAmerica, industrially geared to world production and the world trade,\ncollapsed economically, and there ensued a long period of stagnation and\ndesperate attempts at economic reconstruction. But it was impossible to\nstave off war with the Mongolians, who by now had subjugated the\nRussians, and were aiming at a world empire.\n\nIn about 2109, it seems, the conflict was finally precipitated. The\nMongolians, with overwhelming fleets of great airships, and a science\nthat far outstripped that of crippled America, swept in over the Pacific\nand Atlantic Coasts, and down from Canada, annihilating American\naircraft, armies and cities with their terrific _disintegrator_ rays.\nThese rays were projected from a machine not unlike a searchlight in\nappearance, the reflector of which, however, was not material substance,\nbut a complicated balance of interacting electronic forces. This\nresulted in a terribly destructive beam. Under its influence, material\nsubstance melted into \"nothingness\"; i. e., into electronic vibrations.\nIt destroyed all then known substances, from air to the most dense\nmetals and stone.\n\nThey settled down to the establishment of what became known as the Han\ndynasty in America, as a sort of province in their World Empire.\n\nThose were terrible days for the Americans. They were hunted like wild\nbeasts. Only those survived who finally found refuge in mountains,\ncanyons and forests. Government was at an end among them. Anarchy\nprevailed for several generations. Most would have been eager to submit\nto the Hans, even if it meant slavery. But the Hans did not want them,\nfor they themselves had marvelous machinery and scientific process by\nwhich all difficult labor was accomplished.\n\nUltimately they stopped their active search for, and annihilation of,\nthe widely scattered groups of now savage Americans. So long as they\nremained hidden in their forests, and did not venture near the great\ncities the Hans had built, little attention was paid to them.\n\nThen began the building of the new American civilization. Families and\nindividuals gathered together in clans or \"gangs\" for mutual protection.\nFor nearly a century they lived a nomadic and primitive life, moving\nfrom place to place, in desperate fear of the casual and occasional Han\nair raids, and the terrible disintegrator ray. As the frequency of these\nraids decreased, they began to stay permanently in given localities,\norganizing upon lines which in many respects were similar to those of\nthe military households of the Norman feudal barons, except that instead\nof gathering together in castles, their defense tactics necessitated a\ncertain scattering of living quarters for families and individuals. They\nlived virtually in the open air, in the forests, in green tents,\nresorting to camouflage tactics that would conceal their presence from\nair observers. They dug underground factories and laboratories, that\nthey might better be shielded from the electrical detectors of the\nHans. They tapped the radio communication lines of the Hans, with crude\ninstruments at first; better ones later on. They bent every effort\ntoward the redevelopment of science. For many generations they labored\nas unseen, unknown scholars of the Hans, picking up their knowledge\npiecemeal, as fast as they were able to.\n\nDuring the earlier part of this period, there were many deadly wars\nfought between the various gangs, and occasional courageous but\nchildishly futile attacks upon the Hans, followed by terribly punitive\nraids.\n\nBut as knowledge progressed, the sense of American brotherhood\nredeveloped. Reciprocal arrangements were made among the gangs over\nconstantly increasing areas. Trade developed to a certain extent, as\nbetween one gang and another. But the interchange of knowledge became\nmore important than that of goods, as skill in the handling of synthetic\nprocesses developed.\n\nWithin the gang, an economy was developed that was a compromise between\nindividual liberty and a military socialism. The right of private\nproperty was limited practically to personal possessions, but private\nprivileges were many, and sacredly regarded. Stimulation to achievement\nlay chiefly in the winning of various kinds of leadership and\nprerogatives, and only in a very limited degree in the hope of owning\nanything that might be classified as \"wealth,\" and nothing that might be\nclassified as \"resources.\" Resources of every description, for military\nsafety and efficiency, belonged as a matter of public interest to the\ncommunity as a whole.\n\nIn the meantime, through these many generations, the Hans had developed\na luxury economy, and with it the perfection of gilded vice and\ndegradation. The Americans were regarded as \"wild men of the woods.\" And\nsince they neither needed nor wanted the woods or the wild men, they\ntreated them as beasts, and were conscious of no human brotherhood with\nthem. As time went on, and synthetic processes of producing foods and\nmaterials were further developed, less and less ground was needed by the\nHans for the purposes of agriculture, and finally, even the working of\nmines was abandoned when it became cheaper to build up metal from\nelectronic vibrations than to dig them out of the ground.\n\nThe Han race, devitalized by its vices and luxuries, with machinery and\nscientific processes to satisfy its every want, with virtually no\nnecessity of labor, began to assume a defensive attitude toward the\nAmericans.\n\nAnd quite naturally, the Americans regarded the Hans with a deep, grim\nhatred. Conscious of individual superiority as men, knowing that\nlatterly they were outstripping the Hans in science and civilization,\nthey longed desperately for the day when they should be powerful enough\nto rise and annihilate the Yellow Blight that lay over the continent.\n\nAt the time of my awakening, the gangs were rather loosely organized,\nbut were considering the establishment of a special military force,\nwhose special business it would be to harry the Hans and bring down\ntheir air ships whenever possible without causing general alarm among\nthe Mongolians. This force was destined to become the nucleus of the\nnational force, when the Day of Retribution arrived. But that, however,\ndid not happen for ten years, and is another story.\n\n[Illustration: On the left of the illustration is a Han girl, and on the\nright is an American girl, who, like all of her race, is equipped with\nan inertron belt and a rocket gun.]\n\nWilma told me she was a member of the Wyoming Gang, which claimed the\nentire Wyoming Valley as its territory, under the leadership of Boss\nHart. Her mother and father were dead, and she was unmarried, so she was\nnot a \"family member.\" She lived in a little group of tents known as\nCamp 17, under a woman Camp Boss, with seven other girls.\n\nHer duties alternated between military or police scouting and factory\nwork. For the two-week period which would end the next day, she had been\non \"air patrol.\" This did not mean, as I first imagined, that she was\nflying, but rather that she was on the lookout for Han ships over this\noutlying section of the Wyoming territory, and had spent most of her\ntime perched in the tree tops scanning the skies. Had she seen one she\nwould have fired a \"drop flare\" several miles off to one side, which\nwould ignite when it was floating vertically toward the earth, so that\nthe direction or point from which it had been fired might not be guessed\nby the airship and bring a blasting play of the disintegrator ray in her\nvicinity. Other members of the air patrol would send up rockets on\nseeing hers, until finally a scout equipped with an ultrophone, which,\nunlike the ancient radio, operated on the ultronic ethereal vibrations,\nwould pass the warning simultaneously to the headquarters of the Wyoming\nGang and other communities within a radius of several hundred miles, not\nto mention the few American rocket ships that might be in the air, and\nwhich instantly would duck to cover either through forest clearings or\nby flattening down to earth in green fields where their coloring would\nprobably protect them from observation. The favorite American method of\npropulsion was known as \"_rocketing_.\" The _rocket_ is what I would\ndescribe, from my 20th Century comprehension of the matter, as an\nextremely powerful gas blast, atomically produced through the\nstimulation of chemical action. Scientists of today regard it as a\nchildishly simple reaction, but by that very virtue, most economical and\nefficient.\n\nBut tomorrow, she explained, she would go back to work in the cloth\nplant, where she would take charge of one of the synthetic processes by\nwhich those wonderful substitutes for woven fabrics of wool, cotton and\nsilk are produced. At the end of another two weeks, she would be back on\nmilitary duty again, perhaps at the same work, or maybe as a \"contact\nguard,\" on duty where the territory of the Wyomings merged with that of\nthe Delawares, or the \"Susquannas\" (Susquehannas) or one of the half\ndozen other \"gangs\" in that section of the country which I knew as\nPennsylvania and New York States.\n\nWilma cleared up for me the mystery of those flying leaps which she and\nher assailants had made, and explained in the following manner, how the\ninertron belt balances weight:\n\n\"_Jumpers_\" were in common use at the time I \"awoke,\" though they were\ncostly, for at that time _inertron_ had not been produced in very great\nquantity. They were very useful in the forest. They were belts,\nstrapped high under the arms, containing an amount of inertron adjusted\nto the wearer's weight and purposes. In effect they made a man weigh as\nlittle as he desired; two pounds if he liked.\n\n\"_Floaters_\" are a later development of \"_jumpers_\"--rocket motors\nencased in _inertron_ blocks and strapped to the back in such a way that\nthe wearer floats, when drifting, facing slightly downward. With his\nmotor in operation, he moves like a diver, headforemost, controlling his\ndirection by twisting his body and by movements of his outstretched arms\nand hands. Ballast weights locked in the front of the belt adjust weight\nand lift. Some men prefer a few ounces of weight in floating, using a\nslight motor thrust to overcome this. Others prefer a buoyance balance\nof a few ounces. The inadvertent dropping of weight is not a serious\nmatter. The motor thrust always can be used to descend. But as an extra\nprecaution, in case the motor should fail, for any reason, there are\nbuilt into every belt a number of detachable sections, one or more of\nwhich can be discarded to balance off any loss in weight.\n\n\"But who were your assailants,\" I asked, \"and why were you attacked?\"\n\nHer assailants, she told me, were members of an outlaw gang, referred to\nas \"Bad Bloods,\" a group which for several generations had been under\nthe domination of conscienceless leaders who tried to advance the\ninterests of their clan by tactics which their neighbors had come to\nregard as unfair, and who in consequence had been virtually boycotted.\nTheir purpose had been to slay her near the Delaware frontier, making it\nappear that the crime had been committed by Delaware scouts and thus\nembroil the Delawares and Wyomings in acts of reprisal against each\nother, or at least cause suspicions.\n\nFortunately they had not succeeded in surprising her, and she had been\nsuccessful in dodging them for some two hours before the shooting began,\nat the moment when I arrived on the scene.\n\n\"But we must not stay here talking,\" Wilma concluded. \"I have to take\nyou in, and besides I must report this attack right away. I think we had\nbetter slip over to the other side of the mountain. Whoever is on that\npost will have a phone, and I can make a direct report. But you'll have\nto have a belt. Mine alone won't help much against our combined weights,\nand there's little to be gained by jumping heavy. It's almost as bad as\nwalking.\"\n\nAfter a little search, we found one of the men I had killed, who had\nfloated down among the trees some distance away and whose belt was not\nbadly damaged. In detaching it from his body, it nearly got away from me\nand shot up in the air. Wilma caught it, however, and though it\nreinforced the lift of her own belt so that she had to hook her knee\naround a branch to hold herself down, she saved it. I climbed the tree\nand, with my weight added to hers, we floated down easily.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nLife in the 25th Century\n\n\nWe were delayed in starting for quite a while since I had to acquire a\nfew crude ideas about the technique of using these belts. I had been\nsitting down, for instance, with the belt strapped about me, enjoying an\nease similar to that of a comfortable armchair; when I stood up with a\nnatural exertion of muscular effort, I shot ten feet into the air, with\na wild instinctive thrashing of arms and legs that amused Wilma greatly.\n\nBut after some practice, I began to get the trick of gauging muscular\neffort to a minimum of vertical and a maximum of horizontal. The correct\nform, I found, was in a measure comparable to that of skating. I found,\nalso, that in forest work particularly the arms and hands could be used\nto great advantage in swinging along from branch to branch, so\nprolonging leaps almost indefinitely at times.\n\nIn going up the side of the mountain, I found that my 20th Century\nmuscles did have an advantage, in spite of lack of skill with the belt,\nand since the slopes were very sharp, and most of our leaps were upward,\nI could have distanced Wilma easily. But when we crossed the ridge and\ndescended, she outstripped me with her superior technique. Choosing the\nsteepest slopes, she would crouch in the top of a tree, and propel\nherself outward, literally diving until, with the loss of horizontal\nmomentum, she would assume a more upright position and float downward.\nIn this manner she would sometimes cover as much as a quarter of a mile\nin a single leap, while I leaped and scrambled clumsily behind,\nthoroughly enjoying the novel sensation.\n\nHalf way down the mountain, we saw another green-clad figure leap out\nabove the tree tops toward us. The three of us perched on an outcropping\nof rock from which a view for many miles around could be had, while\nWilma hastily explained her adventure and my presence to her fellow\nguard; whose name was Alan. I learned later that this was the modern\nform of Helen.\n\n\"You want to report by phone then, don't you?\" Alan took a compact\npacket about six inches square from a holster attached to her belt and\nhanded it to Wilma.\n\nSo far as I could see, it had no special receiver for the ear. Wilma\nmerely threw back a lid, as though she were opening a book, and began to\ntalk. The voice that came back from the machine was as audible as her\nown.\n\nShe was queried closely as to the attack upon her, and at considerable\nlength as to myself, and I could tell from the tone of that voice that\nits owner was not prepared to take me at my face value as readily as\nWilma had. For that matter, neither was the other girl. I could realize\nit from the suspicious glances she threw my way, when she thought my\nattention was elsewhere, and the manner in which her hand hovered\nconstantly near her gun holster.\n\nWilma was ordered to bring me in at once, and informed that another\nscout would take her place on the other side of the mountain. So she\nclosed down the lid of the phone and handed it back to Alan, who seemed\nrelieved to see us departing over the tree tops in the direction of the\ncamps.\n\nWe had covered perhaps ten miles, in what still seemed to me a\nsurprisingly easy fashion, when Wilma explained, that from here on we\nwould have to keep to the ground. We were nearing the camps, she said,\nand there was always the possibility that some small Han scoutship,\ninvisible high in the sky, might catch sight of us through a\nprojectoscope and thus find the general location of the camps.\n\nWilma took me to the Scout office, which proved to be a small building\nof irregular shape, conforming to the trees around it, and substantially\nconstructed of green sheet-like material.\n\nI was received by the assistant Scout Boss, who reported my arrival at\nonce to the historical office, and to officials he called the Psycho\nBoss and the History Boss, who came in a few minutes later. The attitude\nof all three men was at first polite but skeptical, and Wilma's ardent\nadvocacy seemed to amuse them secretly.\n\nFor the next two hours I talked, explained and answered questions. I had\nto explain, in detail, the manner of my life in the 20th Century and my\nunderstanding of customs, habits, business, science and the history of\nthat period, and about developments in the centuries that had elapsed.\nHad I been in a classroom, I would have come through the examination\nwith a very poor mark, for I was unable to give any answer to fully half\nof their questions. But before long I realized that the majority of\nthese questions were designed as traps. Objects, of whose purpose I knew\nnothing, were casually handed to me, and I was watched keenly as I\nhandled them.\n\nIn the end I could see both amazement and belief begin to show in the\nfaces of my inquisitors, and at last the Historical and Psycho Bosses\nagreed openly that they could find no flaw in my story or reactions, and\nthat unbelievable as it seemed, my story must be accepted as genuine.\n\nThey took me at once to Big Boss Hart. He was a portly man with a \"poker\nface.\" He would probably have been the successful politician even in the\n20th Century.\n\nThey gave him a brief outline of my story and a report of their\nexamination of me. He made no comment other than to nod his acceptance\nof it. Then he turned to me.\n\n\"How does it feel?\" he asked. \"Do we look funny to you?\"\n\n\"A bit strange,\" I admitted. \"But I'm beginning to lose that dazed\nfeeling, though I can see I have an awful lot to learn.\"\n\n\"Maybe we can learn some things from you, too,\" he said. \"So you fought\nin the First World War. Do you know, we have very little left in the way\nof records of the details of that war, that is, the precise conditions\nunder which it was fought, and the tactics employed. We forgot many\nthings during the Han terror, and--well, I think you might have a lot of\nideas worth thinking over for our raid masters. By the way, now that\nyou're here, and can't go back to your own century, so to speak, what do\nyou want to do? You're welcome to become one of us. Or perhaps you'd\njust like to visit with us for a while, and then look around among the\nother gangs. Maybe you'd like some of the others better. Don't make up\nyour mind now. We'll put you down as an exchange for a while. Let's see.\nYou and Bill Hearn ought to get along well together. He's Camp Boss of\nNumber 34 when he isn't acting as Raid Boss or Scout Boss. There's a\nvacancy in his camp. Stay with him and think things over as long as you\nwant to. As soon as you make up your mind to anything, let me know.\"\n\nWe all shook hands, for that was one custom that had not died out in\nfive hundred years, and I set out with Bill Hearn.\n\nBill, like all the others, was clad in green. He was a big man. That is,\nhe was about my own height, five feet eleven. This was considerably\nabove the average now, for the race had lost something in stature, it\nseemed, through the vicissitudes of five centuries. Most of the women\nwere a bit below five feet, and the men only a trifle above this height.\n\nFor a period of two weeks Bill was to confine himself to camp duties, so\nI had a good chance to familiarize myself with the community life. It\nwas not easy. There were so many marvels to absorb. I never ceased to\nwonder at the strange combination of rustic social life and feverish\nindustrial activity. At least, it was strange to me. For in my\nexperience, industrial development meant crowded cities, tenements,\npaved streets, profusion of vehicles, noise, hurrying men and women with\nstrained or dull faces, vast structures and ornate public works.\n\nHere, however, was rustic simplicity, apparently isolated families and\ngroups, living in the heart of the forest, with a quarter of a mile or\nmore between households, a total absence of crowds, no means of\nconveyance other than the belts called jumpers, almost constantly worn\nby everybody, and an occasional rocket ship, used only for longer\njourneys, and underground plants or factories that were to my mind more\nlike laboratories and engine rooms; many of them were excavations as\ndeep as mines, with well finished, lighted and comfortable interiors.\nThese people were adepts at camouflage against air observation. Not only\nwould their activity have been unsuspected by an airship passing over\nthe center of the community, but even by an enemy who might happen to\ndrop through the screen of the upper branches to the floor of the\nforest. The camps, or household structures, were all irregular in shape\nand of colors that blended with the great trees among which they were\nhidden.\n\nThere were 724 dwellings or \"camps\" among the Wyomings, located within\nan area of about fifteen square miles. The total population was 8,688,\nevery man, woman and child, whether member or \"exchange,\" being listed.\n\nThe plants were widely scattered through the territory also. Nowhere was\nanything like congestion permitted. So far as possible, families and\nindividuals were assigned to living quarters, not too far from the\nplants or offices in which their work lay.\n\nAll able-bodied men and women alternated in two-week periods between\nmilitary and industrial service, except those who were needed for\nhousehold work. Since working conditions in the plants and offices were\nideal, and everybody thus had plenty of healthy outdoor activity in\naddition, the population was sturdy and active. Laziness was regarded as\nnearly the greatest of social offenses. Hard work and general merit were\nvariously rewarded with extra privileges, advancement to positions of\nauthority, and with various items of personal equipment for convenience\nand luxury.\n\nIn leisure moments, I got great enjoyment from sitting outside the\ndwelling in which I was quartered with Bill Hearn and ten other men,\nwatching the occasional passers-by, as with leisurely, but swift\nmovements, they swung up and down the forest trail, rising from the\nground in long almost-horizontal leaps, occasionally swinging from one\nconvenient branch overhead to another before \"sliding\" back to the\nground farther on. Normal traveling pace, where these trails were\nstraight enough, was about twenty miles an hour. Such things as\nautomobiles and railroad trains (the memory of them not more than a\nmonth old in my mind) seemed inexpressibly silly and futile compared\nwith such convenience as these belts or jumpers offered.\n\nBill suggested that I wander around for several days, from plant to\nplant, to observe and study what I could. The entire community had been\napprised of my coming, my rating as an \"exchange\" reaching every\nbuilding and post in the community, by means of ultronic broadcast.\nEverywhere I was welcomed in an interested and helpful spirit.\n\nI visited the plants where ultronic vibrations were isolated from the\nether and through slow processes built up into sub-electronic,\nelectronic and atomic forms into the two great synthetic elements,\nultron and inertron. I learned something, superficially at least, of the\nprocesses of combined chemical and mechanical action through which were\nproduced the various forms of synthetic cloth. I watched the manufacture\nof the machines which were used at locations of construction to produce\nthe various forms of building materials. But I was particularly\ninterested in the munitions plants and the rocket-ship shops.\n\nUltron is a solid of great molecular density and moderate elasticity,\nwhich has the property of being 100 percent conductive to those\npulsations known as light, electricity and heat. Since it is completely\npermeable to light vibrations, it is therefore _absolutely invisible and\nnon-reflective_. Its magnetic response is almost, but not quite, 100\npercent also. It is therefore very heavy under normal conditions but\nextremely responsive to the _repellor_ or anti-gravity rays, such as the\nHans use as \"_legs_\" for their airships.\n\nInertron is the second great triumph of American research and\nexperimentation with ultronic forces. It was developed just a few years\nbefore my awakening in the abandoned mine. It is a synthetic element,\nbuilt up, through a complicated heterodyning of ultronic pulsations,\nfrom \"infra-balanced\" sub-ionic forms. It is completely inert to both\nelectric and magnetic forces in all the orders above the _ultronic_;\nthat is to say, the _sub-electronic_, the _electronic_, the _atomic_ and\nthe _molecular_. In consequence it has a number of amazing and\nvaluable properties. One of these is _the total lack of weight_. Another\nis a total lack of heat. It has no molecular vibration whatever. It\nreflects 100 percent of the heat and light impinging upon it. It does\nnot feel cold to the touch, of course, since it will not absorb the heat\nof the hand. It is a solid, very dense in molecular structure despite\nits lack of weight, of great strength and considerable elasticity. It is\na perfect shield against the disintegrator rays.\n\n[Illustration: Setting his rocket gun for a long-distance shot.]\n\nRocket guns are very simple contrivances so far as the mechanism of\nlaunching the bullet is concerned. They are simple light tubes, closed\nat the rear end, with a trigger-actuated pin for piercing the thin skin\nat the base of the cartridge. This piercing of the skin starts the\nchemical and atomic reaction. The entire cartridge leaves the tube under\nits own power, at a very easy initial velocity, just enough to insure\naccuracy of aim; so the tube does not have to be of heavy construction.\nThe bullet increases in velocity as it goes. It may be solid or\nexplosive. It may explode on contact or on time, or a combination of\nthese two.\n\nBill and I talked mostly of weapons, military tactics and strategy.\nStrangely enough he had no idea whatever of the possibilities of the\nbarrage, though the tremendous effect of a \"curtain of fire\" with such\nhigh-explosive projectiles as these modern rocket guns used was obvious\nto me. But the barrage idea, it seemed, has been lost track of\ncompletely in the air wars that followed the First World War, and in the\npeculiar guerilla tactics developed by Americans in the later period of\noperations from the ground against Han airships, and in the gang wars\nwhich, until a few generations ago I learned, had been almost\ncontinuous.\n\n\"I wonder,\" said Bill one day, \"if we couldn't work up some form of\nbarrage to spring on the Bad Bloods. The Big Boss told me today that\nhe's been in communication with the other gangs, and all are agreed that\nthe Bad Bloods might as well be wiped out for good. That attempt on\nWilma Deering's life and their evident desire to make trouble among the\ngangs, has stirred up every community east of the Alleghenies. The Boss\nsays that none of the others will object if we go after them. So I\nimagine that before long we will. Now show me again how you worked that\nbusiness in the Argonne forest. The conditions ought to be pretty much\nthe same.\"\n\nI went over it with him in detail, and gradually we worked out a\nmodified plan that would be better adapted to our more powerful weapons,\nand the use of jumpers.\n\n\"It will be easy,\" Bill exulted. \"I'll slide down and talk it over with\nthe Boss tomorrow.\"\n\nDuring the first two weeks of my stay with the Wyomings, Wilma Deering\nand I saw a great deal of each other. I naturally felt a little closer\nfriendship for her, in view of the fact that she was the first human\nbeing I saw after waking from my long sleep; her appreciation of my\nsaving her life, though I could not have done otherwise than I did in\nthat matter, and most of all my own appreciation of the fact that she\nhad not found it as difficult as the others to believe my story,\noperated in the same direction. I could easily imagine my story must\nhave sounded incredible.\n\nIt was natural enough too, that she should feel an unusual interest in\nme. In the first place, I was her personal discovery. In the second, she\nwas a girl of studious and reflective turn of mind. She never got tired\nof my stories and descriptions of the 20th Century.\n\nThe others of the community, however, seemed to find our friendship a\nbit amusing. It seemed that Wilma had a reputation for being cold toward\nthe opposite sex, and so others, not being able to appreciate some of\nher fine qualities as I did, misinterpreted her attitude, much to their\nown delight. Wilma and I, however, ignored this as much as we could.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nA Han Air Raid\n\n\nThere was a girl in Wilma's camp named Gerdi Mann, with whom Bill Hearn\nwas desperately in love, and the four of us used to go around a lot\ntogether. Gerdi was a distinct type. Whereas Wilma had the usual dark\nbrown hair and hazel eyes that marked nearly every member of the\ncommunity, Gerdi had red hair, blue eyes and very fair skin. She has\nbeen dead many years now, but I remember her vividly because she was a\nthrowback in physical appearance to a certain 20th Century type which I\nhave found very rare among modern Americans; also because the four of us\nwere engaged one day in a discussion of this very point, when I obtained\nmy first experience of a Han air raid.\n\nWe were sitting high on the side of a hill overlooking the valley that\nteemed with human activity, invisible beneath its blanket of foliage.\n\nThe other three, who knew of the Irish but vaguely and indefinitely, as\na race on the other side of the globe, which, like ourselves, had\nsucceeded in maintaining a precarious and fugitive existence in\nrebellion against the Mongolian domination of the earth, were listening\nwith interest to my theory that Gerdi's ancestors of several hundred\nyears ago must have been Irish. I explained that Gerdi was an Irish\ntype, evidently a throwback, and that her surname might well have been\nMcMann, or McMahan, and still more anciently \"mac Mathghamhain.\" They\nwere interested too in my surmise that \"Gerdi\" was the same name as that\nwhich had been \"Gerty\" or \"Gertrude\" in the 20th Century.\n\nIn the middle of our discussion, we were startled by an alarm rocket\nthat burst high in the air, far to the north, spreading a pall of red\nsmoke that drifted like a cloud. It was followed by others at scattered\npoints in the northern sky.\n\n\"A Han raid!\" Bill exclaimed in amazement. \"The first in seven years!\"\n\n\"Maybe it's just one of their ships off its course,\" I ventured.\n\n\"No,\" said Wilma in some agitation. \"That would be green rockets. Red\nmeans only one thing, Tony. They're sweeping the countryside with their\ndis beams. Can you see anything, Bill?\"\n\n\"We had better get under cover,\" Gerdi said nervously. \"The four of us\nare bunched here in the open. For all we know they may be twelve miles\nup, out of sight, yet looking at us with a projecto'.\"\n\nBill had been sweeping the horizon hastily with his glass, but\napparently saw nothing.\n\n\"We had better scatter, at that,\" he said finally. \"It's orders, you\nknow. See!\" He pointed to the valley.\n\nHere and there a tiny human figure shot for a moment above the foliage\nof the treetops.\n\n\"That's bad,\" Wilma commented, as she counted the jumpers. \"No less than\nfifteen people visible, and all clearly radiating from a central point.\nDo they want to give away our location?\"\n\nThe standard orders covering air raids were that the population was to\nscatter individually. There should be no grouping, or even pairing, in\nview of the destructiveness of the disintegrator rays. Experience of\ngenerations had proved that if this were done, and everybody remained\nhidden beneath the tree screens, the Hans would have to sweep mile after\nmile of territory, foot by foot, to catch more than a small percentage\nof the community.\n\nGerdi, however, refused to leave Bill, and Wilma developed an equal\nobstinacy against quitting my side. I was inexperienced at this sort of\nthing, she explained, quite ignoring the fact that she was too; she was\nonly thirteen or fourteen years old at the time of the last air raid.\n\nHowever, since I could not argue her out of it, we leaped together about\na quarter of a mile to the right, while Bill and Gerdi disappeared down\nthe hillside among the trees.\n\nWilma and I both wanted a point of vantage from which we might overlook\nthe valley and the sky to the north, and we found it near the top of the\nridge, where, protected from visibility by thick branches, we could look\nout between the tree trunks, and get a good view of the valley.\n\nNo more rockets went up. Except for a few of those warning red clouds,\ndrifting lazily in a blue sky, there was no visible indication of man's\npast or present existence anywhere in the sky or on the ground.\n\nThen Wilma gripped my arm and pointed. I saw it; away off in the\ndistance; looking like a phantom dirigible airship, in its coat of\nlow-visibility paint, a bare spectre.\n\n\"Seven thousand feet up,\" Wilma whispered, crouching close to me.\n\"Watch.\"\n\nThe ship was about the same shape as the great dirigibles of the 20th\nCentury that I had seen, but without the suspended control car, engines,\npropellors, rudders or elevating planes. As it loomed rapidly nearer, I\nsaw that it was wider and somewhat flatter than I had supposed.\n\nNow I could see the repellor rays that held the ship aloft, like\nsearchlight beams faintly visible in the bright daylight (and still\nfaintly visible to the human eye at night). Actually, I had been\ninformed by my instructors, there were two rays; the visible one\ngenerated by the ship's apparatus, and directed toward the ground as a\nbeam of \"carrier\" impulses; and the true repellor ray, the complement of\nthe other in one sense, induced by the action of the \"carrier\" and\nreacting in a concentrating upward direction from the mass of the earth,\nbecoming successively electronic, atomic and finally molecular, in its\nnature, according to various ratios of distance between earth mass and\n\"carrier\" source, until, in the last analysis, the ship itself actually\nis supported on an upward rushing column of air, much like a ball\ncontinuously supported on a fountain jet.\n\nThe raider neared with incredible speed. Its rays were both slanted\nastern at a sharp angle, so that it slid forward with tremendous\nmomentum.\n\nThe ship was operating two disintegrator rays, though only in a casual,\nintermittent fashion. But whenever they flashed downward with blinding\nbrilliancy, forest, rocks and ground melted instantaneously into\nnothing, where they played upon them.\n\nWhen later I inspected the scars left by these rays I found them some\nfive feet deep and thirty feet wide, the exposed surfaces being\nlava-like in texture, but of a pale, iridescent, greenish hue.\n\nNo systematic use of the rays was made by the ship, however, until it\nreached a point over the center of the valley--the center of the\ncommunity's activities. There it came to a sudden stop by shooting its\nrepellor beams sharply forward and easing them back gradually to the\nvertical, holding the ship floating and motionless. Then the work of\ndestruction began systematically.\n\nBack and forth traveled the destroying rays, ploughing parallel furrows\nfrom hillside to hillside. We gasped in dismay, Wilma and I, as time\nafter time we saw it plough through sections where we knew camps or\nplants were located.\n\n\"This is awful,\" she moaned, a terrified question in her eyes. \"How\ncould they know the location so exactly, Tony? Did you see? They were\nnever in doubt. They stalled at a predetermined spot--and--and it was\nexactly the right spot.\"\n\nWe did not talk of what might happen if the rays were turned in our\ndirection. We both knew. We would simply disintegrate in a split second\ninto mere scattered electronic vibrations. Strangely enough, it was this\nself-reliant girl of the 25th Century, who clung to me, a relatively\nprimitive man of the 20th, less familiar than she with the thought of\nthis terrifying possibility, for moral support.\n\nWe knew that many of our companions must have been whisked into absolute\nnon-existence before our eyes in these few moments. The whole thing\nparalyzed us into mental and physical immobility for I do not know how\nlong.\n\nIt couldn't have been long, however, for the rays had not ploughed more\nthan thirty of their twenty-foot furrows or so across the valley, when I\nregained control of myself, and brought Wilma to herself by shaking her\nroughly.\n\n\"How far will this rocket gun shoot, Wilma?\" I demanded, drawing my\npistol.\n\n\"It depends on your rocket, Tony. It will take even the longest range\nrocket, but you could shoot more accurately from a longer tube. But why?\nYou couldn't penetrate the shell of that ship with rocket force, even if\nyou could reach it.\"\n\nI fumbled clumsily with my rocket pouch, for I was excited. I had an\nidea I wanted to try; a \"hunch\" I called it, forgetting that Wilma could\nnot understand my ancient slang. But finally, with her help, I selected\nthe longest range explosive rocket in my pouch, and fitted it to my\npistol.\n\n\"It won't carry seven thousand feet, Tony,\" Wilma objected. But I took\naim carefully. It was another thought that I had in my mind. The\nsupporting repellor ray, I had been told, became molecular in character\nat what was called a logarithmic level of five (below that it was a\npurely electronic \"flow\" or pulsation between the source of the\n\"carrier\" and the average mass of the earth). Below that level if I\ncould project my explosive bullet into this stream where it began to\ncarry material substance upward, might it not rise with the air column,\ngathering speed and hitting the ship with enough impact to carry it\nthrough the shell? It was worth trying anyhow. Wilma became greatly\nexcited, too, when she grasped the nature of my inspiration.\n\nFeverishly I looked around for some formation of branches against which\nI could rest the pistol, for I had to aim most carefully. At last I\nfound one. Patiently I sighted on the hulk of the ship far above us,\naiming at the far side of it, at such an angle as would, so far as I\ncould estimate, bring my bullet path through the forward repellor beam.\nAt last the sights wavered across the point I sought and I pressed the\nbutton gently.\n\nFor a moment we gazed breathlessly.\n\nSuddenly the ship swung bow down, as on a pivot, and swayed like a\npendulum. Wilma screamed in her excitement.\n\n\"Oh, Tony, you hit it! You hit it! Do it again; bring it down!\"\n\nWe had only one more rocket of extreme range between us, and we dropped\nit three times in our excitement in inserting it in my gun. Then,\nforcing myself to be calm by sheer will power, while Wilma stuffed her\nlittle fist into her mouth to keep from shrieking, I sighted carefully\nagain and fired. In a flash, Wilma had grasped the hope that this\ndiscovery of mine might lead to the end of the Han domination.\n\nThe elapsed time of the rocket's invisible flight seemed an age.\n\nThen we saw the ship falling. It seemed to plunge lazily, but actually\nit fell with terrific acceleration, turning end over end, its\ndisintegrator rays, out of control, describing vast, wild arcs, and once\ncutting a gash through the forest less than two hundred feet from where\nwe stood.\n\nThe crash with which the heavy craft hit the ground reverberated from\nthe hills--the momentum of eighteen or twenty thousand tons, in a sheer\ndrop of seven thousand feet. A mangled mass of metal, it buried itself\nin the ground, with poetic justice, in the middle of the smoking,\nsemi-molten field of destruction it had been so deliberately ploughing.\n\nThe silence, the vacuity of the landscape, was oppressive, as the last\nechoes died away.\n\nThen far down the hillside, a single figure leaped exultantly above the\nfoliage screen. And in the distance another, and another.\n\nIn a moment the sky was punctured by signal rockets. One after another\nthe little red puffs became drifting clouds.\n\n\"Scatter! Scatter!\" Wilma exclaimed. \"In half an hour there'll be an\nentire Han fleet here from Nu-yok, and another from Bah-flo. They'll get\nthis instantly on their recordographs and location finders. They'll\nblast the whole valley and the country for miles beyond. Come, Tony.\nThere's no time for the gang to rally. See the signals. We've got to\njump. Oh, I'm so proud of you!\"\n\nOver the ridge we went, in long leaps toward the east, the country of\nthe Delawares.\n\nFrom time to time signal rockets puffed in the sky. Most of them were\nthe \"red warnings,\" the \"scatter\" signals. But from certain of the\nothers, which Wilma identified as Wyoming rockets, she gathered that\nwhoever was in command (we did not know whether the Boss was alive or\nnot) was ordering an ultimate rally toward the south, and so we changed\nour course.\n\nIt was a great pity, I thought, that the clan had not been equipped\nthroughout its membership with ultrophones, but Wilma explained to me,\nthat not enough of these had been built for distribution as yet,\nalthough general distribution had been contemplated within a couple of\nmonths.\n\nWe traveled far before nightfall overtook us, trying only to put as much\ndistance as possible between ourselves and the valley.\n\nWhen gathering dusk made jumping too dangerous, we sought a comfortable\nspot beneath the trees, and consumed part of our emergency rations. It\nwas the first time I had tasted the stuff--a highly nutritive synthetic\nsubstance called \"concentro,\" which was, however, a bit bitter and\nunpalatable. But as only a mouthful or so was needed, it did not matter.\n\nNeither of us had a cloak, but we were both thoroughly tired and happy,\nso we curled up together for warmth. I remember Wilma making some sleepy\nremark about our mating, as she cuddled up, as though the matter were\nall settled, and my surprise at my own instant acceptance of the idea,\nfor I had not consciously thought of her that way before. But we both\nfell asleep at once.\n\nIn the morning we found little time for love making. The practical\nproblem facing us was too great. Wilma felt that the Wyoming plan must\nbe to rally in the Susquanna territory, but she had her doubts about the\nwisdom of this plan. In my elation at my success in bringing down the\nHan ship, and my newly found interest in my charming companion, who was,\nfrom my viewpoint of another century, at once more highly civilized and\nyet more primitive than myself, I had forgotten the ominous fact that\nthe Han ship I had destroyed must have known the exact location of the\nWyoming Works.\n\nThis meant, to Wilma's logical mind, either that the Hans had perfected\nnew instruments as yet unknown to us, or that somewhere, among the\nWyomings or some other nearby gang, there were traitors so degraded as\nto commit that unthinkable act of trafficking in information with the\nHans. In either contingency, she argued, other Han raids would follow,\nand since the Susquannas had a highly developed organization and more\nthan usually productive plants, the next raid might be expected to\nstrike them.\n\nBut at any rate it was clearly our business to get in touch with the\nother fugitives as quickly as possible, so in spite of muscles that were\nsore from the excessive leaping of the day before, we continued on our\nway.\n\nWe traveled for only a couple of hours when we saw a multi-colored\nrocket in the sky, some ten miles ahead of us.\n\n\"Bear to the left, Tony,\" Wilma said, \"and listen for the whistle.\"\n\n\"Why?\" I asked.\n\n\"Haven't they given you the rocket code yet?\" she replied. \"That's what\nthe green, followed by yellow and purple means; to concentrate five\nmiles east of the rocket position. You know the rocket position itself\nmight draw a play of disintegrator beams.\"\n\nIt did not take us long to reach the neighborhood of the indicated\nrallying, though we were now traveling beneath the trees, with but an\noccasional leap to a top branch to see if any more rocket smoke was\nfloating above. And soon we heard a distant whistle.\n\nWe found about half the Gang already there, in a spot where the trees\nmet high above a little stream. The Big Boss and Raid Bosses were busy\nreorganizing the remnants.\n\nWe reported to Boss Hart at once. He was silent, but interested, when he\nheard our story.\n\n\"You two stick close to me,\" he said, adding grimly, \"I'm going back to\nthe valley at once with a hundred picked men, and I'll need you.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nSetting the Trap\n\n\nInside of fifteen minutes we were on our way. A certain amount of\ncaution was sacrificed for the sake of speed, and the men leaped away\neither across the forest top, or over open spaces of ground, but\nconcentration was forbidden. The Big Boss named the spot on the hillside\nas the rallying point.\n\n\"We'll have to take a chance on being seen, so long as we don't group,\"\nhe declared, \"at least until within five miles of the rallying spot.\nFrom then on I want every man to disappear from sight and to travel\nunder cover. And keep your ultrophones open, and tuned on\nten-four-seven-six.\"\n\nWilma and I had received our battle equipment from the Gear boss. It\nconsisted of a long-gun, a hand-gun, with a special case of ammunition\nconstructed of inertron, which made the load weigh but a few ounces, and\na short sword. This gear we strapped over each other's shoulders, on top\nof our jumping belts. In addition, we each received an ultrophone, and a\nlight inertron blanket rolled into a cylinder about six inches long by\ntwo or three in diameter. This fabric was exceedingly thin and light,\nbut it had considerable warmth, because of the mixture of inertron in\nits composition.\n\n[Illustration: The Han raider neared with incredible speed. Its rays\nwere both slanted astern at a sharp angle, so that it slid forward with\ntremendous momentum.... Whenever the disintegrator rays flashed downward\nwith blinding brilliancy, forest, rocks and ground melted\ninstantaneously into nothing, where they played upon them.]\n\n\"This looks like business,\" Wilma remarked to me with sparkling eyes.\n(And I might mention a curious thing here. The word \"business\" had\nsurvived from the 20th Century American vocabulary, but not with any\nmeaning of \"industry\" or \"trade,\" for such things being purely community\nactivities were spoken of as \"work\" and \"clearing.\" Business simply\nmeant fighting, and that was all.)\n\n\"Did you bring all this equipment from the valley?\" I asked the Gear\nBoss.\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"There was no time to gather anything. All this stuff we\ncleared from the Susquannas a few hours ago. I was with the Boss on the\nway down, and he had me jump on ahead and arrange it. But you two had\nbetter be moving. He's beckoning you now.\"\n\nHart was about to call us on our phones when we looked up. As soon as we\ndid so, he leaped away, waving us to follow closely.\n\nHe was a powerful man, and he darted ahead in long, swift, low leaps up\nthe banks of the stream, which followed a fairly straight course at this\npoint. By extending ourselves, however, Wilma and I were able to catch\nup to him.\n\nAs we gradually synchronized our leaps with his, he outlined to us,\nbetween the grunts that accompanied each leap, his plan of action.\n\n\"We have to start the big business--unh--sooner or later,\" he said.\n\"And if--unh--the Hans have found any way of locating our\npositions--unh--it's time to start now, although the Council of\nBosses--unh--had intended waiting a few years until enough rocket ships\nhave been--unh--built. But no matter what the sacrifice--unh--we can't\nafford to let them get us on the run--unh--. We'll set a trap for the\nyellow devils in the--unh--valley if they come back for their\nwreckage--unh--and if they don't, we'll go rocketing for some of their\nliners--unh--on the Nu-yok, Clee-lan, Si-ka-ga course. We can\nuse--unh--that idea of yours of shooting up the repellor--unh--beams.\nWant you to give us a demonstration.\"\n\nWith further admonition to follow him closely, he increased his pace,\nand Wilma and I were taxed to our utmost to keep up with him. It was\nonly in ascending the slopes that my tougher muscles overbalanced his\ngreater skill, and I was able to set the pace for him, as I had for\nWilma.\n\nWe slept in greater comfort that night, under our inertron blankets, and\nwere off with the dawn, leaping cautiously to the top of the ridge\noverlooking the valley which Wilma and I had left.\n\nThe Boss scanned the sky with his ultroscope, patiently taking some\nfifteen minutes to the task, and then swung his phone into use, calling\nthe roll and giving the men their instructions.\n\nHis first order was for us all to slip our ear and chest discs into\npermanent position.\n\nThese ultrophones were quite different from the one used by Wilma's\ncompanion scout the day I saved her from the vicious attack of the\nbandit Gang. That one was contained entirely in a small pocket case.\nThese, with which we were now equipped, consisted of a pair of ear\ndiscs, each a separate and self-contained receiving set. They slipped\ninto little pockets over our ears in the fabric helmets we wore, and\nshut out virtually all extraneous sounds. The chest discs were likewise\nself-contained sending sets, strapped to the chest a few inches below\nthe neck and actuated by the vibrations from the vocal cords through the\nbody tissues. The total range of these sets was about eighteen miles.\nReception was remarkably clear, quite free from the static that so\nmarked the 20th Century radios, and of a strength in direct proportion\nto the distance of the speaker.\n\nThe Boss' set was triple powered, so that his orders would cut in on any\nlocal conversations, which were indulged in, however, with great\nrestraint, and only for the purpose of maintaining contacts.\n\nI marveled at the efficiency of this modern method of battle\ncommunication in contrast to the clumsy signaling devices of more\nancient times; and also at other military contrasts in which the 20th\nand 25th Century methods were the reverse of each other in efficiency.\nThese modern Americans, for instance, knew little of hand to hand\nfighting, and nothing, naturally, of trench warfare. Of barrages they\nwere quite ignorant, although they possessed weapons of terrific power.\nAnd until my recent flash of inspiration, no one among them, apparently,\nhad ever thought of the scheme of shooting a rocket into a repellor beam\nand letting the beam itself hurl it upward into the most vital part of\nthe Han ship.\n\nHart patiently placed his men, first giving his instructions to the\ncampmasters, and then remaining silent, while they placed the\nindividuals.\n\nIn the end, the hundred men were ringed about the valley, on the\nhillsides and tops, each in a position from which he had a good view of\nthe wreckage of the Han ship. But not a man had come in view, so far as\nI could see, in the whole process.\n\nThe Boss explained to me that it was his idea that he, Wilma and I\nshould investigate the wreck. If Han ships should appear in the sky, we\nwould leap for the hillsides.\n\nI suggested to him to have the men set up their long-guns trained on an\nimaginary circle surrounding the wreck. He busied himself with this\nafter the three of us leaped down to the Han ship, serving as a target\nhimself, while he called on the men individually to aim their pieces and\nlock them in position.\n\nIn the meantime Wilma and I climbed into the wreckage, but did not find\nmuch. Practically all of the instruments and machinery had been twisted\nout of all recognizable shape, or utterly destroyed by the ship's\ndisintegrator rays which apparently had continued to operate in the\nmidst of its warped remains for some moments after the crash.\n\nIt was unpleasant work searching the mangled bodies of the crew. But it\nhad to be done. The Han clothing, I observed, was quite different from\nthat of the Americans, and in many respects more like the garb to which\nI had been accustomed in the earlier part of my life. It was made of\nsynthetic fabrics like silks, loose and comfortable trousers of knee\nlength, and sleeveless shirts.\n\nNo protection, except that against drafts, was needed, Wilma explained\nto me, for the Han cities were entirely enclosed, with splendid\narrangements for ventilation and heating. These arrangements of course\nwere equally adequate in their airships. The Hans, indeed, had quite a\ndistaste for unshaded daylight, since their lighting apparatus diffused\na controlled amount of violet rays, making the unmodified sunlight\nunnecessary for health, and undesirable for comfort. Since the Hans did\nnot have the secret of inertron, none of them wore anti-gravity belts.\nYet in spite of the fact that they had to bear their own full weights at\nall times, they were physically far inferior to the Americans, for they\nlived lives of degenerative physical inertia, having machinery of every\ndescription for the performance of all labor, and convenient conveyances\nfor any movement of more than a few steps.\n\nEven from the twisted wreckage of this ship I could see that seats,\nchairs and couches played an extremely important part in their scheme of\nexistence.\n\nBut none of the bodies were overweight. They seemed to have been the\nbodies of men in good health, but muscularly much underdeveloped. Wilma\nexplained to me that they had mastered the science of gland control, and\nof course dietetics, to the point where men and women among them not\nuncommonly reached the age of a hundred years with arteries and general\nhealth in splendid condition.\n\nI did not have time to study the ship and its contents as carefully as I\nwould have liked, however. Time pressed, and it was our business to\ndiscover some clue to the deadly accuracy with which the ship had\nspotted the Wyoming Works.\n\nThe Boss had hardly finished his arrangements for the ring barrage, when\none of the scouts on an eminence to the north, announced the approach of\nseven Han ships, spread out in a great semi-circle.\n\nHart leaped for the hillside, calling to us to do likewise, but Wilma\nand I had raised the flaps of our helmets and switched off our\n\"speakers\" for conversation between ourselves, and by the time we\ndiscovered what had happened, the ships were clearly visible, so fast\nwere they approaching.\n\n\"Jump!\" we heard the Boss order, \"Deering to the north. Rogers to the\neast.\"\n\nBut Wilma looked at me meaningly and pointed to where the twisted plates\nof the ship, projecting from the ground, offered a shelter.\n\n\"Too late, Boss,\" she said. \"They'd see us. Besides I think there's\nsomething here we ought to look at. It's probably their magnetic graph.\"\n\n\"You're signing your death warrant,\" Hart warned.\n\n\"We'll risk it,\" said Wilma and I together.\n\n\"Good for you,\" replied the Boss. \"Take command then, Rogers, for the\npresent. Do you all know his voice, boys?\"\n\nA chorus of assent rang in our ears, and I began to do some fast\nthinking as the girl and I ducked into the twisted mass of metal.\n\n\"Wilma, hunt for that record,\" I said, knowing that by the simple\nprocess of talking I could keep the entire command continuously informed\nas to the situation. \"On the hillsides, keep your guns trained on the\ncircles and stand by. On the hilltops, how many of you are there? Speak\nin rotation from Bald Knob around to the east, north, west.\"\n\nIn turn the men called their names. There were twenty of them.\n\nI assigned them by name to cover the various Han ships, numbering the\nlatter from left to right.\n\n\"Train your rockets on their repellor rays about three-quarters of the\nway up, between ships and ground. Aim is more important than elevation.\nFollow those rays with your aim continuously. Shoot when I tell you, not\nbefore. Deering has the record. The Hans probably have not seen us, or\nat least think there are but two of us in the valley, since they're\nsettling without opening up disintegrators. Any opinions?\"\n\nMy ear discs remained silent.\n\n\"Deering and I remain here until they land and debark. Stand by and keep\nalert.\"\n\nRapidly and easily the largest of the Han ships settled to the earth.\nThree scouted sharply to the south, rising to a higher level. The others\nfloated motionless about a thousand feet above.\n\nPeeping through a small fissure between two plates, I saw the vast hulk\nof the ship come to rest full on the line of our prospective ring\nbarrage. A door clanged open a couple of feet from the ground, and one\nby one the crew emerged.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nThe \"Wyoming Massacre\"\n\n\n\"They're coming out of the ship.\" I spoke quietly, with my hand over\nmy mouth, for fear they might hear me. \"One--two--three--four,\nfive--six--seven--eight--nine. That seems to be all. Who knows how\nmany men a ship like that is likely to carry?\"\n\n\"About ten, if there are no passengers,\" replied one of my men, probably\none of those on the hillside.\n\n\"How are they armed?\" I asked.\n\n\"Just knives,\" came the reply. \"They never permit hand-rays on the\nships. Afraid of accidents. Have a ruling against it.\"\n\n\"Leave them to us then,\" I said, for I had a hastily formed plan in my\nmind. \"You, on the hillsides, take the ships above. Abandon the ring\ntarget. Divide up in training on those repellor rays. You, on the\nhilltops, all train on the repellors of the ships to the south. Shoot at\nthe word, but not before.\n\n\"Wilma, crawl over to your left where you can make a straight leap for\nthe door in that ship. These men are all walking around the wreck in a\nbunch. When they're on the far side, I'll give the word and you leap\nthrough that door in one bound. I'll follow. Maybe we won't be seen.\nWe'll overpower the guard inside, but don't shoot. We may escape being\nseen by both this crew and ships above. They can't see over this wreck.\"\n\nIt was so easy that it seemed too good to be true. The Hans who had\nemerged from the ship walked round the wreckage lazily, talking in\nguttural tones, keenly interested in the wreck, but quite unsuspicious.\n\nAt last they were on the far side. In a moment they would be picking\ntheir way into the wreck.\n\n\"Wilma, leap!\" I almost whispered the order.\n\nThe distance between Wilma's hiding place and the door in the side of\nthe Han ship was not more than fifteen feet. She was already crouched\nwith her feet braced against a metal beam. Taking the lift of that\nwonderful inertron belt into her calculation, she dove headforemost,\nlike a green projectile, through the door. I followed in a split second,\nmore clumsily, but no less speedily, bruising my shoulder painfully, as\nI ricocheted from the edge of the opening and brought up sliding against\nthe unconscious girl; for she evidently had hit her head against the\npartition within the ship into which she had crashed.\n\nWe had made some noise within the ship. Shuffling footsteps were\napproaching down a well lit gangway.\n\n\"Any signs we have been observed?\" I asked my men on the hillsides.\n\n\"Not yet,\" I heard the Boss reply. \"Ships overhead still standing. No\nbeams have been broken out. Men on ground absorbed in wreck. Most of\nthem have crawled into it out of sight.\"\n\n\"Good,\" I said quickly. \"Deering hit her head. Knocked out. One or more\nmembers of the crew approaching. We're not discovered yet. I'll take\ncare of them. Stand a bit longer, but be ready.\"\n\nI think my last words must have been heard by the man who was\napproaching, for he stopped suddenly.\n\nI crouched at the far side of the compartment, motionless. I would not\ndraw my sword if there were only one of them. He would be a weakling, I\nfigured, and I should easily overcome him with my bare hands.\n\nApparently reassured at the absence of any further sound, a man came\naround a sort of bulkhead--and I leaped.\n\nI swung my legs up in front of me as I did so, catching him full in the\nstomach and knocked him cold.\n\nI ran forward along the keel gangway, searching for the control room. I\nfound it well up in the nose of the ship. And it was deserted. What\ncould I do to jam the controls of the ships that would not register on\nthe recording instruments of the other ships? I gazed at the mass of\ncontrols. Levers and wheels galore. In the center of the compartment, on\na massively braced universal joint mounting, was what I took for the\nrepellor generator. A dial on it glowed and a faint hum came from within\nits shielding metallic case. But I had no time to study it.\n\nAbove all else, I was afraid that some automatic telephone apparatus\nexisted in the room, through which I might be heard on the other ships.\nThe risk of trying to jam the controls was too great. I abandoned the\nidea and withdrew softly. I would have to take a chance that there was\nno other member of the crew aboard.\n\nI ran back to the entrance compartment. Wilma still lay where she had\nslumped down. I heard the voices of the Hans approaching. It was time to\nact. The next few seconds would tell whether the ships in the air would\ntry or be able to melt us into nothingness. I spoke.\n\n\"Are you boys all ready?\" I asked, creeping to a position opposite the\ndoor and drawing my hand-gun.\n\nAgain there was a chorus of assent.\n\n\"Then on the count of three, shoot up those repellor rays--all of\nthem--and for God's sake, don't miss.\" And I counted.\n\nI think my \"three\" was a bit weak. I know it took all the courage I had\nto utter it.\n\nFor an agonizing instant nothing happened, except that the landing party\nfrom the ship strolled into my range of vision.\n\nThen startled, they turned their eyes upward. For an instant they stood\nfrozen with horror at whatever they saw.\n\nOne hurled his knife at me. It grazed my cheek. Then a couple of them\nmade a break for the doorway. The rest followed. But I fired pointblank\nwith my hand-gun, pressing the button as fast as I could and aiming at\ntheir feet to make sure my explosive rockets would make contact and do\ntheir work.\n\nThe detonations of my rockets were deafening. The spot on which the Hans\nstood flashed into a blinding glare. Then there was nothing there except\ntheir torn and mutilated corpses. They had been fairly bunched, and I\ngot them all.\n\nI ran to the door, expecting any instant to be hurled into infinity by\nthe sweep of a disintegrator ray.\n\nSome eighth of a mile away I saw one of the ships crash to earth. A\ndisintegrator ray came into my line of vision, wavered uncertainly for a\nmoment and then began to sweep directly toward the ship in which I\nstood. But it never reached it. Suddenly, like a light switched off, it\nshot to one side, and a moment later another vast hulk crashed to earth.\nI looked out, then stepped out on the ground.\n\nThe only Han ships in the sky were two of the scouts to the south which\nwere hanging perpendicularly, and sagging slowly down. The others must\nhave crashed down while I was deafened by the sound of the explosion of\nmy own rockets.\n\nSomebody hit the other repellor ray of one of the two remaining ships\nand it fell out of sight beyond a hilltop. The other, farther away,\ndrifted down diagonally, its disintegrator ray playing viciously over\nthe ground below it.\n\nI shouted with exultation and relief.\n\n\"Take back the command, Boss!\" I yelled.\n\nHis commands, sending out jumpers in pursuit of the descending ship,\nrang in my ears, but I paid no attention to them. I leaped back into the\ncompartment of the Han ship and knelt beside my Wilma. Her padded helmet\nhad absorbed much of the blow, I thought; otherwise, her skull might\nhave been fractured.\n\n\"Oh, my head!\" she groaned, coming to as I lifted her gently in my arms\nand strode out in the open with her. \"We must have won, dearest, did\nwe?\"\n\n\"We most certainly did,\" I reassured her. \"All but one crashed and that\none is drifting down toward the south; we've captured this one we're in\nintact. There was only one member of the crew aboard when we dove in.\"\n\n[Illustration: As the American leaped, he swung his legs up in front of\nhim, catching the Han full in the stomach.]\n\nLess than an hour afterward the Big Boss ordered the outfit to tune in\nultrophones on three-twenty-three to pick up a translated broadcast of\nthe Han intelligence office in Nu-yok from the Susquanna station. It\nwas in the form of a public warning and news item, and read as follows:\n\n\"This is Public Intelligence Office, Nu-yok, broadcasting warning to\nnavigators of private ships, and news of public interest. The squadron\nof seven ships, which left Nu-yok this morning to investigate the recent\ndestruction of the GK-984 in the Wyoming Valley, has been destroyed by a\nseries of mysterious explosions similar to those which wrecked the\nGK-984.\n\n\"The phones, viewplates, and all other signaling devices of five of the\nseven ships ceased operating suddenly at approximately the same moment,\nabout seven-four-nine.\" (According to the Han system of reckoning time,\nseven and forty-nine one hundredths after midnight.) \"After violent\ndisturbances the location finders went out of operation. Electroactivity\nregisters applied to the territory of the Wyoming Valley remain dead.\n\n\"The Intelligence Office has no indication of the kind of disaster which\novertook the squadron except certain evidences of explosive phenomena\nsimilar to those in the case of the GK-984, which recently went dead\nwhile beaming the valley in a systematic effort to wipe out the works\nand camps of the tribesmen. The Office considers, as obvious, the\ndeduction that the tribesmen have developed a new, and as yet\nundetermined, technique of attack on airships, and has recommended to\nthe Heaven-Born that immediate and unlimited authority be given the\nNavigation Intelligence Division to make an investigation of this\ntechnique and develop a defense against it.\n\n\"In the meantime it urges that private navigators avoid this territory\nin particular, and in general hold as closely as possible to the\nofficial inter-city routes, which now are being patrolled by the entire\nforce of the Military Office, which is beaming the routes generously to\na width of ten miles. The Military Office reports that it is at present\nconsidering no retaliatory raids against the tribesmen. With the\nNavigation Intelligence Division, it holds that unless further evidence\nof the nature of the disaster is developed in the near future, the\npublic interest will be better served, and at smaller cost of life, by a\nscientific research than by attempts at retaliation, which may bring\ndestruction on all ships engaging therein. So unless further evidence\nactually is developed, or the Heaven-Born orders to the contrary, the\nMilitary will hold to a defensive policy.\n\n\"Unofficial intimations from Lo-Tan are to the effect that the\nHeaven-Council has the matter under consideration.\n\n\"The Navigation Intelligence Office permits the broadcast of the\nfollowing condensation of its detailed observations:\n\n\"The squadron proceeded to a position above the Wyoming Valley where\nthe wreck of the GK-984 was known to be, from the record of its location\nfinder before it went dead recently. There the bottom projectoscope\nrelays of all ships registered the wreck of the GK-984. Teleprojectoscope\nviews of the wreck and the bowl of the valley showed no evidence of the\npresence of tribesmen. Neither ship registers nor base registers showed\nany indication of electroactivity except from the squadron itself. On\norders from the Base Squadron Commander, the LD-248, LK-745 and LG-25\nscouted southward at 3,000 feet. The GK-43, GK-981 and GK-220 stood\nabove at 2,500 feet, and the GK-18 landed to permit personal inspection\nof the wreck by the science committee. The party debarked, leaving one\nman on board in the control cabin. He set all projectoscopes at\nuniversal focus except RB-3,\" (this meant the third projectoscope from\nthe bow of the ship, on the right-hand side of the lower deck) \"with\nwhich he followed the landing group as it walked around the wreck.\n\n\"The first abnormal phenomenon recorded by any of the instruments at\nBase was that relayed automatically from projectoscope RB-4 of the\nGK-18, which as the party disappeared from view in back of the wreck,\nrecorded two green missiles of roughly cylindrical shape, projected from\nthe wreckage into the landing compartment of the ship. At such close\nrange these were not clearly defined, owing to the universal focus at\nwhich the projectoscope was set. The Base Captain of GK-18 at once\nordered the man in the control room to investigate, and saw him leave\nthe control room in compliance with this order. An instant later\nconfused sounds reached the control-room electrophone, such as might be\nmade by a man falling heavily, and footsteps reapproached the control\nroom, a figure entering and leaving the control room hurriedly. The Base\nCaptain now believes, and the stills of the photorecord support his\nbelief, that this was not the crew member who had been left in the\ncontrol room. Before the Base Captain could speak to him he left the\nroom, nor was any response given to the attention signal the Captain\nflashed throughout the ship.\n\n\"At this point projectoscope RB-3 of the ship now out of focus control,\ndimly showed the landing party walking back toward the ship. RB-4 showed\nit more clearly. Then on both these instruments, a number of blinding\nexplosives in rapid succession were seen and the electrophone relays\nregistered terrific concussions; the ship's electronic apparatus and\nprojectoscopes apparatus went dead.\n\n\"Reports of the other ships' Base Observers and Executives, backed by\nthe photorecords, show the explosions as taking place in the midst of\nthe landing party as it returned, evidently unsuspicious, to the ship.\nThen in rapid succession they indicate that terrific explosions occurred\ninside and outside the three ships standing above close to their rep-ray\ngenerators, and all signals from these ships thereupon went dead.\n\n\"Of the three ships scouting to the south, the LD-248 suffered an\nidentical fate, at the same moment. Its records add little to the\nknowledge of the disaster. But with the LK-745 and the LG-25 it was\ndifferent.\n\n\"The relay instruments of the LK-745 indicated the destruction by an\nexplosion of the rear rep-ray generator, and that the ship hung stern\ndown for a short space, swinging like a pendulum. The forward viewplates\nand indicators did not cease functioning, but their records are chaotic,\nexcept for one projectoscope still, which shows the bowl of the valley,\nand the GK-981 falling, but no visible evidence of tribesmen. The\ncontrol-room viewplate is also a chaotic record of the ship's crew\ntumbling and falling to the rear wall. Then the forward rep-ray\ngenerator exploded, and all signals went dead.\n\n\"The fate of the LG-25 was somewhat similar, except that this ship hung\nnose down, and drifted on the wind southward as it slowly descended out\nof control.\n\n\"As its control room was shattered, verbal report from its Action\nCaptain was precluded. The record of the interior rear viewplate shows\nmembers of the crew climbing toward the rear rep-ray generator in an\nattempt to establish manual control of it, and increase the lift. The\nprojectoscope relays, swinging in wide arcs, recorded little of value\nexcept at the ends of their swings. One of these, from a machine which\nhappened to be set in telescopic focus, shows several views of great\nvalue in picturing the falls of the other ships, and all of the rear\nprojectoscope records enable the reconstruction in detail of the\npendulum and torsional movements of the ship, and its sag toward the\nearth. But none of the views showing the forest below contain any\nindication of tribesmen's presence. A final explosion put this ship out\nof commission at a height of 1,000 feet, and at a point four miles S. by\nE. of the center of the valley.\"\n\nThe message ended with a repetition of the warning to other airmen to\navoid the valley.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nIncredible Treason\n\n\nAfter receiving this report, and reassurances of support from the Big\nBosses of the neighboring Gangs, Hart determined to reestablish the\nWyoming Valley community.\n\nA careful survey of the territory showed that it was only the northern\nsections and slopes that had been \"beamed\" by the first Han ship.\n\nThe synthetic-fabrics plant had been partially wiped out, though the\nlower levels underground had not been reached by the dis ray. The forest\nscreen above it, however, had been annihilated, and it was determined to\nabandon it, after removing all usable machinery and evidences of the\nprocesses that might be of interest to the Han scientists, should they\nreturn to the valley in the future.\n\nThe ammunition plant, and the rocket-ship plant, which had just been\nabout to start operation at the time of the raid, were intact, as were\nthe other important plants.\n\nHart brought the Camboss up from the Susquanna Works, and laid out new\ncamp locations, scattering them farther to the south, and avoiding\nground which had been seared by the Han beams and the immediate\nlocations of the Han wrecks.\n\nDuring this period, a sharp check was kept upon Han messages, for the\nphone plant had been one of the first to be put in operation, and when\nit became evident that the Hans did not intend any immediate reprisals,\nthe entire membership of the community was summoned back, and normal\nlife was resumed.\n\nWilma and I had been married the day after the destruction of the ships,\nand spent this intervening period in a delightful honeymoon, camping\nhigh in the mountains. On our return, we had a camp of our own, of\ncourse. We were assigned to location 1017. And as might be expected, we\nhad a great deal of banter over which one of us was Camp Boss. The title\nstood after my name on the Big Boss' records, and those of the Big\nCamboss, of course, but Wilma airily held that this meant nothing at\nall--and generally succeeded in making me admit it whenever she chose.\n\nI found myself a full-fledged member of the Gang now, for I had elected\nto search no farther for a permanent alliance, much as I would have\nliked to familiarize myself with this 25th Century life in other\nsections of the country. The Wyomings had a high morale, and had\nprospered under the rule of Big Boss Hart for many years. But many of\nthe gangs, I found, were badly organized, lacked strong hands in\nauthority, and were rife with intrigue. On the whole, I thought I would\nbe wise to stay with a group which had already proved its friendliness,\nand in which I seemed to have prospects of advancement. Under these\nmodern social and economic conditions, the kind of individual freedom to\nwhich I had been accustomed in the 20th Century was impossible. I would\nhave been as much of a nonentity in every phase of human relationship by\nattempting to avoid alliances, as any man of the 20th Century would have\nbeen politically, who aligned himself with no political party.\n\nThis entire modern life, it appeared to me, judging from my ancient\nviewpoint, was organized along what I called \"political\" lines. And in\nthis connection, it amused me to notice how universal had become the use\nof the word \"boss.\" The leader, the person in charge or authority over\nanything, was a \"boss.\" There was as little formality in his relations\nwith his followers as there was in the case of the 20th Century\npolitical boss, and the same high respect paid him by his followers as\nwell as the same high consideration by him of their interests. He was\njust as much of an autocrat, and just as much dependent upon the general\npopularity of his actions for the ability to maintain his autocracy.\n\nThe sub-boss who could not command the loyalty of his followers was as\nquickly deposed, either by them or by his superiors, as the ancient ward\nleader of the 20th Century who lost control of his votes.\n\nAs society was organized in the 20th Century, I do not believe the\nsystem could have worked in anything but politics. I tremble to think\nwhat would have happened, had the attempt been made to handle the A. E.\nF. this way during the First World War, instead of by that rigid\nmilitary discipline and complete assumption of the individual as a mere\nstandardized cog in the machine.\n\nBut owing to the centuries of desperate suffering the people had endured\nat the hands of the Hans, there developed a spirit of self-sacrifice and\nconsideration for the common good that made the scheme applicable and\nefficient in all forms of human co-operation.\n\nI have a little heresy about all this, however. My associates regard the\nthought with as much horror as many worthy people of the 20th Century\nfelt in regard to any heretical suggestion that the original outline of\ngovernment as laid down in the First Constitution did not apply as well\nto 20th Century conditions as to those of the early 19th.\n\nIn later years, I felt that there was a certain softening of moral fiber\namong the people, since the Hans had been finally destroyed with all\ntheir works; and Americans have developed a new luxury economy. I have\nseen signs of the reawakening of greed, of selfishness. The eternal\ncycle seems to be at work. I fear that slowly, though surely, private\nwealth is reappearing, codes of inflexibility are developing; they will\nbe followed by corruption, degradation; and in the end some cataclysmic\nevent will end this era and usher in a new one.\n\nAll this, however, is wandering afar from my story, which concerns our\nearly battles against the Hans, and not our more modern problems of\nself-control.\n\nOur victory over the seven Han ships had set the country ablaze. The\nsecret had been carefully communicated to the other gangs, and the\ncountry was agog from one end to the other. There was feverish activity\nin the ammunition plants, and the hunting of stray Han ships became an\nenthusiastic sport. The results were disastrous to our hereditary\nenemies.\n\nFrom the Pacific Coast came the report of a great transpacific liner of\n75,000 tons \"lift\" being brought to earth from a position of\ninvisibility above the clouds. A dozen Sacramentos had caught the hazy\noutlines of its rep rays approaching them, head-on, in the twilight,\nlike ghostly pillars reaching into the sky. They had fired rockets into\nit with ease, whereas they would have had difficulty in hitting it if it\nhad been moving at right angles to their position. They got one rep ray.\nThe other was not strong enough to hold it up. It floated to earth, nose\ndown, and since it was unarmed and unarmored, they had no difficulty in\nshooting it to pieces and massacring its crew and passengers. It seemed\nbarbarous to me. But then I did not have centuries of bitter persecution\nin my blood.\n\nFrom the Jersey Beaches we received news of the destruction of a\nNu-yok-A-lan-a liner. The Sand-snipers, practically invisible in their\nsand-colored clothing, and half buried along the beaches, lay in wait\nfor days, risking the play of dis beams along the route, and finally\nregistering four hits within a week. The Hans discontinued their service\nalong this route, and as evidence that they were badly shaken by our\nsuccess, sent no raiders down the Beaches.\n\nIt was a few weeks later that Big Boss Hart sent for me.\n\n\"Tony,\" he said, \"There are two things I want to talk to you about. One\nof them will become public property in a few days, I think. We aren't\ngoing to get any more Han ships by shooting up their repellor rays\nunless we use much larger rockets. They are wise to us now. They're\nputting armor of great thickness in the hulls of their ships below the\nrep-ray machines. Near Bah-flo this morning a party of Eries shot one\nwithout success. The explosions staggered her, but did not penetrate. As\nnear as we can gather from their reports, their laboratories have\ndeveloped a new alloy of great tensile strength and elasticity which\nnevertheless lets the rep rays through like a sieve. Our reports\nindicate that the Eries' rockets bounced off harmlessly. Most of the\nparty was wiped out as the dis rays went into action on them.\n\n\"This is going to mean real business for all of the gangs before long.\nThe Big Bosses have just held a national ultrophone council. It was\ndecided that America must organize on a national basis. The first move\nis to develop sectional organization by Zones. I have been made\nSuperboss of the Mid-Atlantic Zone.\n\n\"We're in for it now. The Hans are sure to launch reprisal expeditions.\nIf we're to save the race we must keep them away from our camps and\nplants. I'm thinking of developing a permanent field force, along the\nlines of the regular armies of the 20th Century you told me about. Its\nbusiness will be twofold: to carry the warfare as much as possible to\nthe Hans, and to serve as a decoy, to keep their attention from our\nplants. I'm going to need your help in this.\n\n\"The other thing I wanted to talk to you about is this: Amazing and\nimpossible as it seems, there is a group, or perhaps an entire gang,\nsomewhere among us, that is betraying us to the Hans. It may be the Bad\nBloods, or it may be one of those gangs who live near one of the Han\ncities. You know, a hundred and fifteen or twenty years ago there were\ncertain of these people's ancestors who actually degraded themselves by\nmating with the Hans, sometimes even serving them as slaves, in the days\nbefore they brought all their service machinery to perfection.\n\n\"There is such a gang, called the Nagras, up near Bah-flo, and another\nin Mid-Jersey that men call the Pineys. But I hardly suspect the Pineys.\nThere is little intelligence among them. They wouldn't have the\ninformation to give the Hans, nor would they be capable of imparting it.\nThey're absolute savages.\"\n\n\"Just what evidence is there that anybody has been clearing information\nto the Hans?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well,\" he replied, \"first of all there was that raid upon us. That\nfirst Han ship knew the location of our plants exactly. You remember it\nfloated directly into position above the valley and began a systematic\nbeaming. Then, the Hans quite obviously have learned that we are picking\nup their electrophone waves, for they've gone back to their old, but\nextremely accurate, system of directional control. But we've been\ngetting them for the past week by installing automatic re-broadcast\nunits along the scar paths. This is what the Americans called those\nstrips of country directly under the regular ship routes of the Hans,\nwho as a matter of precaution frequently blasted them with their dis\nbeams to prevent the growth of foliage which might give shelter to the\nAmericans. But they've been beaming those paths so hard, it looks as\nthough they even had information of this strategy. And in addition,\nthey've been using code. Finally, we've picked up three of their\nmessages in which they discuss, with some nervousness, the existence of\nour 'mysterious' ultrophone.\"\n\n\"But they still have no knowledge of the nature and control of ultronic\nactivity?\" I asked.\n\n\"No,\" said the Big Boss thoughtfully, \"they don't seem to have a bit of\ninformation about it.\"\n\n\"Then it's quite clear,\" I ventured, \"that whoever is 'clearing' us to\nthem is doing it piecemeal. It sounds like a bit of occasional barter,\nrather than an out-and-out alliance. They're holding back as much\ninformation as possible for future bartering, perhaps.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Hart said, \"and it isn't information the Hans are giving in\nreturn, but some form of goods, or privilege. The trick would be to\nlocate the goods. I guess I'll have to make a personal trip around among\nthe Big Bosses.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nThe Han City\n\n\nThis conversation set me thinking. All of the Han electrophone\ninter-communication had been an open record to the Americans for a good\nmany years, and the Hans were just finding it out. For centuries they\nhad not regarded us as any sort of a menace. Unquestionably it had never\noccurred to them to secrete their own records. Somewhere in Nu-yok or\nBah-flo, or possibly in Lo-Tan itself, the record of this traitorous\ntransaction would be more or less openly filed. If we could only get at\nit! I wondered if a raid might not be possible.\n\nBill Hearn and I talked it over with our Han-affairs Boss and his\nexperts. There ensued several days of research, in which the Han records\nof the entire decade were scanned and analyzed. In the end they picked\nout a mass of detail, and fitted it together into a very definite\npicture of the great central filing office of the Hans in Nu-yok, where\nthe entire mass of official records was kept, constantly available for\ninstant projectoscoping to any of the city's offices, and of the system\nby which the information was filed.\n\nThe attempt began to look feasible, though Hart instantly turned the\nidea down when I first presented it to him. It was unthinkable, he said.\nSheer suicide. But in the end I persuaded him.\n\n\"I will need,\" I said, \"Blash, who is thoroughly familiar with the Han\nlibrary system; Bert Gaunt, who for years has specialized on their\nmilitary offices; Bill Barker, the ray specialist, and the best swooper\npilot we have.\" _Swoopers_ are one-man and two-man ships, developed by\nthe Americans, with skeleton backbones of inertron (during the war\npainted green for invisibility against the green forests below) and\n\"bellies\" of clear ultron.\n\n\"That will be Mort Gibbons,\" said Hart. \"We've only got three swoopers\nleft, Tony, but I'll risk one of them if you and the others will\nvoluntarily risk your existences. But mind, I won't urge or order one of\nyou to go. I'll spread the word to every Plant Boss at once to give you\nanything and everything you need in the way of equipment.\"\n\nWhen I told Wilma of the plan, I expected her to raise violent and\ntearful objections, but she didn't. She was made of far sterner stuff\nthan the women of the 20th Century. Not that she couldn't weep as\ncopiously or be just as whimsical on occasion; but she wouldn't weep for\nthe same reasons.\n\nShe just gave me an unfathomable look, in which there seemed to be a bit\nof pride, and asked eagerly for the details. I confess I was somewhat\ndisappointed that she could so courageously risk my loss, even though I\nwas amazed at her fortitude. But later I was to learn how little I knew\nher then.\n\nWe were ready to slide off at dawn the next morning. I had kissed Wilma\ngood-bye at our camp, and after a final conference over our plans, we\nboarded our craft and gently glided away over the tree tops on a course,\nwhich, after crossing three routes of the Han ships, would take us out\nover the Atlantic, off the Jersey coast, whence we would come up on\nNu-yok from the ocean.\n\nTwice we had to nose down and lie motionless on the ground near a route\nwhile Han ships passed. Those were tense moments. Had the green back of\nour ship been observed, we would have been disintegrated in a second.\nBut it wasn't.\n\nOnce over the water, however, we climbed in a great spiral, ten miles in\ndiameter, until our altimeter registered ten miles. Here Gibbons shut\noff his rocket motor, and we floated, far above the level of the\nAtlantic liners, whose course was well to the north of us anyhow, and\nwaited for nightfall.\n\nThen Gibbons turned from his control long enough to grin at me.\n\n\"I have a surprise for you, Tony,\" he said, throwing back the lid of\nwhat I had supposed was a big supply case. And with a sigh of relief,\nWilma stepped out of the case.\n\n\"If you 'go into zero' (a common expression of the day for being\nannihilated by the disintegrator ray), you don't think I'm going to let\nyou go alone, do you, Tony? I couldn't believe my ears last night when\nyou spoke of going without me, until I realized that you are still five\nhundred years behind the times in lots of ways. Don't you know, dear\nheart, that you offered me the greatest insult a husband could give a\nwife? You didn't, of course.\"\n\nThe others, it seemed, had all been in on the secret, and now they would\nhave kidded me unmercifully, except that Wilma's eyes blazed\ndangerously.\n\nAt nightfall, we maneuvered to a position directly above the city. This\ntook some time and calculation on the part of Bill Barker, who explained\nto me that he had to determine our point by ultronic bearings. The\nslightest resort to an electronic instrument, he feared, might be\ndetected by our enemies' locators. In fact, we did not dare bring our\nswooper any lower than five miles for fear that its capacity might be\nreflected in their instruments.\n\nFinally, however, he succeeded in locating above the central tower of\nthe city.\n\n\"If my calculations are as much as ten feet off,\" he remarked with\nconfidence, \"I'll eat the tower. Now the rest is up to you, Mort. See\nwhat you can do to hold her steady. No--here, watch this indicator--the\nred beam, not the green one. See--if you keep it exactly centered on the\nneedle, you're O.K. The width of the beam represents seventeen feet. The\ntower platform is fifty feet square, so we've got a good margin to work\non.\"\n\nFor several moments we watched as Gibbons bent over his levers,\nconstantly adjusting them with deft touches of his fingers. After a bit\nof wavering, the beam remained centered on the needle.\n\n\"Now,\" I said, \"let's drop.\"\n\nI opened the trap and looked down, but quickly shut it again when I felt\nthe air rushing out of the ship into the rarefied atmosphere in a\ntorrent. Gibbons literally yelled a protest from his instrument board.\n\n\"I forgot,\" I mumbled. \"Silly of me. Of course, we'll have to drop out\nof compartment.\"\n\nThe compartment, to which I referred, was similar to those in some of\nthe 20th Century submarines. We all entered it. There was barely room\nfor us to stand, shoulder to shoulder. With some struggles, we got into\nour special air helmets and adjusted the pressure. At our signal,\nGibbons exhausted the air in the compartment, pumping it into the body\nof the ship, and as the little signal light flashed, Wilma threw open\nthe hatch.\n\nSetting the ultron-wire reel, I climbed through, and began to slide down\ngently.\n\nWe all had our belts on, of course, adjusted to a weight balance of but\na few ounces. And the five-mile reel of ultron wire that was to be our\nguide, was of gossamer fineness, though, anyway, I believe it would have\nlifted the full weight of the five of us, so strong and tough was this\ninvisible metal. As an extra precaution, since the wire was of the\npurest metal, and therefore totally invisible, even in daylight, we all\nhad our belts hooked on small rings that slid down the wire.\n\nI went down with the end of the wire. Wilma followed a few feet above\nme, then Barker, Gaunt and Blash. Gibbons, of course, stayed behind to\nhold the ship in position and control the paying out of the line. We all\nhad our ultrophones in place inside our air helmets, and so could\nconverse with one another and with Gibbons. But at Wilma's suggestion,\nalthough we would have liked to let the Big Boss listen in, we kept them\nadjusted to short-range work, for fear that those who had been clearing\nwith the Hans, and against whom we were on a raid for evidence, might\nalso pick up our conversation. We had no fear that the Hans would hear\nus. In fact, we had the added advantage that, even after we landed, we\ncould converse freely without danger of their hearing our voices through\nour air helmets.\n\nFor a while I could see nothing below but utter darkness. Then I\nrealized, from the feel of the air as much as from anything, that we\nwere sinking through a cloud layer. We passed through two more cloud\nlayers before anything was visible to us.\n\nThen there came under my gaze, about two miles below, one of the most\nbeautiful sights I have ever seen; the soft, yet brilliant, radiance of\nthe great Han city of Nu-yok. Every foot of its structural members\nseemed to glow with a wonderful incandescence, tower piled up on tower,\nand all built on the vast base-mass of the city, which, so I had been\ntold, sheered upward from the surface of the rivers to a height of 728\nlevels.\n\nThe city, I noticed with some surprise, did not cover anything like the\nsame area as the New York of the 20th Century. It occupied, as a matter\nof fact, only the lower half of Manhattan Island, with one section\nstraddling the East River, and spreading out sufficiently over what once\nhad been Brooklyn, to provide berths for the great liners and other air\ncraft.\n\nStraight beneath my feet was a tiny dark patch. It seemed the only spot\nin the entire city that was not aflame with radiance. This was the\ncentral tower, in the top floors of which were housed the vast library\nof record files and the main projectoscope plant.\n\n\"You can shoot the wire now,\" I ultrophoned Gibbons, and let go the\nlittle weighted knob. It dropped like a plummet, and we followed with\nconsiderable speed, but braking our descent with gloved hands\nsufficiently to see whether the knob, on which a faint light glowed as a\nsignal for ourselves, might be observed by any Han guard or night\nprowler. Apparently it was not, and we again shot down with accelerated\nspeed.\n\nWe landed on the roof of the tower without any mishap, and fortunately\nfor our plan, in darkness. Since there was nothing above it on which it\nwould have been worth while to shed illumination, or from which there\nwas any need to observe it, the Hans had neglected to light the tower\nroof, or indeed to occupy it at all. This was the reason we had selected\nit as our landing place.\n\nAs soon as Gibbons had our word, he extinguished the knob light, and the\nknob, as well as the wire, became totally invisible. At our ultrophoned\nword, he would light it again.\n\n\"No gun play now,\" I warned. \"Swords only, and then only if absolutely\nnecessary.\"\n\nClosely bunched, and treading as lightly as only inertron-belted people\ncould, we made our way cautiously through a door and down an inclined\nplane to the floor below, where Gaunt and Blash assured us the military\noffices were located.\n\nTwice Barker cautioned us to stop as we were about to pass in front of\nmirror-like \"windows\" in the passage wall, and flattening ourselves to\nthe floor, we crawled past them.\n\n\"Projectoscopes,\" he said. \"Probably on automatic record only, at this\ntime of night. Still, we don't want to leave any records for them to\nstudy after we're gone.\"\n\n\"Were you ever here before?\" I asked.\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"but I haven't been studying their electrophone\ncommunications for seven years without being able to recognize these\nmachines when I run across them.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nThe Fight in the Tower\n\n\nSo far we had not laid eyes on a Han. The tower seemed deserted. Blash\nand Gaunt, however, assured me that there would be at least one man on\n\"duty\" in the military offices, though he would probably be asleep, and\ntwo or three in the library proper and the projectoscope plant.\n\n\"We've got to put them out of commission,\" I said. \"Did you bring the\n'dope' cans, Wilma?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"two for each. Here,\" and she distributed them.\n\nWe were now two levels below the roof, and at the point where we were to\nseparate.\n\nI did not want to let Wilma out of my sight, but it was necessary.\n\nAccording to our plan, Barker was to make his way to the projectoscope\nplant, Blash and I to the library, and Wilma and Gaunt to the military\noffice.\n\nBlash and I traversed a long corridor, and paused at the great arched\ndoorway of the library. Cautiously we peered in. Seated at three great\nswitchboards were library operatives. Occasionally one of them would\nreach lazily for a lever, or sleepily push a button, as little numbered\nlights winked on and off. They were answering calls for electrograph and\nviewplate records on all sorts of subjects from all sections of the\ncity.\n\nI apprised my companions of the situation.\n\n\"Better wait a bit,\" Blash added. \"The calls will lessen shortly.\"\n\nWilma reported an officer in the military office sound asleep.\n\n\"Give him the can, then,\" I said.\n\nBarker was to do nothing more than keep watch in the projectoscope\nplant, and a few moments later he reported himself well concealed, with\na splendid view of the floor.\n\n\"I think we can take a chance now,\" Blash said to me, and at my nod, he\nopened the lid of his dope can. Of course, the fumes did not affect us,\nthrough our helmets. They were absolutely without odor or visibility,\nand in a few seconds the librarians were unconscious. We stepped into\nthe room.\n\nThere ensued considerable cautious observation and experiment on the\npart of Gaunt, working from the military office, and Blash in the\nlibrary; while Wilma and I, with drawn swords and sharply attuned\nmicrophones, stood guard, and occasionally patrolled nearby corridors.\n\n\"I hear something approaching,\" Wilma said after a bit, with excitement\nin her voice. \"It's a soft, gliding sound.\"\n\n\"That's an elevator somewhere,\" Barker cut in from the projectoscope\nfloor. \"Can you locate it? I can't hear it.\"\n\n\"It's to the east of me,\" she replied.\n\n\"And to my west,\" said I, faintly catching it. \"It's between us, Wilma,\nand nearer you than me. Be careful. Have you got any information yet,\nBlash and Gaunt?\"\n\n\"Getting it now,\" one of them replied. \"Give us two minutes more.\"\n\n\"Keep at it then,\" I said. \"We'll guard.\"\n\nThe soft, gliding sound ceased.\n\n\"I think it's very close to me,\" Wilma almost whispered. \"Come closer,\nTony. I have a feeling something is going to happen. I've never known my\nnerves to get taut like this without reason.\"\n\nIn some alarm, I launched myself down the corridor in a great leap\ntoward the intersection whence I knew I could see her.\n\nIn the middle of my leap my ultrophone registered her gasp of alarm. The\nnext instant I glided to a stop at the intersection to see Wilma backing\ntoward the door of the military office, her sword red with blood, and an\ninert form on the corridor floor. Two other Hans were circling to either\nside of her with wicked-looking knives, while a third evidently a high\nofficer, judging by the resplendence of his garb tugged desperately to\nget an electrophone instrument out of a bulky pocket. If he ever gave\nthe alarm, there was no telling what might happen to us.\n\nI was at least seventy feet away, but I crouched low and sprang with\nevery bit of strength in my legs. It would be more correct to say that I\ndived, for I reached the fellow head on, with no attempt to draw my legs\nbeneath me.\n\nSome instinct must have warned him, for he turned suddenly as I hurtled\nclose to him. But by this time I had sunk close to the floor, and had\nstiffened myself rigidly, lest a dragging knee or foot might just\nprevent my reaching him. I brought my blade upward and over. It was a\nvicious slash that laid him open, bisecting him from groin to chin, and\nhis dead body toppled down on me, as I slid to a tangled stop.\n\nThe other two startled, turned. Wilma leaped at one and struck him down\nwith a side slash. I looked up at this instant, and the dazed fear on\nhis face at the length of her leap registered vividly. The Hans knew\nnothing of our inertron belts, it seemed, and these leaps and dives of\nours filled them with terror.\n\nAs I rose to my feet, a gory mess, Wilma, with a poise and speed which I\nfound time to admire even in this crisis, again leaped. This time she\ndove head first as I had done and, with a beautifully executed thrust,\nran the last Han through the throat.\n\nUncertainly, she scrambled to her feet, staggered queerly, and then sank\ngently prone on the corridor. She had fainted.\n\nAt this juncture, Blash and Gaunt reported with elation that they had\nthe record we wanted.\n\n\"Back to the roof, everybody!\" I ordered, as I picked Wilma up in my\narms. With her inertron belt, she felt as light as a feather.\n\nGaunt joined me at once from the military office, and at the\nintersection of the corridor, we came upon Blash waiting for us. Barker,\nhowever, was not in evidence.\n\n\"Where are you, Barker?\" I called.\n\n\"Go ahead,\" he replied. \"I'll be with you on the roof at once.\"\n\nWe came out in the open without any further mishap, and I instructed\nGibbons in the ship to light the knob on the end of the ultron wire. It\nflashed dully a few feet away from us. Just how he had maneuvered the\nship to keep our end of the line in position, without its swinging in a\ntremendous arc, I have never been able to understand. Had not the night\nbeen an unusually still one, he could not have checked the initial\npendulum-like movements. As it was, there was considerable air current\nat certain of the levels, and in different directions too. But Gibbons\nwas an expert of rare ability and sensitivity in the handling of a\nrocket ship, and he managed, with the aid of his delicate instruments,\nto sense the drifts almost before they affected the fine ultron wire,\nand to neutralize them with little shifts in the position of the ship.\n\nBlash and Gaunt fastened their rings to the wire, and I hooked my own\nand Wilma's on, too. But on looking around, I found Barker was still\nmissing.\n\n\"Barker, come!\" I called. \"We're waiting.\"\n\n\"Coming!\" he replied, and indeed, at that instant, his figure appeared\nup the ramp. He chuckled as he fastened his ring to the wire, and said\nsomething about a little surprise he had left for the Hans.\n\n\"Don't reel in the wire more than a few hundred feet,\" I instructed\nGibbons. \"It will take too long to wind it in. We'll float up, and when\nwe're aboard, we can drop it.\"\n\nIn order to float up, we had to dispense with a pound or two of weight\napiece. We hurled our swords from us, and kicked off our shoes as\nGibbons reeled up the line a bit, and then letting go of the wire, began\nto hum upward on our rings with increasing velocity.\n\nThe rush of air brought Wilma to, and I hastily explained to her that we\nhad been successful. Receding far below us now, I could see our dully\nshining knob swinging to and fro in an ever widening arc, as it crossed\nand recrossed the black square of the tower roof. As an extra\nprecaution, I ordered Gibbons to shut off the light, and to show one\nfrom the belly of the ship, for so great was our speed now, that I began\nto fear we would have difficulty in checking ourselves. We were\nliterally falling upward, and with terrific acceleration.\n\nFortunately, we had several minutes in which to solve this difficulty,\nwhich none of us, strangely enough, had foreseen. It was Gibbons who\nfound the answer.\n\n\"You'll be all right if all of you grab the wire tight when I give the\nword,\" he said. \"First I'll start reeling it in at full speed. You won't\nget much of a jar, and then I'll decrease its speed again gradually, and\nits weight will hold you back. Are you ready? One--two--three!\"\n\nWe all grabbed tightly with our gloved hands as he gave the word. We\nmust have been rising a good bit faster than he figured, however, for it\nwrenched our arms considerably, and the maneuver set up a sickening\npendulum motion.\n\nFor a while all we could do was swing there in an arc that may have been\na quarter of a mile across, about three and a half miles above the city,\nand still more than a mile from our ship.\n\nGibbons skilfully took up the slack as our momentum pulled up the line.\nThen at last we had ourselves under control again, and continued our\nupward journey, checking our speed somewhat with our gloves.\n\nThere was not one of us who did not breathe a big sigh of relief when we\nscrambled through the hatch safely into the ship again, cast off the\nultron line and slammed the trap shut.\n\nLittle realizing that we had a still more terrible experience to go\nthrough, we discussed the information Blash and Gaunt had between them\nextracted from the Han records, and the advisability of ultrophoning\nHart at once.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nThe Walls of Hell\n\n\nThe traitors were, it seemed, a degenerate gang of Americans, located a\nfew miles north of Nu-yok on the wooded banks of the Hudson, the\nSinsings. They had exchanged scraps of information to the Hans in return\nfor several old repellor-ray machines, and the privilege of tuning in on\nthe Han electronic power broadcast for their operation, provided their\nships agreed to subject themselves to the orders of the Han traffic\noffice, while aloft.\n\nThe rest wanted to ultrophone their news at once, since there was always\ndanger that we might never get back to the gang with it.\n\nI objected, however. The Sinsings would be likely to pick up our\nmessage. Even if we used the directional projector, they might have\nscouts out to the west and south in the big inter-gang stretches of\ncountry. They would flee to Nu-yok and escape the punishment they\nmerited. It seemed to be vitally important that they should not, for the\nsake of example to other weak groups among the American gangs, as well\nas to prevent a crisis in which they might clear more vital information\nto the enemy.\n\n\"Out to sea again,\" I ordered Gibbons. \"They'll be less likely to look\nfor us in that direction.\"\n\n\"Easy, Boss, easy,\" he replied. \"Wait until we get up a mile or two\nmore. They must have discovered evidences of our raid by now, and their\ndis-ray wall may go in operation any moment.\"\n\nEven as he spoke, the ship lurched downward and to one side.\n\n\"There it is!\" he shouted. \"Hang on, everybody. We're going to nose\nstraight up!\" And he flipped the rocket-motor control wide open.\n\nLooking through one of the rear ports, I could see a nebulous, luminous\nring, and on all sides the atmosphere took on a faint iridescence.\n\nWe were almost over the destructive range of the disintegrator-ray wall,\na hollow cylinder of annihilation shooting upward from a solid ring of\ngenerators surrounding the city. It was the main defense system of the\nHans, which had never been used except in periodic tests. They may or\nmay not have suspected that an American rocket ship was within the\ncylinder; probably they had turned on their generators more as a\nprecaution to prevent any reaching a position above the city.\n\nBut even at our present great height, we were in great danger. It was a\nquestion how much we might have been harmed by the rays themselves, for\ntheir effective range was not much more than seven or eight miles. The\ngreater danger lay in the terrific downward rush of air within the\ncylinder to replace that which was being burned into nothingness by the\ncontinual play of the disintegrators. The air fell into the cylinder\nwith the force of a gale. It would be rushing toward the wall from the\noutside with terrific force also, but, naturally, the effect was\nintensified on the interior.\n\nOur ship vibrated and trembled. We had only one chance of escape--to\nfight our way well above the current. To drift down with it meant\nultimately, and inevitably, to be sucked into the destruction wall at\nsome lower level.\n\nBut very gradually and jerkily our upward movement, as shown on the\nindicators, began to increase, and after an hour of desperate struggle\nwe were free of the maelstrom and into the rarefied upper levels. The\nterror beneath us was now invisible through several layers of cloud\nformations.\n\nGibbons brought the ship back to an even keel, and drove her eastward\ninto one of the most brilliantly gorgeous sunrises I have ever seen.\n\nWe described a great circle to the south and west, in a long easy dive,\nfor he had cut out his rocket motors to save them as much as possible.\nWe had drawn terrifically on their fuel reserves in our battle with the\nelements. For the moment, the atmosphere below cleared, and we could see\nthe Jersey coast far beneath, like a great map.\n\n\"We're not through yet,\" remarked Gibbons suddenly, pointing at his\nperiscope, and adjusting it to telescopic focus. \"A Han ship, and a\n'drop ship' at that--and he's seen us. If he whips that beam of his on\nus, we're done.\"\n\nI gazed, fascinated, at the viewplate. What I saw was a cigar-shaped\nship not dissimilar to our own in design, and from the proportional size\nof its ports, of about the same size as our swoopers. We learned later\nthat they carried crews, for the most part of not more than three or\nfour men. They had streamline hulls and tails that embodied\nuniversal-jointed double fish-tail rudders. In operation they rose to\ngreat heights on their powerful repellor rays, then gathered speed\neither by a straight nose dive, or an inclined dive in which they\nsometimes used the repellor ray slanted at a sharp angle. He was already\nabove us, though several miles to the north. He could, of course, try to\nget on our tail and \"spear\" us with his beam as he dropped at us from a\ngreat height.\n\nSuddenly his beam blazed forth in a blinding flash, whipping downward\nslowly to our right. He went through a peculiar corkscrew-like\nevolution, evidently maneuvering to bring his beam to bear on us with a\nspiral motion.\n\nGibbons instantly sent our ship into a series of evolutions that must\nhave looked like those of a frightened hen. Alternately, he used the\nforward and the reverse rocket blasts, and in varying degree. We\nfluttered, we shot suddenly to right and left, and dropped like a\nplummet in uncertain movements. But all the time the Han scout dropped\ntoward us, determinedly whipping the air around us with his beam. Once\nit sliced across beneath us, not more than a hundred feet, and we\ndropped with a jar into the pocket formed by the destruction of the air.\n\nHe had dropped to within a mile of us, and was coming with the speed of\na projectile, when the end came. Gibbons always swore it was sheer luck.\nMaybe it was, but I like pilots who are lucky that way.\n\nIn the midst of a dizzy, fluttering maneuver of our own, with the Han\nship enlarging to our gaze with terrifying rapidity, and its beam slowly\nslicing toward us in what looked like certain destruction within the\nsecond, I saw Gibbons' fingers flick at the lever of his rocket gun and\na split second later the Han ship flew apart like a clay pigeon.\n\nWe staggered, and fluttered crazily for several moments while Gibbons\nstruggled to bring our ship into balance, and a section of about four\nsquare feet in the side of the ship near the stern slowly crumbled like\nrusted metal. His beam actually had touched us, but our explosive rocket\nhad got him a thousandth of a second sooner.\n\nPart of our rudder had been annihilated, and our motor damaged. But we\nwere able to swoop gently back across Jersey, fortunately crossing the\nship lanes without sighting any more Han craft, and finally settling to\nrest in the little glade beneath the trees, near Hart's camp.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nThe New Boss\n\n\nWe had ultrophoned our arrival and the Big Boss himself, surrounded by\nthe Council, was on hand to welcome us and learn our news. In turn we\nwere informed that during the night a band of raiding Bad Bloods,\ndisguised under the insignia of the Altoonas, a gang some distance to\nthe west of us, had destroyed several of our camps before our people had\nrallied and driven them off. Their purpose, evidently, had been to\nembroil us with the Altoonas, but fortunately, one of our exchanges\nrecognized the Bad Blood leader, who had been slain.\n\nThe Big Boss had mobilized the full raiding force of the Gang, and was\non the point of heading an expedition for the extermination of the Bad\nBloods.\n\nI looked around the grim circle of the sub-bosses, and realized the fate\nof America, at this moment, lay in their hands. Their temper demanded\nthe immediate expenditure of our full effort in revenging ourselves for\nthis raid. But the strategic exigencies, to my mind, quite clearly\ndemanded the instant and absolute extermination of the Sinsings. It\nmight be only a matter of hours, for all we knew, before these degraded\npeople would barter clues to the American ultronic secrets to the Hans.\n\n\"How large a force have we?\" I asked Hart.\n\n\"Every man and maid who can be spared,\" he replied. \"That gives us seven\nhundred married and unmarried men, and three hundred girls, more than\nthe entire Bad Blood Gang. Every one is equipped with belts,\nultrophones, rocket guns and swords, and all fighting mad.\"\n\nI meditated how I might put the matter to these determined men, and was\nvaguely conscious that they were awaiting my words.\n\nFinally I began to speak. I do not remember to this day just what I\nsaid. I talked calmly, with due regard for their passion, but with deep\nconviction. I went over the information we had collected, point by\npoint, building my case logically, and painting a lurid picture of the\ndanger impending in that half-alliance between the Sinsings and the Hans\nof Nu-yok. I became impassioned, culminating, I believe, with a vow to\nproceed single-handed against the hereditary enemies of our race, \"if\nthe Wyomings were blindly set on placing a gang feud ahead of honor and\nduty and the hopes of all America.\"\n\nAs I concluded, a great calm came over me, as of one detached. I had\nfelt much the same way during several crises in the First World War. I\ngazed from face to face, striving to read their expressions, and in a\nmood to make good my threat without any further heroics, if the decision\nwas against me.\n\nBut it was Hart who sensed the temper of the Council more quickly than I\ndid, and looked beyond it into the future.\n\nHe arose from the tree trunk on which he had been sitting.\n\n\"That settles it,\" he said, looking around the ring. \"I have felt this\nthing coming on for some time now. I'm sure the Council agrees with me\nthat there is among us a man more capable than I, to boss the Wyoming\nGang, despite his handicap of having had all too short a time in which\nto familiarize himself with our modern ways and facilities. Whatever I\ncan do to support his effective leadership, at any cost, I pledge myself\nto do.\"\n\nAs he concluded, he advanced to where I stood, and taking from his head\nthe green-crested helmet that constituted his badge of office, to my\nsurprise he placed it in my mechanically extended hand.\n\nThe roar of approval that went up from the Council members left me\ndazed. Somebody ultrophoned the news to the rest of the Gang, and even\nthough the earflaps of my helmet were turned up, I could hear the cheers\nwith which my invisible followers greeted me, from near and distant\nhillsides, camps and plants.\n\nMy first move was to make sure that the Phone Boss, in communicating\nthis news to the members of the Gang, had not re-broadcast my talk nor\nmentioned my plan of shifting the attack from the Bad Bloods to the\nSinsings. I was relieved by his assurance that he had not, for it would\nhave wrecked the whole plan. Everything depended upon our ability to\nsurprise the Sinsings.\n\nSo I pledged the Council and my companions to secrecy, and allowed it to\nbe believed that we were about to take to the air and the trees against\nthe Bad Bloods.\n\nThat outfit must have been badly scared, the way they were \"burning\" the\nether with ultrophone alibis and propaganda for the benefit of the more\ndistant gangs. It was their old game, and the only method by which they\nhad avoided extermination long ago from their immediate neighbors--these\nappeals to the spirit of American brotherhood, addressed to gangs too\nfar away to have had the sort of experience with them that had fallen to\nour lot.\n\nI chuckled. Here was another good reason for the shift in my plans. Were\nwe actually to undertake the exterminations of the Bad Bloods at once,\nit would have been a hard job to convince some of the gangs that we had\nnot been precipitate and unjustified. Jealousies and prejudices existed.\nThere were gangs which would give the benefit of the doubt to the Bad\nBloods, rather than to ourselves, and the issue was now hopelessly\nbeclouded with the clever lies that were being broadcast in an unceasing\nstream.\n\nBut the extermination of the Sinsings would be another thing. In the\nfirst place, there would be no warning of our action until it was all\nover, I hoped. In the second place, we would have indisputable proof, in\nthe form of their rep-ray ships and other paraphernalia, of their\ntraffic with the Hans; and the state of American prejudice, at the time\nof which I write held trafficking with the Hans a far more heinous thing\nthan even a vicious gang feud.\n\nI called an executive session of the Council at once. I wanted to\ninventory our military resources.\n\nI created a new office on the spot, that of \"Control Boss,\" and\nappointed Ned Garlin to the post, turning over his former responsibility\nas Plants Boss to his assistant. I needed someone, I felt, to tie in the\nrecords of the various functional activities of the campaign, and take\nover from me the task of keeping the records of them up to the minute.\n\nI received reports from the bosses of the ultrophone unit, and those of\nfood, transportation, fighting gear, chemistry, electronic activity and\nelectrophone intelligence, ultroscopes, air patrol and contact guard.\n\nMy ideas for the campaign, of course, were somewhat tinged with my 20th\nCentury experience, and I found myself faced with the task of working\nout a staff organization that was a composite of the best and most\neasily applied principles of business and military efficiency, as I knew\nthem from the viewpoint of immediate practicality.\n\nWhat I wanted was an organization that would be specialized,\nfunctionally, not as that indicated above, but from the angles of:\nintelligence as to the Sinsings' activities; intelligence as to Han\nactivities; perfection of communication with my own units; co-operation\nof field command; and perfect mobilization of emergency supplies and\nresources.\n\nIt took several hours of hard work with the Council to map out the plan.\nFirst we assigned functional experts and equipment to each \"Division\" in\naccordance with its needs. Then these in turn were reassigned by the new\nDivision Bosses to the Field Commands as needed, or as Independent or\nHeadquarters Units. The two intelligence divisions were named the White\nand the Yellow, indicating that one specialized on the American enemy\nand the other on the Mongolians.\n\nThe division in charge of our own communications, the assignment of\nultrophone frequencies and strengths, and the maintenance of operators\nand equipment, I called \"Communications.\"\n\nI named Bill Hearn to the post of Field Boss, in charge of the main or\nundetached fighting units, and to the Resources Division, I assigned all\nresponsibility for what few aircraft we had; and all transportation and\nsupply problems, I assigned to \"Resources.\" The functional bosses stayed\nwith this division.\n\nWe finally completed our organization with the assignment of liaison\nrepresentatives among the various divisions as needed.\n\nThus I had a \"Headquarters Staff\" composed of the Division Bosses who\nreported directly to Ned Garlin as Control Boss, or to Wilma as my\npersonal assistant. And each of the Division Bosses had a small staff of\nhis own.\n\nIn the final summing up of our personnel and resources, I found we had\nroughly a thousand \"troops,\" of whom some three hundred and fifty were,\nin what I called the Service Divisions, the rest being in Bill Hearn's\nField Division. This latter number, however, was cut down somewhat by\nthe assignment of numerous small units to detached service. Altogether,\nthe actual available fighting force, I figured, would number about five\nhundred, by the time we actually went into action.\n\nWe had only six small swoopers, but I had an ingenious plan in my mind,\nas the result of our little raid on Nu-yok, that would make this\nsufficient, since the reserves of inertron blocks were larger than I\nexpected to find them. The Resources Division, by packing its supply\ncases a bit tight, or by slipping in extra blocks of inertron, was able\nto reduce each to a weight of a few ounces. These easily could be\nfloated and towed by the swoopers in any quantity. Hitched to ultron\nlines, it would be a virtual impossibility for them to break loose.\n\nThe entire personnel, of course, was supplied with jumpers, and if each\nman and girl was careful to adjust balances properly, the entire number\ncould also be towed along through the air, grasping wires of ultron,\nswinging below the swoopers, or stringing out behind them.\n\nThere would be nothing tiring about this, because the strain would be no\ngreater than that of carrying a one or two pound weight in the hand,\nexcept for air friction at high speeds. But to make doubly sure that we\nshould lose none of our personnel, I gave strict orders that the belts\nand tow lines should be equipped with rings and hooks.\n\nSo great was the efficiency of the fundamental organization and\ndiscipline of the Gang, that we got under way at nightfall.\n\nOne by one the swoopers eased into the air, each followed by its long\ntrain or \"kite-tail\" of humanity and supply cases hanging lightly from\nits tow line. For convenience, the tow lines were made of an alloy of\nultron which, unlike the metal itself, is visible.\n\nAt first these \"tails\" hung downward, but as the ships swung into\nformation and headed eastward toward the Bad Blood territory, gathering\nspeed, they began to string out behind. And swinging low from each ship\non heavily weighted lines, ultroscope, ultrophone, and straight-vision\nobservers keenly scanned the countryside, while intelligence men in the\nswoopers above bent over their instrument boards and viewplates.\n\nLeaving Control Boss Ned Garlin temporarily in charge of affairs, Wilma\nand I dropped a weighted line from our ship, and slid down about half\nway to the under lookouts, that is to say, about a thousand feet. The\nsensation of floating swiftly through the air like this, in the absolute\nsecurity of one's confidence in the inertron belt, was one of\nnever-ending delight to me.\n\nWe reascended into the swooper as the expedition approached the\nterritory of the Bad Bloods, and directed the preparations for the\nbombardment. It was part of my plan to appear to carry out the attack as\noriginally planned.\n\nAbout fifteen miles from their camps our ships came to a halt and\nmaintained their positions for a while with the idling blasts of their\nrocket motors, to give the ultroscope operators a chance to make a\nthorough examination of the territory below us, for it was very\nimportant that this next step in our program should be carried out with\nall secrecy.\n\nAt length they reported the ground below us entirely clear of any\nappearance of human occupation, and a gun unit of long-range specialists\nwas lowered with a dozen rocket guns, equipped with special automatic\ndevices that the Resources Division had developed at my request, a few\nhours before our departure. These were aiming and timing devices. After\ncalculating the range, elevation and rocket charges carefully, the guns\nwere left, concealed in a ravine, and the men were hauled up into the\nship again. At the predetermined hour, those unmanned rocket guns would\nbegin automatically to bombard the Bad Bloods' hillsides, shifting their\naim and elevation slightly with each shot, as did many of our artillery\npieces in the First World War.\n\nIn the meantime, we turned south about twenty miles, and grounded,\nwaiting for the bombardment to begin before we attempted to sneak across\nthe Han ship lane. I was relying for security on the distraction that\nthe bombardment might furnish the Han observers.\n\nIt was tense work waiting, but the affair went through as planned, our\nsquadron drifting across the route high enough to enable the ships'\ntails of troops and supply cases to clear the ground.\n\nIn crossing the second ship route, out along the Beaches of Jersey, we\nwere not so successful in escaping observation. A Han ship came speeding\nalong at a very low elevation. We caught it on our electronic location\nand direction finders, and also located it with our ultroscopes, but it\ncame so fast and so low that I thought it best to remain where we had\ngrounded the second time, and lie quiet, rather than get under way and\ncross in front of it.\n\nThe point was this. While the Hans had no such devices as our\nultroscopes, with which we could see in the dark (within certain\nlimitations of course), and their electronic instruments would be\nvirtually useless in uncovering our presence, since all but natural\nelectronic activities were carefully eliminated from our apparatus,\nexcept electrophone receivers (which are not easily spotted), the Hans\ndid have some very highly sensitive sound devices which operated with\ngreat efficiency in calm weather, so far as sounds emanating from the\nair were concerned. But the \"ground roar\" greatly confused their use of\nthese instruments in the location of specific sounds floating up from\nthe surface of the earth.\n\nThis ship must have caught some slight noise of ours, however, in its\nsensitive instruments, for we heard its electronic devices go into play,\nand picked up the routine report of the noise to its Base Ship\nCommander. But from the nature of the conversation, I judged they had\nnot identified it, and were, in fact, more curious about the detonations\nthey were picking up now from the Bad Blood lands some sixty miles or so\nto the west.\n\nImmediately after this ship had shot by, we took the air again, and\nfollowing much the same route that I had taken the previous night,\nclimbed in a long semi-circle out over the ocean, swung toward the north\nand finally the west. We set our course, however, for the Sinsings' land\nnorth of Nu-yok, instead of for the city itself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nThe Finger of Doom\n\n\nAs we crossed the Hudson River, a few miles north of the city, we\ndropped several units of the Yellow Intelligence Division, with full\ninstrumental equipment. Their apparatus cases were nicely balanced at\nonly a few ounces weight each, and the men used their chute capes to\nease their drops.\n\nWe recrossed the river a little distance above and began dropping White\nIntelligence units and a few long and short range gun units. Then we\nheld our position until we began to get reports. Gradually we ringed the\nterritory of the Sinsings, our observation units working busily and\npatiently at their locators and scopes, both aloft and aground, until\nGarlin finally turned to me with the remark:\n\n\"The map circle is complete now, Boss. We've got clear locations all the\nway around them.\"\n\n\"Let me see it,\" I replied, and studied the illuminated viewplate map,\nwith its little overlapping circles of light that indicated spots proved\nclear of the enemy by ultroscopic observation.\n\nI nodded to Bill Hearn. \"Go ahead now, Hearn,\" I said, \"and place your\nbarrage men.\"\n\nHe spoke into his ultrophone, and three of the ships began to glide in a\nwide ring around the enemy territory. Every few seconds, at the word\nfrom his Unit Boss, a gunner would drop off the wire, and slipping the\nclasp of his chute cape, drift down into the darkness below.\n\nBill formed two lines, parallel to and facing the river, and enclosing\nthe entire territory of the enemy between them. Above and below,\nstraddling the river, were two defensive lines. These latter were merely\nto hold their positions. The others were to close in toward each other,\npushing a high-explosive barrage five miles ahead of them. When the two\nbarrages met, both lines were to switch to short-vision-range barrage\nand continue to close in on any of the enemy who might have drifted\nthrough the previous curtain of fire.\n\nIn the meantime Bill kept his reserves, a picked corps of a hundred men\n(the same that had accompanied Hart and myself in our fight with the Han\nsquadron) in the air, divided about equally among the \"kite-tails\" of\nfour ships.\n\nA final roll call, by units, companies, divisions and functions,\nestablished the fact that all our forces were in position. No Han\nactivity was reported, and no Han broadcasts indicated any suspicion of\nour expedition. Nor was there any indication that the Sinsings had any\nknowledge of the fate in store for them. The idling of rep-ray\ngenerators was reported from the center of their camp, obviously those\nof the ships the Hans had given them--the price of their treason to\ntheir race.\n\nAgain I gave the word, and Hearn passed on the order to his\nsubordinates.\n\nFar below us, and several miles to the right and left, the two barrage\nlines made their appearance. From the great height to which we had\nrisen, they appeared like lines of brilliant, winking lights, and the\ndetonations were muffled by the distances into a sort of rumbling,\ndistant thunder. Hearn and his assistants were very busy: measuring,\ncalculating, and snapping out ultrophone orders to unit commanders that\nresulted in the straightening of lines and the closing of gaps in the\nbarrage.\n\nThe White Division Boss reported the utmost confusion in the Sinsing\norganization. They were, as might be expected, an inefficient, loosely\ndisciplined gang, and repeated broadcasts for help to neighboring gangs.\nIgnoring the fact that the Mongolians had not used explosives for many\ngenerations, they nevertheless jumped at the conclusion that they were\nbeing raided by the Hans. Their frantic broadcasts persisted in this\nthought, despite the nervous electrophonic inquiries of the Hans\nthemselves, to whom the sound of the battle was evidently audible, and\nwho were trying to locate the trouble.\n\nAt this point, the swooper I had sent south toward the city went into\naction as a diversion, to keep the Hans at home. Its \"kite-tail\" loaded\nwith long-range gunners, using the most highly explosive rockets we had,\nhung invisible in the darkness of the sky and bombarded the city from a\ndistance of about five miles. With an entire city to shoot at, and the\nobject of creating as much commotion therein as possible, regardless of\nactual damage, the gunners had no difficulty in hitting the mark. I\ncould see the glow of the city and the stabbing flashes of exploding\nrockets. In the end, the Hans, uncertain as to what was going on, fell\nback on a defensive policy, and shot their \"hell cylinder,\" or wall of\nupturned disintegrator rays into operation. That, of course, ended our\nbombardment of them. The rays were a perfect defense, disintegrating our\nrockets as they were reached.\n\nIf they had not sent out ships before turning on the rays, and if they\nhad none within sufficient radius already in the air, all would be well.\n\nI queried Garlin on this, but he assured me Yellow Intelligence reported\nno indications of Han ships nearer than 800 miles. This would probably\ngive us a free hand for a while, since most of their instruments\nrecorded only imperfectly or not at all, through the death wall.\n\nRequisitioning one of the viewplates of the headquarters ship, and the\nservices of an expert operator, I instructed him to focus on our lines\nbelow. I wanted a close-up of the men in action.\n\nHe began to manipulate his controls and chaotic shadows moved rapidly\nacross the plate, fading in and out of focus, until he reached an\nadjustment that gave me a picture of the forest floor, apparently 100\nfeet wide, with the intervening branches and foliage of the trees\nappearing like shadows that melted into reality a few feet above the\nground.\n\nI watched one man setting up his long-gun with skillful speed. His lips\npursed slightly as though he were whistling, as he adjusted the tall\ntripod on which the long tube was balanced. Swiftly he twirled the knobs\ncontrolling the aim and elevation of his piece. Then, lifting a belt of\nammunition from the big box, which itself looked heavy enough to break\ndown the spindly tripod, he inserted the end of it in the lock of his\ntube and touched the proper combination of buttons.\n\nThen he stepped aside, and occupied himself with peering carefully\nthrough the trees ahead. Not even a tremor shook the tube, but I knew\nthat at intervals of something less than a second, it was discharging\nsmall projectiles which, traveling under their own continuously reduced\npower, were arching into the air, to fall precisely five miles ahead and\nexplode with the force of eight-inch shells, such as we used in the\nFirst World War.\n\nAnother gunner, fifty feet to the right of him, waved a hand and called\nout something to him. Then, picking up his own tube and tripod, he\ngauged the distance between the trees ahead of him, and the height of\ntheir lowest branches, and bending forward a bit, flexed his muscles and\nleaped lightly, some twenty-five feet. Another leap took him another\ntwenty feet or so, where he began to set up his piece.\n\nI ordered my observer then to switch to the barrage itself. He got a\nclose focus on it, but this showed little except a continuous series of\nblinding flashes, which, from the viewplate, lit up the entire interior\nof the ship. An eight-hundred-foot focus proved better. I had thought\nthat some of our French and American artillery of the 20th Century had\nachieved the ultimate in mathematical precision of fire, but I had never\nseen anything to equal the accuracy of that line of terrific explosions\nas it moved steadily forward, mowing down trees as a scythe cuts grass\n(or used to 500 years ago), literally churning up the earth and the\nsplintered, blasted remains of the forest giants, to a depth of from ten\nto twenty feet.\n\nBy now the two curtains of fire were nearing each other, lines of\nvibrant, shimmering, continuous, brilliant destruction, inevitably\nsqueezing the panic-stricken Sinsings between them.\n\nEven as I watched, a group of them, who had been making a futile effort\nto get their three rep-ray machines into the air, abandoned their\nefforts, and rushed forth into the milling mob.\n\nI queried the Control Boss sharply on the futility of this attempt of\ntheirs, and learned that the Hans, apparently in doubt as to what was\ngoing on, had continued to \"play safe,\" and broken off their power\nbroadcast, after ordering all their own ships east of the Alleghenies to\nthe ground, for fear these ships they had traded to the Sinsings might\nbe used against them.\n\nAgain I turned to my viewplate, which was still focussed on the central\nsection of the Sinsing works. The confusion of the traitors was entirely\nthat of fear, for our barrage had not yet reached them.\n\nSome of them set up their long-guns and fired at random over the barrage\nline, then gave it up. They realized that they had no target to shoot\nat, no way of knowing whether our gunners were a few hundred feet or\nseveral miles beyond it.\n\nTheir ultrophone men, of whom they did not have many, stood around in\ntense attitudes, their helmet phones strapped around their ears,\nnervously fingering the tuning controls at their belts. Unquestionably\nthey must have located some of our frequencies, and overheard many of\nour reports and orders. But they were confused and disorganized. If they\nhad an Ultrophone Boss they evidently were not reporting to him in an\norganized way.\n\nThey were beginning to draw back now before our advancing fire. With\nintermittent desperation, they began to shoot over our barrage again,\nand the explosions of their rockets flashed at widely scattered points\nbeyond. A few took distance \"pot shots.\"\n\nOddly enough it was our own forces that suffered the first casualties in\nthe battle. Some of these distance shots by chance registered hits,\nwhile our men were under strict orders not to exceed their barrage\ndistances.\n\nSeen upon the ultroscope viewplate, the battle looked as though it were\nbeing fought in daylight, perhaps on a cloudy day, while the explosions\nof the rockets appeared as flashes of extra brilliance.\n\nThe two barrage lines were not more than five hundred feet apart when\nthe Sinsings resorted to tactics we had not foreseen. We noticed first\nthat they began to lighten themselves by throwing away extra equipment.\nA few of them in their excitement threw away too much, and shot suddenly\ninto the air. Then a scattering few floated up gently, followed by\nincreasing numbers, while still others, preserving a weight balance,\njumped toward the closing barrages and leaped high, hoping to clear\nthem. Some succeeded. We saw others blown about like leaves in a\nwindstorm, to crumple and drift slowly down, or else to fall into the\nbarrage, their belts blown from their bodies.\n\nHowever, it was not part of our plan to allow a single one of them to\nescape and find his way to the Hans. I quickly passed the word to Bill\nHearn to have the alternate men in his line raise their barrages and\nheard him bark out a mathematical formula to the Unit Bosses.\n\nWe backed off our ships as the explosions climbed into the air in\nstagger formation until they reached a height of three miles. I don't\nbelieve any of the Sinsings who tried to float away to freedom\nsucceeded.\n\nBut we did know later, that a few who leaped the barrage got away and\nultimately reached Nu-yok.\n\nIt was those who managed to jump the barrage who gave us the most\ntrouble. With half of our long-guns turned aloft, I foresaw we would not\nhave enough to establish successive ground barrages and so ordered the\nbarrage back two miles, from which positions our \"curtains\" began to\nclose in again, this time, however, gauged to explode, not on contact,\nbut thirty feet in the air. This left little chance for the Sinsings to\nleap either over or under it.\n\nGradually, the two barrages approached each other until they finally\nmet, and in the grey dawn the battle ended.\n\nOur own casualties amounted to forty-seven men in the ground forces,\neighteen of whom had been slain in hand to hand fighting with the few of\nthe enemy who managed to reach our lines, and sixty-two in the crew and\n\"kite-tail\" force of swooper No. 4, which had been located by one of\nthe enemy's ultroscopes and brought down with long-gun fire.\n\nSince nearly every member of the Sinsing Gang had, so far as we knew,\nbeen killed, we considered the raid a great success.\n\nIt had, however, a far greater significance than this. To all of us who\ntook part in the expedition, the effectiveness of our barrage tactics\ndefinitely established a confidence in our ability to overcome the Hans.\n\nAs I pointed out to Wilma:\n\n\"It has been my belief all along, dear, that the American explosive\nrocket is a far more efficient weapon than the disintegrator ray of the\nHans, once we can train all our gangs to use it systematically and in\nco-ordinated fashion. As a weapon in the hands of a single individual,\nshooting at a mark in direct line of vision, the rocket-gun is inferior\nin destructive power to the dis ray, except as its range may be a little\ngreater. The trouble is that to date it has been used only as we used\nour rifles and shot guns in the 20th Century. The possibilities of its\nuse as artillery, in laying barrages that advance along the ground, or\nclimb into the air, are tremendous.\n\n\"The dis ray inevitably reveals its source of emanation. The rocket gun\ndoes not. The dis ray can reach its target only in a straight line. The\nrocket may be made to travel in an arc, over intervening obstacles, to\nan unseen target.\n\n\"Nor must we forget that our ultronists now are promising us a perfect\nshield against the dis ray in inertron.\"\n\n\"I tremble though, Tony dear, when I think of the horrors that are ahead\nof us. The Hans are clever. They will develop defenses against our new\ntactics. And they are sure to mass against us not only the full force of\ntheir power in America, but the united forces of the World Empire. They\nare a cowardly race in one sense, but clever as the very Devils in Hell,\nand inheritors of a calm, ruthless, vicious persistency.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" I prophesied, \"the Finger of Doom points squarely at\nthem today, and unless you and I are killed in the struggle, we shall\nlive to see America blast the Yellow Blight from the face of the Earth.\"\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note:\n\n This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ August 1928.\n Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.\n copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and\n typographical errors have been corrected without note.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Armageddon--2419 A.D., by Philip Francis Nowlan"},"answers":{"kind":"list like","value":["World War 1, or The Great War"],"string":"[\n \"World War 1, or The Great War\"\n]","isConversational":false},"length":{"kind":"number","value":27510,"string":"27,510"},"dataset":{"kind":"string","value":"narrativeqa"},"language":{"kind":"string","value":"en"},"all_classes":{"kind":"null"},"_id":{"kind":"string","value":"33a9901ae9f88659b67c4f203e1a37b1c346d54c42b5b507"}}},{"rowIdx":1795,"cells":{"input":{"kind":"string","value":"When invited to Vervelle's home, what does Grassou discover?"},"context":{"kind":"string","value":"Produced by John Bickers and Dagny\n\n\n\n\n\nPIERRE GRASSOU\n\n\nBy Honore De Balzac\n\n\n\nTranslated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley\n\n\n\nDedication\n\nTo The Lieutenant-Colonel of Artillery, Periollas, As a Testimony of the\nAffectionate Esteem of the Author,\n\nDe Balzac\n\n\n\n\n\nPIERRE GRASSOU\n\n\nWhenever you have gone to take a serious look at the exhibition of works\nof sculpture and painting, such as it has been since the revolution\nof 1830, have you not been seized by a sense of uneasiness, weariness,\nsadness, at the sight of those long and over-crowded galleries? Since\n1830, the true Salon no longer exists. The Louvre has again been taken\nby assault,--this time by a populace of artists who have maintained\nthemselves in it.\n\nIn other days, when the Salon presented only the choicest works of art,\nit conferred the highest honor on the creations there exhibited. Among\nthe two hundred selected paintings, the public could still choose: a\ncrown was awarded to the masterpiece by hands unseen. Eager, impassioned\ndiscussions arose about some picture. The abuse showered on Delacroix,\non Ingres, contributed no less to their fame than the praises and\nfanaticism of their adherents. To-day, neither the crowd nor the\ncriticism grows impassioned about the products of that bazaar. Forced to\nmake the selection for itself, which in former days the examining\njury made for it, the attention of the public is soon wearied and the\nexhibition closes. Before the year 1817 the pictures admitted never went\nbeyond the first two columns of the long gallery of the old masters; but\nin that year, to the great astonishment of the public, they filled the\nwhole space. Historical, high-art, genre paintings, easel pictures,\nlandscapes, flowers, animals, and water-colors,--these eight specialties\ncould surely not offer more than twenty pictures in one year worthy of\nthe eyes of the public, which, indeed, cannot give its attention to a\ngreater number of such works. The more the number of artists increases,\nthe more careful and exacting the jury of admission ought to be.\n\nThe true character of the Salon was lost as soon as it spread along\nthe galleries. The Salon should have remained within fixed limits of\ninflexible proportions, where each distinct specialty could show its\nmasterpieces only. An experience of ten years has shown the excellence\nof the former institution. Now, instead of a tournament, we have a mob;\ninstead of a noble exhibition, we have a tumultuous bazaar; instead of\na choice selection we have a chaotic mass. What is the result? A great\nartist is swamped. Decamps' \"Turkish Cafe,\" \"Children at a Fountain,\"\n\"Joseph,\" and \"The Torture,\" would have redounded far more to his credit\nif the four pictures had been exhibited in the great Salon with the\nhundred good pictures of that year, than his twenty pictures could,\namong three thousand others, jumbled together in six galleries.\n\nBy some strange contradiction, ever since the doors are open to every\none there has been much talk of unknown and unrecognized genius. When,\ntwelve years earlier, Ingres' \"Courtesan,\" and that of Sigalon, the\n\"Medusa\" of Gericault, the \"Massacre of Scio\" by Delacroix, the \"Baptism\nof Henri IV.\" by Eugene Deveria, admitted by celebrated artists accused\nof jealousy, showed the world, in spite of the denials of criticism,\nthat young and vigorous palettes existed, no such complaint was made.\nNow, when the veriest dauber of canvas can send in his work, the whole\ntalk is of genius neglected! Where judgment no longer exists, there is\nno longer anything judged. But whatever artists may be doing now, they\nwill come back in time to the examination and selection which presents\ntheir works to the admiration of the crowd for whom they work. Without\nselection by the Academy there will be no Salon, and without the Salon\nart may perish.\n\nEver since the catalogue has grown into a book, many names have appeared\nin it which still remain in their native obscurity, in spite of the ten\nor a dozen pictures attached to them. Among these names perhaps the most\nunknown to fame is that of an artist named Pierre Grassou, coming from\nFougeres, and called simply \"Fougeres\" among his brother-artists, who,\nat the present moment holds a place, as the saying is, \"in the sun,\" and\nwho suggested the rather bitter reflections by which this sketch of\nhis life is introduced,--reflections that are applicable to many other\nindividuals of the tribe of artists.\n\nIn 1832, Fougeres lived in the rue de Navarin, on the fourth floor of\none of those tall, narrow houses which resemble the obelisk of Luxor,\nand possess an alley, a dark little stairway with dangerous turnings,\nthree windows only on each floor, and, within the building, a courtyard,\nor, to speak more correctly, a square pit or well. Above the three or\nfour rooms occupied by Grassou of Fougeres was his studio, looking over\nto Montmartre. This studio was painted in brick-color, for a background;\nthe floor was tinted brown and well frotted; each chair was furnished\nwith a bit of carpet bound round the edges; the sofa, simple enough, was\nclean as that in the bedroom of some worthy bourgeoise. All these things\ndenoted the tidy ways of a small mind and the thrift of a poor man. A\nbureau was there, in which to put away the studio implements, a table\nfor breakfast, a sideboard, a secretary; in short, all the articles\nnecessary to a painter, neatly arranged and very clean. The stove\nparticipated in this Dutch cleanliness, which was all the more visible\nbecause the pure and little changing light from the north flooded with\nits cold clear beams the vast apartment. Fougeres, being merely a genre\npainter, does not need the immense machinery and outfit which ruin\nhistorical painters; he has never recognized within himself sufficient\nfaculty to attempt high-art, and he therefore clings to easel painting.\n\nAt the beginning of the month of December of that year, a season at\nwhich the bourgeois of Paris conceive, periodically, the burlesque idea\nof perpetuating their forms and figures already too bulky in themselves,\nPierre Grassou, who had risen early, prepared his palette, and lighted\nhis stove, was eating a roll steeped in milk, and waiting till the frost\non his windows had melted sufficiently to let the full light in. The\nweather was fine and dry. At this moment the artist, who ate his bread\nwith that patient, resigned air that tells so much, heard and recognized\nthe step of a man who had upon his life the influence such men have\non the lives of nearly all artists,--the step of Elie Magus, a\npicture-dealer, a usurer in canvas. The next moment Elie Magus entered\nand found the painter in the act of beginning his work in the tidy\nstudio.\n\n\"How are you, old rascal?\" said the painter.\n\nFougeres had the cross of the Legion of honor, and Elie Magus bought his\npictures at two and three hundred francs apiece, so he gave himself the\nairs of a fine artist.\n\n\"Business is very bad,\" replied Elie. \"You artists have such\npretensions! You talk of two hundred francs when you haven't put six\nsous' worth of color on a canvas. However, you are a good fellow, I'll\nsay that. You are steady; and I've come to put a good bit of business in\nyour way.\"\n\n\"Timeo Danaos et dona ferentes,\" said Fougeres. \"Do you know Latin?\"\n\n\"No.\"\n\n\"Well, it means that the Greeks never proposed a good bit of business\nto the Trojans without getting their fair share of it. In the olden time\nthey used to say, 'Take my horse.' Now we say, 'Take my bear.' Well,\nwhat do you want, Ulysses-Lagingeole-Elie Magus?\"\n\nThese words will give an idea of the mildness and wit with which\nFougeres employed what painters call studio fun.\n\n\"Well, I don't deny that you are to paint me two pictures for nothing.\"\n\n\"Oh! oh!\"\n\n\"I'll leave you to do it, or not; I don't ask it. But you're an honest\nman.\"\n\n\"Come, out with it!\"\n\n\"Well, I'm prepared to bring you a father, mother, and only daughter.\"\n\n\"All for me?\"\n\n\"Yes--they want their portraits taken. These bourgeois--they are crazy\nabout art--have never dared to enter a studio. The girl has a 'dot' of a\nhundred thousand francs. You can paint all three,--perhaps they'll turn\nout family portraits.\"\n\nAnd with that the old Dutch log of wood who passed for a man and who was\ncalled Elie Magus, interrupted himself to laugh an uncanny laugh which\nfrightened the painter. He fancied he heard Mephistopheles talking\nmarriage.\n\n\"Portraits bring five hundred francs apiece,\" went on Elie; \"so you can\nvery well afford to paint me three pictures.\"\n\n\"True for you!\" cried Fougeres, gleefully.\n\n\"And if you marry the girl, you won't forget me.\"\n\n\"Marry! I?\" cried Pierre Grassou,--\"I, who have a habit of sleeping\nalone; and get up at cock-crow, and all my life arranged--\"\n\n\"One hundred thousand francs,\" said Magus, \"and a quiet girl, full of\ngolden tones, as you call 'em, like a Titian.\"\n\n\"What class of people are they?\"\n\n\"Retired merchants; just now in love with art; have a country-house at\nVille d'Avray, and ten or twelve thousand francs a year.\"\n\n\"What business did they do?\"\n\n\"Bottles.\"\n\n\"Now don't say that word; it makes me think of corks and sets my teeth\non edge.\"\n\n\"Am I to bring them?\"\n\n\"Three portraits--I could put them in the Salon; I might go in for\nportrait-painting. Well, yes!\"\n\nOld Elie descended the staircase to go in search of the Vervelle family.\nTo know to what extend this proposition would act upon the painter, and\nwhat effect would be produced upon him by the Sieur and Dame Vervelle,\nadorned by their only daughter, it is necessary to cast an eye on the\nanterior life of Pierre Grassou of Fougeres.\n\nWhen a pupil, Fougeres had studied drawing with Servin, who was\nthought a great draughtsman in academic circles. After that he went to\nSchinner's, to learn the secrets of the powerful and magnificent color\nwhich distinguishes that master. Master and scholars were all discreet;\nat any rate Pierre discovered none of their secrets. From there he went\nto Sommervieux' atelier, to acquire that portion of the art of painting\nwhich is called composition, but composition was shy and distant to him.\nThen he tried to snatch from Decamps and Granet the mystery of their\ninterior effects. The two masters were not robbed. Finally Fougeres\nended his education with Duval-Lecamus. During these studied and\nthese different transformations Fougeres' habits and ways of life were\ntranquil and moral to a degree that furnished matter of jesting to the\nvarious ateliers where he sojourned; but everywhere he disarmed his\ncomrades by his modesty and by the patience and gentleness of a lamblike\nnature. The masters, however, had no sympathy for the good lad; masters\nprefer bright fellows, eccentric spirits, droll or fiery, or else gloomy\nand deeply reflective, which argue future talent. Everything about\nPierre Grassou smacked of mediocrity. His nickname \"Fougeres\" (that\nof the painter in the play of \"The Eglantine\") was the source of much\nteasing; but, by force of circumstances, he accepted the name of the\ntown in which he had first seen light.\n\nGrassou of Fougeres resembled his name. Plump and of medium height, he\nhad a dull complexion, brown eyes, black hair, a turned-up nose, rather\nwide mouth, and long ears. His gentle, passive, and resigned air gave a\ncertain relief to these leading features of a physiognomy that was full\nof health, but wanting in action. This young man, born to be a virtuous\nbourgeois, having left his native place and come to Paris to be clerk\nwith a color-merchant (formerly of Mayenne and a distant connection of\nthe Orgemonts) made himself a painter simply by the fact of an obstinacy\nwhich constitutes the Breton character. What he suffered, the manner in\nwhich he lived during those years of study, God only knows. He suffered\nas much as great men suffer when they are hounded by poverty and hunted\nlike wild beasts by the pack of commonplace minds and by troops of\nvanities athirst for vengeance.\n\nAs soon as he thought himself able to fly on his own wings, Fougeres\ntook a studio in the upper part of the rue des Martyrs, where he began\nto delve his way. He made his first appearance in 1819. The first\npicture he presented to the jury of the Exhibition at the Louvre\nrepresented a village wedding rather laboriously copied from Greuze's\npicture. It was rejected. When Fougeres heard of the fatal decision,\nhe did not fall into one of those fits of epileptic self-love to which\nstrong natures give themselves up, and which sometimes end in challenges\nsent to the director or the secretary of the Museum, or even by threats\nof assassination. Fougeres quietly fetched his canvas, wrapped it in\na handkerchief, and brought it home, vowing in his heart that he would\nstill make himself a great painter. He placed his picture on the easel,\nand went to one of his former masters, a man of immense talent,--to\nSchinner, a kind and patient artist, whose triumph at that year's Salon\nwas complete. Fougeres asked him to come and criticise the rejected\nwork. The great painter left everything and went at once. When poor\nFougeres had placed the work before him Schinner, after a glance,\npressed Fougeres' hand.\n\n\"You are a fine fellow,\" he said; \"you've a heart of gold, and I must\nnot deceive you. Listen; you are fulfilling all the promises you made in\nthe studios. When you find such things as that at the tip of your brush,\nmy good Fougeres, you had better leave colors with Brullon, and not take\nthe canvas of others. Go home early, put on your cotton night-cap, and\nbe in bed by nine o'clock. The next morning early go to some government\noffice, ask for a place, and give up art.\"\n\n\"My dear friend,\" said Fougeres, \"my picture is already condemned; it is\nnot a verdict that I want of you, but the cause of that verdict.\"\n\n\"Well--you paint gray and sombre; you see nature being a crape veil;\nyour drawing is heavy, pasty; your composition is a medley of Greuze,\nwho only redeemed his defects by the qualities which you lack.\"\n\nWhile detailing these faults of the picture Schinner saw on Fougeres'\nface so deep an expression of sadness that he carried him off to dinner\nand tried to console him. The next morning at seven o'clock Fougeres was\nat his easel working over the rejected picture; he warmed the colors; he\nmade the corrections suggested by Schinner, he touched up his figures.\nThen, disgusted with such patching, he carried the picture to Elie\nMagus. Elie Magus, a sort of Dutch-Flemish-Belgian, had three reasons\nfor being what he became,--rich and avaricious. Coming last from\nBordeaux, he was just starting in Paris, selling old pictures and living\non the boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle. Fougeres, who relied on his palette\nto go to the baker's, bravely ate bread and nuts, or bread and milk, or\nbread and cherries, or bread and cheese, according to the seasons. Elie\nMagus, to whom Pierre offered his first picture, eyed it for some time\nand then gave him fifteen francs.\n\n\"With fifteen francs a year coming in, and a thousand francs for\nexpenses,\" said Fougeres, smiling, \"a man will go fast and far.\"\n\nElie Magus made a gesture; he bit his thumbs, thinking that he might\nhave had that picture for five francs.\n\nFor several days Pierre walked down from the rue des Martyrs and\nstationed himself at the corner of the boulevard opposite to Elie's\nshop, whence his eye could rest upon his picture, which did not obtain\nany notice from the eyes of the passers along the street. At the end of\na week the picture disappeared; Fougeres walked slowly up and approached\nthe dealer's shop in a lounging manner. The Jew was at his door.\n\n\"Well, I see you have sold my picture.\"\n\n\"No, here it is,\" said Magus; \"I've framed it, to show it to some one\nwho fancies he knows about painting.\"\n\nFougeres had not the heart to return to the boulevard. He set about\nanother picture, and spent two months upon it,--eating mouse's meals and\nworking like a galley-slave.\n\nOne evening he went to the boulevard, his feet leading him fatefully to\nthe dealer's shop. His picture was not to be seen.\n\n\"I've sold your picture,\" said Elie Magus, seeing him.\n\n\"For how much?\"\n\n\"I got back what I gave and a small interest. Make me some Flemish\ninteriors, a lesson of anatomy, landscapes, and such like, and I'll buy\nthem of you,\" said Elie.\n\nFougeres would fain have taken old Magus in his arms; he regarded him as\na father. He went home with joy in his heart; the great painter Schinner\nwas mistaken after all! In that immense city of Paris there were some\nhearts that beat in unison with Pierre's; his talent was understood and\nappreciated. The poor fellow of twenty-seven had the innocence of a lad\nof sixteen. Another man, one of those distrustful, surly artists, would\nhave noticed the diabolical look on Elie's face and seen the twitching\nof the hairs of his beard, the irony of his moustache, and the movement\nof his shoulders which betrayed the satisfaction of Walter Scott's Jew\nin swindling a Christian.\n\nFougeres marched along the boulevard in a state of joy which gave to his\nhonest face an expression of pride. He was like a schoolboy protecting\na woman. He met Joseph Bridau, one of his comrades, and one of those\neccentric geniuses destined to fame and sorrow. Joseph Bridau, who had,\nto use his own expression, a few sous in his pocket, took Fougeres to\nthe Opera. But Fougeres didn't see the ballet, didn't hear the music; he\nwas imagining pictures, he was painting. He left Joseph in the middle\nof the evening, and ran home to make sketches by lamp-light. He invented\nthirty pictures, all reminiscence, and felt himself a man of genius. The\nnext day he bought colors, and canvases of various dimensions; he piled\nup bread and cheese on his table, he filled a water-pot with water,\nhe laid in a provision of wood for his stove; then, to use a studio\nexpression, he dug at his pictures. He hired several models and Magus\nlent him stuffs.\n\nAfter two months' seclusion the Breton had finished four pictures. Again\nhe asked counsel of Schinner, this time adding Bridau to the invitation.\nThe two painters saw in three of these pictures a servile imitation\nof Dutch landscapes and interiors by Metzu, in the fourth a copy of\nRembrandt's \"Lesson of Anatomy.\"\n\n\"Still imitating!\" said Schinner. \"Ah! Fougeres can't manage to be\noriginal.\"\n\n\"You ought to do something else than painting,\" said Bridau.\n\n\"What?\" asked Fougeres.\n\n\"Fling yourself into literature.\"\n\nFougeres lowered his head like a sheep when it rains. Then he asked and\nobtained certain useful advice, and retouched his pictures before taking\nthem to Elie Magus. Elie paid him twenty-five francs apiece. At that\nprice of course Fougeres earned nothing; neither did he lose, thanks to\nhis sober living. He made a few excursions to the boulevard to see what\nbecame of his pictures, and there he underwent a singular hallucination.\nHis neat, clean paintings, hard as tin and shiny as porcelain, were\ncovered with a sort of mist; they looked like old daubs. Magus was out,\nand Pierre could obtain no information on this phenomenon. He fancied\nsomething was wrong with his eyes.\n\nThe painter went back to his studio and made more pictures. After seven\nyears of continued toil Fougeres managed to compose and execute quite\npassable work. He did as well as any artist of the second class.\nElie bought and sold all the paintings of the poor Breton, who earned\nlaboriously about two thousand francs a year while he spent but twelve\nhundred.\n\nAt the Exhibition of 1829, Leon de Lora, Schinner, and Bridau, who all\nthree occupied a great position and were, in fact, at the head of the\nart movement, were filled with pity for the perseverance and the poverty\nof their old friend; and they caused to be admitted into the grand salon\nof the Exhibition, a picture by Fougeres. This picture, powerful in\ninterest but derived from Vigneron as to sentiment and from Dubufe's\nfirst manner as to execution, represented a young man in prison, whose\nhair was being cut around the nape of the neck. On one side was\na priest, on the other two women, one old, one young, in tears. A\nsheriff's clerk was reading aloud a document. On a wretched table was a\nmeal, untouched. The light came in through the bars of a window near\nthe ceiling. It was a picture fit to make the bourgeois shudder, and\nthe bourgeois shuddered. Fougeres had simply been inspired by the\nmasterpiece of Gerard Douw; he had turned the group of the \"Dropsical\nWoman\" toward the window, instead of presenting it full front. The\ncondemned man was substituted for the dying woman--same pallor, same\nglance, same appeal to God. Instead of the Dutch doctor, he had painted\nthe cold, official figure of the sheriff's clerk attired in black; but\nhe had added an old woman to the young one of Gerard Douw. The cruelly\nsimple and good-humored face of the executioner completed and dominated\nthe group. This plagiarism, very cleverly disguised, was not discovered.\nThe catalogue contained the following:--\n\n 510. Grassou de Fougeres (Pierre), rue de Navarin, 2.\n Death-toilet of a Chouan, condemned to execution in 1809.\n\nThough wholly second-rate, the picture had immense success, for it\nrecalled the affair of the \"chauffeurs,\" of Mortagne. A crowd collected\nevery day before the now fashionable canvas; even Charles X. paused to\nlook at it. \"Madame,\" being told of the patient life of the poor Breton,\nbecame enthusiastic over him. The Duc d'Orleans asked the price of\nthe picture. The clergy told Madame la Dauphine that the subject was\nsuggestive of good thoughts; and there was, in truth, a most satisfying\nreligious tone about it. Monseigneur the Dauphin admired the dust on\nthe stone-floor,--a huge blunder, by the way, for Fougeres had painted\ngreenish tones suggestive of mildew along the base of the walls.\n\"Madame\" finally bought the picture for a thousand francs, and the\nDauphin ordered another like it. Charles X. gave the cross of the Legion\nof honor to this son of a peasant who had fought for the royal cause\nin 1799. (Joseph Bridau, the great painter, was not yet decorated.) The\nminister of the Interior ordered two church pictures of Fougeres.\n\nThis Salon of 1829 was to Pierre Grassou his whole fortune, fame,\nfuture, and life. Be original, invent, and you die by inches; copy,\nimitate, and you'll live. After this discovery of a gold mine, Grassou\nde Fougeres obtained his benefit of the fatal principle to which society\nowes the wretched mediocrities to whom are intrusted in these days the\nelection of leaders in all social classes; who proceed, naturally, to\nelect themselves and who wage a bitter war against all true talent. The\nprinciple of election applied indiscriminately is false, and France will\nsome day abandon it.\n\nNevertheless the modesty, simplicity, and genuine surprise of the good\nand gentle Fougeres silenced all envy and all recriminations. Besides,\nhe had on his side all of his clan who had succeeded, and all who\nexpected to succeed. Some persons, touched by the persistent energy of a\nman whom nothing had discouraged, talked of Domenichino and said:--\n\n\"Perseverance in the arts should be rewarded. Grassou hasn't stolen his\nsuccesses; he has delved for ten years, the poor dear man!\"\n\nThat exclamation of \"poor dear man!\" counted for half in the support\nand the congratulations which the painter received. Pity sets up\nmediocrities as envy pulls down great talents, and in equal numbers.\nThe newspapers, it is true, did not spare criticism, but the chevalier\nFougeres digested them as he had digested the counsel of his friends,\nwith angelic patience.\n\nPossessing, by this time, fifteen thousand francs, laboriously earned,\nhe furnished an apartment and studio in the rue de Navarin, and painted\nthe picture ordered by Monseigneur the Dauphin, also the two church\npictures, and delivered them at the time agreed on, with a punctuality\nthat was very discomforting to the exchequer of the ministry, accustomed\nto a different course of action. But--admire the good fortune of men who\nare methodical--if Grassou, belated with his work, had been caught by\nthe revolution of July he would not have got his money.\n\nBy the time he was thirty-seven Fougeres had manufactured for Elie Magus\nsome two hundred pictures, all of them utterly unknown, by the help of\nwhich he had attained to that satisfying manner, that point of execution\nbefore which the true artist shrugs his shoulders and the bourgeoisie\nworships. Fougeres was dear to friends for rectitude of ideas, for\nsteadiness of sentiment, absolute kindliness, and great loyalty; though\nthey had no esteem for his palette, they loved the man who held it.\n\n\"What a misfortune it is that Fougeres has the vice of painting!\" said\nhis comrades.\n\nBut for all this, Grassou gave excellent counsel, like those\nfeuilletonists incapable of writing a book who know very well where a\nbook is wanting. There was this difference, however, between literary\ncritics and Fougeres; he was eminently sensitive to beauties; he felt\nthem, he acknowledged them, and his advice was instinct with a spirit\nof justice that made the justness of his remarks acceptable. After\nthe revolution of July, Fougeres sent about ten pictures a year to the\nSalon, of which the jury admitted four or five. He lived with the most\nrigid economy, his household being managed solely by an old charwoman.\nFor all amusement he visited his friends, he went to see works of art,\nhe allowed himself a few little trips about France, and he planned to go\nto Switzerland in search of inspiration. This detestable artist was an\nexcellent citizen; he mounted guard duly, went to reviews, and paid his\nrent and provision-bills with bourgeois punctuality.\n\nHaving lived all his life in toil and poverty, he had never had the time\nto love. Poor and a bachelor, until now he did not desire to complicate\nhis simple life. Incapable of devising any means of increasing his\nlittle fortune, he carried, every three months, to his notary, Cardot,\nhis quarterly earnings and economies. When the notary had received\nabout three thousand francs he invested them in some first mortgage, the\ninterest of which he drew himself and added to the quarterly payments\nmade to him by Fougeres. The painter was awaiting the fortunate moment\nwhen his property thus laid by would give him the imposing income of two\nthousand francs, to allow himself the otium cum dignitate of the\nartist and paint pictures; but oh! what pictures! true pictures! each a\nfinished picture! chouette, Koxnoff, chocnosoff! His future, his dreams\nof happiness, the superlative of his hopes--do you know what it was?\nTo enter the Institute and obtain the grade of officer of the Legion\nof honor; to side down beside Schinner and Leon de Lora, to reach the\nAcademy before Bridau, to wear a rosette in his buttonhole! What a\ndream! It is only commonplace men who think of everything.\n\nHearing the sound of several steps on the staircase, Fougeres rubbed up\nhis hair, buttoned his jacket of bottle-green velveteen, and was not a\nlittle amazed to see, entering his doorway, a simpleton face vulgarly\ncalled in studio slang a \"melon.\" This fruit surmounted a pumpkin,\nclothed in blue cloth adorned with a bunch of tintinnabulating baubles.\nThe melon puffed like a walrus; the pumpkin advanced on turnips,\nimproperly called legs. A true painter would have turned the little\nbottle-vendor off at once, assuring him that he didn't paint vegetables.\nThis painter looked at his client without a smile, for Monsieur Vervelle\nwore a three-thousand-franc diamond in the bosom of his shirt.\n\nFougeres glanced at Magus and said: \"There's fat in it!\" using a slang\nterm then much in vogue in the studios.\n\nHearing those words Monsieur Vervelle frowned. The worthy bourgeois drew\nafter him another complication of vegetables in the persons of his wife\nand daughter. The wife had a fine veneer of mahogany on her face, and\nin figure she resembled a cocoa-nut, surmounted by a head and tied in\naround the waist. She pivoted on her legs, which were tap-rooted,\nand her gown was yellow with black stripes. She proudly exhibited\nunutterable mittens on a puffy pair of hands; the plumes of a\nfirst-class funeral floated on an over-flowing bonnet; laces adorned\nher shoulders, as round behind as they were before; consequently, the\nspherical form of the cocoa-nut was perfect. Her feet, of a kind that\npainters call abatis, rose above the varnished leather of the shoes in a\nswelling that was some inches high. How the feet were ever got into the\nshoes, no one knows.\n\nFollowing these vegetable parents was a young asparagus, who presented\na tiny head with smoothly banded hair of the yellow-carroty tone that a\nRoman adores, long, stringy arms, a fairly white skin with reddish spots\nupon it, large innocent eyes, and white lashes, scarcely any brows, a\nleghorn bonnet bound with white satin and adorned with two honest bows\nof the same satin, hands virtuously red, and the feet of her mother. The\nfaces of these three beings wore, as they looked round the studio, an\nair of happiness which bespoke in them a respectable enthusiasm for Art.\n\n\"So it is you, monsieur, who are going to take our likenesses?\" said the\nfather, assuming a jaunty air.\n\n\"Yes, monsieur,\" replied Grassou.\n\n\"Vervelle, he has the cross!\" whispered the wife to the husband while\nthe painter's back was turned.\n\n\"Should I be likely to have our portraits painted by an artist who\nwasn't decorated?\" returned the former bottle-dealer.\n\nElie Magus here bowed to the Vervelle family and went away. Grassou\naccompanied him to the landing.\n\n\"There's no one but you who would fish up such whales.\"\n\n\"One hundred thousand francs of 'dot'!\"\n\n\"Yes, but what a family!\"\n\n\"Three hundred thousand francs of expectations, a house in the rue\nBoucherat, and a country-house at Ville d'Avray!\"\n\n\"Bottles and corks! bottles and corks!\" said the painter; \"they set my\nteeth on edge.\"\n\n\"Safe from want for the rest of your days,\" said Elie Magus as he\ndeparted.\n\nThat idea entered the head of Pierre Grassou as the daylight had burst\ninto his garret that morning.\n\nWhile he posed the father of the young person, he thought the\nbottle-dealer had a good countenance, and he admired the face full\nof violent tones. The mother and daughter hovered about the easel,\nmarvelling at all his preparations; they evidently thought him a\ndemigod. This visible admiration pleased Fougeres. The golden calf threw\nupon the family its fantastic reflections.\n\n\"You must earn lots of money; but of course you don't spend it as you\nget it,\" said the mother.\n\n\"No, madame,\" replied the painter; \"I don't spend it; I have not the\nmeans to amuse myself. My notary invests my money; he knows what I have;\nas soon as I have taken him the money I never think of it again.\"\n\n\"I've always been told,\" cried old Vervelle, \"that artists were baskets\nwith holes in them.\"\n\n\"Who is your notary--if it is not indiscreet to ask?\" said Madame\nVervelle.\n\n\"A good fellow, all round,\" replied Grassou. \"His name is Cardot.\"\n\n\"Well, well! if that isn't a joke!\" exclaimed Vervelle. \"Cardot is our\nnotary too.\"\n\n\"Take care! don't move,\" said the painter.\n\n\"Do pray hold still, Antenor,\" said the wife. \"If you move about you'll\nmake monsieur miss; you should just see him working, and then you'd\nunderstand.\"\n\n\"Oh! why didn't you have me taught the arts?\" said Mademoiselle Vervelle\nto her parents.\n\n\"Virginie,\" said her mother, \"a young person ought not to learn certain\nthings. When you are married--well, till then, keep quiet.\"\n\nDuring this first sitting the Vervelle family became almost intimate\nwith the worthy artist. They were to come again two days later. As they\nwent away the father told Virginie to walk in front; but in spite of\nthis separation, she overheard the following words, which naturally\nawakened her curiosity.\n\n\"Decorated--thirty-seven years old--an artist who gets orders--puts his\nmoney with our notary. We'll consult Cardot. Hein! Madame de Fougeres!\nnot a bad name--doesn't look like a bad man either! One might prefer a\nmerchant; but before a merchant retires from business one can never know\nwhat one's daughter may come to; whereas an economical artist--and then\nyou know we love Art--Well, we'll see!\"\n\nWhile the Vervelle family discussed Pierre Grassou, Pierre Grassou\ndiscussed in his own mind the Vervelle family. He found it impossible to\nstay peacefully in his studio, so he took a walk on the boulevard, and\nlooked at all the red-haired women who passed him. He made a series of\nthe oddest reasonings to himself: gold was the handsomest of metals; a\ntawny yellow represented gold; the Romans were fond of red-haired women,\nand he turned Roman, etc. After two years of marriage what man would\never care about the color of his wife's hair? Beauty fades,--but\nugliness remains! Money is one-half of all happiness. That night when he\nwent to bed the painter had come to think Virginie Vervelle charming.\n\nWhen the three Vervelles arrived on the day of the second sitting the\nartist received them with smiles. The rascal had shaved and put on clean\nlinen; he had also arranged his hair in a pleasing manner, and chosen\na very becoming pair of trousers and red leather slippers with pointed\ntoes. The family replied with smiles as flattering as those of the\nartist. Virginie became the color of her hair, lowered her eyes, and\nturned aside her head to look at the sketches. Pierre Grassou thought\nthese little affectations charming, Virginie had such grace; happily she\ndidn't look like her father or her mother; but whom did she look like?\n\nDuring this sitting there were little skirmishes between the family\nand the painter, who had the audacity to call pere Vervelle witty. This\nflattery brought the family on the double-quick to the heart of the\nartist; he gave a drawing to the daughter, and a sketch to the mother.\n\n\"What! for nothing?\" they said.\n\nPierre Grassou could not help smiling.\n\n\"You shouldn't give away your pictures in that way; they are money,\"\nsaid old Vervelle.\n\nAt the third sitting pere Vervelle mentioned a fine gallery of pictures\nwhich he had in his country-house at Ville d'Avray--Rubens, Gerard Douw,\nMieris, Terburg, Rembrandt, Titian, Paul Potter, etc.\n\n\"Monsieur Vervelle has been very extravagant,\" said Madame Vervelle,\nostentatiously. \"He has over one hundred thousand francs' worth of\npictures.\"\n\n\"I love Art,\" said the former bottle-dealer.\n\nWhen Madame Vervelle's portrait was begun that of her husband was nearly\nfinished, and the enthusiasm of the family knew no bounds. The notary\nhad spoken in the highest praise of the painter. Pierre Grassou was, he\nsaid, one of the most honest fellows on earth; he had laid by thirty-six\nthousand francs; his days of poverty were over; he now saved about ten\nthousand francs a year and capitalized the interest; in short, he was\nincapable of making a woman unhappy. This last remark had enormous\nweight in the scales. Vervelle's friends now heard of nothing but the\ncelebrated painter Fougeres.\n\nThe day on which Fougeres began the portrait of Mademoiselle Virginie,\nhe was virtually son-in-law to the Vervelle family. The three Vervelles\nbloomed out in this studio, which they were now accustomed to consider\nas one of their residences; there was to them an inexplicable attraction\nin this clean, neat, pretty, and artistic abode. Abyssus abyssum, the\ncommonplace attracts the commonplace. Toward the end of the sitting the\nstairway shook, the door was violently thrust open by Joseph Bridau; he\ncame like a whirlwind, his hair flying. He showed his grand haggard face\nas he looked about him, casting everywhere the lightning of his glance;\nthen he walked round the whole studio, and returned abruptly to Grassou,\npulling his coat together over the gastric region, and endeavouring, but\nin vain, to button it, the button mould having escaped from its capsule\nof cloth.\n\n\"Wood is dear,\" he said to Grassou.\n\n\"Ah!\"\n\n\"The British are after me\" (slang term for creditors) \"Gracious! do you\npaint such things as that?\"\n\n\"Hold your tongue!\"\n\n\"Ah! to be sure, yes.\"\n\nThe Vervelle family, extremely shocked by this extraordinary apparition,\npassed from its ordinary red to a cherry-red, two shades deeper.\n\n\"Brings in, hey?\" continued Joseph. \"Any shot in your locker?\"\n\n\"How much do you want?\"\n\n\"Five hundred. I've got one of those bull-dog dealers after me, and if\nthe fellow once gets his teeth in he won't let go while there's a bit of\nme left. What a crew!\"\n\n\"I'll write you a line for my notary.\"\n\n\"Have you got a notary?\"\n\n\"Yes.\"\n\n\"That explains to me why you still make cheeks with pink tones like a\nperfumer's sign.\"\n\nGrassou could not help coloring, for Virginie was sitting.\n\n\"Take Nature as you find her,\" said the great painter, going on with his\nlecture. \"Mademoiselle is red-haired. Well, is that a sin? All things\nare magnificent in painting. Put some vermillion on your palette, and\nwarm up those cheeks; touch in those little brown spots; come, butter it\nwell in. Do you pretend to have more sense than Nature?\"\n\n\"Look here,\" said Fougeres, \"take my place while I go and write that\nnote.\"\n\nVervelle rolled to the table and whispered in Grassou's ear:--\n\n\"Won't that country lout spoilt it?\"\n\n\"If he would only paint the portrait of your Virginie it would be worth\na thousand times more than mine,\" replied Fougeres, vehemently.\n\nHearing that reply the bourgeois beat a quiet retreat to his wife, who\nwas stupefied by the invasion of this ferocious animal, and very uneasy\nat his co-operation in her daughter's portrait.\n\n\"Here, follow these indications,\" said Bridau, returning the palette,\nand taking the note. \"I won't thank you. I can go back now to d'Arthez'\nchateau, where I am doing a dining-room, and Leon de Lora the tops of\nthe doors--masterpieces! Come and see us.\"\n\nAnd off he went without taking leave, having had enough of looking at\nVirginie.\n\n\"Who is that man?\" asked Madame Vervelle.\n\n\"A great artist,\" answered Grassou.\n\nThere was silence for a moment.\n\n\"Are you quite sure,\" said Virginie, \"that he has done no harm to my\nportrait? He frightened me.\"\n\n\"He has only done it good,\" replied Grassou.\n\n\"Well, if he is a great artist, I prefer a great artist like you,\" said\nMadame Vervelle.\n\nThe ways of genius had ruffled up these orderly bourgeois.\n\nThe phase of autumn so pleasantly named \"Saint Martin's summer\" was\njust beginning. With the timidity of a neophyte in presence of a man of\ngenius, Vervelle risked giving Fougeres an invitation to come out to\nhis country-house on the following Sunday. He knew, he said, how little\nattraction a plain bourgeois family could offer to an artist.\n\n\"You artists,\" he continued, \"want emotions, great scenes, and witty\ntalk; but you'll find good wines, and I rely on my collection of\npictures to compensate an artist like you for the bore of dining with\nmere merchants.\"\n\nThis form of idolatry, which stroked his innocent self-love, was\ncharming to our poor Pierre Grassou, so little accustomed to such\ncompliments. The honest artist, that atrocious mediocrity, that heart\nof gold, that loyal soul, that stupid draughtsman, that worthy fellow,\ndecorated by royalty itself with the Legion of honor, put himself under\narms to go out to Ville d'Avray and enjoy the last fine days of the\nyear. The painter went modestly by public conveyance, and he could not\nbut admire the beautiful villa of the bottle-dealer, standing in a park\nof five acres at the summit of Ville d'Avray, commanding a noble view\nof the landscape. Marry Virginie, and have that beautiful villa some day\nfor his own!\n\nHe was received by the Vervelles with an enthusiasm, a joy, a\nkindliness, a frank bourgeois absurdity which confounded him. It was\nindeed a day of triumph. The prospective son-in-law was marched about\nthe grounds on the nankeen-colored paths, all raked as they should be\nfor the steps of so great a man. The trees themselves looked brushed and\ncombed, and the lawns had just been mown. The pure country air wafted\nto the nostrils a most enticing smell of cooking. All things about the\nmansion seemed to say:\n\n\"We have a great artist among us.\"\n\nLittle old Vervelle himself rolled like an apple through his park, the\ndaughter meandered like an eel, the mother followed with dignified step.\nThese three beings never let go for one moment of Pierre Grassou\nfor seven hours. After dinner, the length of which equalled its\nmagnificence, Monsieur and Madame Vervelle reached the moment of their\ngrand theatrical effect,--the opening of the picture gallery illuminated\nby lamps, the reflections of which were managed with the utmost care.\nThree neighbours, also retired merchants, an old uncle (from whom were\nexpectations), an elderly Demoiselle Vervelle, and a number of other\nguests invited to be present at this ovation to a great artist followed\nGrassou into the picture gallery, all curious to hear his opinion of the\nfamous collection of pere Vervelle, who was fond of oppressing them with\nthe fabulous value of his paintings. The bottle-merchant seemed to have\nthe idea of competing with King Louis-Philippe and the galleries of\nVersailles.\n\nThe pictures, magnificently framed, each bore labels on which was read\nin black letters on a gold ground:\n\n Rubens\n Dance of fauns and nymphs\n\n Rembrandt\n Interior of a dissecting room. The physician van Tromp\n instructing his pupils.\n\nIn all, there were one hundred and fifty pictures, varnished and dusted.\nSome were covered with green baize curtains which were not undrawn in\npresence of young ladies.\n\nPierre Grassou stood with arms pendent, gaping mouth, and no word upon\nhis lips as he recognized half his own pictures in these works of art.\nHe was Rubens, he was Rembrandt, Mieris, Metzu, Paul Potter, Gerard\nDouw! He was twenty great masters all by himself.\n\n\"What is the matter? You've turned pale!\"\n\n\"Daughter, a glass of water! quick!\" cried Madame Vervelle. The painter\ntook pere Vervelle by the button of his coat and led him to a corner on\npretence of looking at a Murillo. Spanish pictures were then the rage.\n\n\"You bought your pictures from Elie Magus?\"\n\n\"Yes, all originals.\"\n\n\"Between ourselves, tell me what he made you pay for those I shall point\nout to you.\"\n\nTogether they walked round the gallery. The guests were amazed at the\ngravity in which the artist proceeded, in company with the host, to\nexamine each picture.\n\n\"Three thousand francs,\" said Vervelle in a whisper, as they reached the\nlast, \"but I tell everybody forty thousand.\"\n\n\"Forty thousand for a Titian!\" said the artist, aloud. \"Why, it is\nnothing at all!\"\n\n\"Didn't I tell you,\" said Vervelle, \"that I had three hundred thousand\nfrancs' worth of pictures?\"\n\n\"I painted those pictures,\" said Pierre Grassou in Vervelle's ear, \"and\nI sold them one by one to Elie Magus for less than ten thousand francs\nthe whole lot.\"\n\n\"Prove it to me,\" said the bottle-dealer, \"and I double my daughter's\n'dot,' for if it is so, you are Rubens, Rembrandt, Titian, Gerard Douw!\"\n\n\"And Magus is a famous picture-dealer!\" said the painter, who now saw\nthe meaning of the misty and aged look imparted to his pictures in\nElie's shop, and the utility of the subjects the picture-dealer had\nrequired of him.\n\nFar from losing the esteem of his admiring bottle-merchant, Monsieur\nde Fougeres (for so the family persisted in calling Pierre Grassou)\nadvanced so much that when the portraits were finished he presented them\ngratuitously to his father-in-law, his mother-in-law and his wife.\n\nAt the present day, Pierre Grassou, who never misses exhibiting at the\nSalon, passes in bourgeois regions for a fine portrait-painter. He earns\nsome twenty thousand francs a year and spoils a thousand francs' worth\nof canvas. His wife has six thousand francs a year in dowry, and he\nlives with his father-in-law. The Vervelles and the Grassous, who agree\ndelightfully, keep a carriage, and are the happiest people on earth.\nPierre Grassou never emerges from the bourgeois circle, in which he\nis considered one of the greatest artists of the period. Not a family\nportrait is painted between the barrier du Trone and the rue du Temple\nthat is not done by this great painter; none of them costs less than\nfive hundred francs. The great reason which the bourgeois families have\nfor employing him is this:--\n\n\"Say what you will of him, he lays by twenty thousand francs a year with\nhis notary.\"\n\nAs Grassou took a creditable part on the occasion of the riots of May\n12th he was appointed an officer of the Legion of honor. He is a major\nin the National Guard. The Museum of Versailles felt it incumbent to\norder a battle-piece of so excellent a citizen, who thereupon walked\nabout Paris to meet his old comrades and have the happiness of saying to\nthem:--\n\n\"The King has given me an order for the Museum of Versailles.\"\n\nMadame de Fougeres adores her husband, to whom she has presented two\nchildren. This painter, a good father and a good husband, is unable to\neradicate from his heart a fatal thought, namely, that artists laugh at\nhis work; that his name is a term of contempt in the studios; and that\nthe feuilletons take no notice of his pictures. But he still works on;\nhe aims for the Academy, where, undoubtedly, he will enter. And--oh!\nvengeance which dilates his heart!--he buys the pictures of celebrated\nartists who are pinched for means, and he substitutes these true works\nof arts that are not his own for the wretched daubs in the collection at\nVille d'Avray.\n\nThere are many mediocrities more aggressive and more mischievous than\nthat of Pierre Grassou, who is, moreover, anonymously benevolent and\ntruly obliging.\n\n\n\n\nADDENDUM\n\nThe following personages appear in other stories of the Human Comedy.\n\n Bridau, Joseph\n The Purse\n A Bachelor's Establishment\n A Distinguished Provincial at Paris\n A Start in Life\n Modeste Mignon\n Another Study of Woman\n Letters of Two Brides\n Cousin Betty\n The Member for Arcis\n\n Cardot (Parisian notary)\n The Muse of the Department\n A Man of Business\n Jealousies of a Country Town\n The Middle Classes\n Cousin Pons\n\n Grassou, Pierre\n A Bachelor's Establishment\n Cousin Betty\n The Middle Classes\n Cousin Pons\n\n Lora, Leon de\n The Unconscious Humorists\n A Bachelor's Establishment\n A Start in Life\n Honorine\n Cousin Betty\n Beatrix\n\n Magus, Elie\n The Vendetta\n A Marriage Settlement\n A Bachelor's Establishment\n Cousin Pons\n\n Schinner, Hippolyte\n The Purse\n A Bachelor's Establishment\n A Start in Life\n Albert Savarus\n The Government Clerks\n Modeste Mignon\n The Imaginary Mistress\n The Unconscious Humorists\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Pierre Grassou, by Honore de Balzac"},"answers":{"kind":"list like","value":["A number of his own forgeries."],"string":"[\n \"A number of his own forgeries.\"\n]","isConversational":false},"length":{"kind":"number","value":7900,"string":"7,900"},"dataset":{"kind":"string","value":"narrativeqa"},"language":{"kind":"string","value":"en"},"all_classes":{"kind":"null"},"_id":{"kind":"string","value":"327947f2fade3b7bda5cfa6d24919d42d2afe66dc15d98d4"}}},{"rowIdx":1796,"cells":{"input":{"kind":"string","value":"What event reunites Jacob with the other men from his platoon?"},"context":{"kind":"string","value":"<b>\"JACOB'S LADDER\"\n</b>\nby\n\nBruce Joel Rubin\n\n\n\n\n\n\n<b>EXT. VIETNAM - DUSK\n</b>\nA swarm of helicopters swoops out of a yellow sky and deposits an army \nof men over a Vietnamese hillside.\n\nThe SOLDIERS scramble over the terraced rice paddies for the protection \nof the jungle. Falling into coulmns, like strands of soldier ants, \nseventy-five men, at combat readiness, assemble on the edge of a \nsweltering wilderness.\n\nIt is dusk. The mood is lazy, soporific. Members of one platoon huddle \nclose to the ground smoking a joint.\n<b>\t\n</b><b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tStrong stuff.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\t\t(to JACOB, a soldier\n\t\t\tsquatting several yards\n\t\t\taway)\n\t\tHey, Professor, how many times can\n\t\tyou shit in an hour?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tDon't bug 'im.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tWhere are those gooks already?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tSome offensive. I don't even think\n\t\tthey're out there.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tJesus, this grass is something else.\n\nJACOB SINGER returns to the group, pulling up his pants.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tWhy even bother to pull 'em up?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tYou jackin' off out there again, huh\n\t\tJake?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tHey, get off his back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tIt's called philosophizing, right\n\t\tProfessor?\n\nJACOB gives them the finger.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tUp yours, you adolescent scum.\n\nLaughter.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSERGEANT (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tMount your bayonets.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\t\t(frightened)\n\t\tOh shit!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tGoddam!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tGimme that joint!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tHey, something's wrong.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tWhat is it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tMy head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tIt's nerves. Take another toke.\n\nGEORGE reaches out, extending a joint. Suddenly he gasps and falls to \nthe ground, his body convulsing uncontrollably. The others stand back, \nstartled. JACOB grabs him and shoves a rifle barrel between his \nchattering teeth.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tWhat's going on?\n\nBefore anyone can answer JERRY grabs his head, screaming. He turns \nfrantically in all directions.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tHelp me! Help me!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tWhat the hell ... ?\n\nIn seconds JERRY is spinning wildly out of control, his head shaking \ninto a terrific blur. He crashes into FRANK with the force of a truck. \nFRANK slams into the ground as all the air rushes from his lungs. He \nbegins gasping and hyperventilating. His eyes grow wide and frenzied as \nhe gulps for air. Fear and confusion sweep across his face. The MEN \nwatch, horrified, as FRANK's terror escalates beyond reason into all-\nout panic.\n\nSuddenly FRANK begins howling. He lunges for his bayonet and, without \nwarning, attacks the MEN around him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tGod Almighty!\n\nPAUL spins out of the way as FRANK's bayonet impales the ground. JACOB \njumps on top of FRANK and wrestles him into the tall grass. PAUL rushes \nto his assistance.\n\nJACOB stares at FRANK's face as FRANK struggles beneath him. It is the \nface of a madman.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tGood God! What's happening?\n\nThe sudden chaos is intensified by the sound of fighting erupting \nbehind them. Guns crackle and bursts of light penetrate the darkening \nsky.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tBehind you! Look out! This is it!\n\nThe MEN spin around. PAUL panics and jumps to his feet, leaving JACOB \nalone with FRANK. FRANK's eyes burn with demonic force as he gathers \nhis strength.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDon't leave me.\n\nDark figures, silhouetted by the setting sun, are storming at them. \nSOLDIERS squint to see. It is a horrifying vision.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tThey're coming!\n\nGunfire explodes on all sides. Suddenly PAUL flips out. He begins \nscreaming uncontrollably, ripping at his clothes and skin. FRANK is \nstruggling like four men and JACOB is weakening in his effort to \nrestrain him. Bayonets glimmer in the exchange of fire. Bodies fall. \nMore bodies keep coming. The first wave is upon them.\n\nROD shoots into the air. Shadowy forms hurl forward screaming like \nbanshees. ROD, squinting, jabs with his bayonet, piercing the belly of \nhis attacker. Agonizing cries accompany his fall. ROD yanks the bayonet \nout and stabs again.\n\nIn the midst of this madness FRANK shoots to his feet and slams the \nbutt of his rifle into JACOB's back. There is a cracking sound. JACOB's \neyes freeze with pain. His hands rush for his spine. As he spins around \none of the ATTACKERS jams all eight inches of his bayonet blade into \nJACOB's stomach. JACOB screams. It is a loud and piercing wail.\n\n\nCUT ON THE SOUND OF THE SCREAM to a sudden rush through a long dark \ntunnel. There is a sense of enormous speed accelerating toward a \nbrilliant light. The rush suggests a passage between life and death, \nbut as the light bursts upon us we realize that we are passing through \na SUBWAY STATION far below the city of NEW YORK.\n\n\n<b>INT. SUBWAY - NIGHT\n</b>\nTHE WHEELS OF AN EXPRESS TRAIN screech through the station. JACOB \nSINGER, sitting alone in the last car, wakes up. The sounds of the \nscream and the grating wheels merge. He is dazed and confused, not \ncertain where he is.\n\nJACOB glances around the empty car. His eyes gravitate to overhead \nadvertisements for hemorrhoid perparations and savings banks. Gradually \nhis confusion subsides. Shifting uncomfortably he pulls a thick book \nout of his back pocket, \"The Stranger\" by Albert Camus. He begins \nreading. Another station blurs by.\n\nJACOB is a good-looking man, of obvious intelligence. He is in his mid-\nthirties. It is surprising that he is wearing a mailman's uniform. He \ndoesn't look like one.\n\nThe subway ride seems to go on interminably. JACOB is restless and \nconcerned. He glances at his watch. It is 3:30 A.M. Putting his book in \nhis back pocket, JACOB stands up and makes his way through the deserted \ncar.\n\n\n<b>INT. SUBWAY TRACKS - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB enters the rumbling passageway between the cars. The wheels spark \nagainst the rails. The dark tunnel walls flash by. He pulls the handle \non the door to the next car. It is stuck. He struggles with it. A LADY \nsitting alone inside turns to look at him. She seems threatened by his \neffort. He motions for her to help. She turns away.\n\nA look of disgust crosses JACOB's face. He kicks the door. It slides \nopen. The WOMAN seems frightened as he approaches her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tExcuse me, do you know if we've\n\t\tpassed Nostrand Avenue yet?\n\t\t\t(she doesn't answer)\n\t\tExcuse me.\n\t\t\t(she does not\n\t\t\tacknowledge his\n\t\t\texistence)\n\t\tLook, I'm asking a simple question.\n\t\tHave we hit Nostrand Avenue? I fell\n\t\tasleep.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\t\t(speaking with a Puerto\n\t\t\tRican accent)\n\t\tI no from around here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(glad for a response)\n\t\tYeah, you and everyone else.\n\nJACOB walks to the other end of the car and sits down. The only other \npassenger is an OLD MAN lying asleep on the fiberglass bench. \nOccasionally his body shudders. It is the only sign of life in him.\n\nThe train begins to slow down. JACOB peers out of the window. Nostrand \nAvenue signs appear. He is relieved. He gets up and grabs hold of the \noverhead bar.\n\nThe OLD MAN shudders and stretches out on the seat. As he adjusts his \nposition, tugging at his coat, JACOB catches a brief glimpse of \nsomething protruding from beneath the coat's hem. His eyes fixate on \nthe spot, waiting for another look. There is a slight movement and it \nappears - a long, red, fleshy protuberance. The sight of it sends \nshivers up JACOB's spine. It looks strangely like a tail. Only the \nstopping of the train breaks JACOB's stare.\n\n\n<b>INT. SUBWAY STATION - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB is the only passenger getting off. The doors close quickly behind \nhim. He glances at the LADY sitting by the window. There is a fearful \nexpression on her face as the train carries her back into the dark \ntunnel, out of his sight.\n\nJACOB reaches the exit, a huge metal revolving door surrounded by floor \nto ceiling gates. He is about to push when he notices a chain locking \nit shut. He stares at it in disbelief.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddam it.\n\nHe turns in a huff and hikes to the other end of the platform. As he \napproaches the far exit, his eyes widen. The gate there is also locked. \nHis hands reach for his hips as he studies an impossible situation.\n\nCUT TO JACOB stepping cautiously onto the ladder going down to the \ntracks. A rat scampers by and he gasps.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo way!\n\nHe starts to climb back up the ladder but sees that there is nowhere \nelse to go. He juts out his jaw and steps back down.\n\nJACOB is not comfortable on the tracks. He cannot see where he is \nstepping. His shoes slpash in unseen liquid which makes him grimace. \nThe steel girders are coated in subway grime. The oily substance coats \nhis hands as he reaches for support.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddam fucking city!\n\nHe wipes the grime on his postal uniform as he steps toward the center \ntrack. He reaches for another girder when it begins to vibrate. Two \npinpoints of light hurl toward him. Then the noise arrives confirming \nhis fear. A train is bearing down on him. JACOB looks frightened, not \nsure which way to go. He steps forward, up to his ankle in slime. He \ncannot tell which track the train is on. It is moving at phenomenal \nspeed. The station is spinning. The train's lights merge into one \nbrilliant intensity.\n\nIn near panic JACOB jumps across the track as the train spins by. Its \nvelocity blows his hair straight up as though it is standing on end. He \nclings to a pillar for support, gasping in short breaths.\n\nA few PEOPLE are staring at JACOB from the train. Their faces, pressed \nup against the glass, seem deformed. A lone figure waves at him from \nthe rear window. The train bears them all away. Then it is quiet again. \nFor a moment JACOB is afraid to move but slowly regains his composure. \nHe continues to the other side of the tracks and stumbles up the ladder \nto the UPTOWN PLATFORM.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tCUT TO:\n</b>\nJACOB smiling. The smile, however, is one of irony, not amusement. This \nexit too is locked. A heavy chain is wrapped through the bars. JACOB \nstares at it with an expression of total bewilderment.\n\nA sudden muffled scream alerts JACOB that he is not alone. His head \nturns but sees no one. He hears the scream again. He senses its \ndirection and walks toward the MEN'S ROOM. A crack of light appears \nunder the door. He can hear someone moaning inside. JACOB knocks softly \nand the moaning stops. The lights click off.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHey, is someone in there?\n\nThere is no answer. JACOB stands silently for a moment, not sure what \nto do. He can hear whispering. He chews his lower lip nervously and \nthen reaches for the door. It pushes open.\n\nThe light from the station penetrates the darkness. He gasps. He sees a \nMAN tied naked to the stall with ANOTHER NAKED MAN grabbing quickly for \nhis clothes. The BOUND MAN screams.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBOUND MAN\n</b>\t\tFuck off! Mind your own business!\n\nA THIRD MAN spins out of the shadows, pointing a kinfe at JACOB's \nthroat.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tYou cocksucker! Get outta here.\n\nThe MAN's face is barely human. Before JACOB can even react the door \nslams shut. The lock engages. The crack of light reappears. JACOB can \nhear laughter coming from inside, followed by a scream. He backs away \nfrom the door. His face is white.\n\nJACOB turns with full fury and storms the gate. The chain gives wayto \nhis anger. It flies apart and the gate flings open. He stands in \namazement, observing the chain as it slides from between the bars and \ndrops to the concrete below. The gate squeaks loudly as JACOB pushes it \naside and clangs with an almost painful burst as he slams it shut.\n\n\n<b>EXT. WILMINGTON TOWERS - DAWN\n</b>\nJACOB walks toward the towering shadows of a massive PUBLIC HOUSING \nPROJECT. It is dark and the moonlight silhouettes the huge monolithic \nstructures. JACOB passes through a vast COURTYARD dominated by the \nimposing shapes. Aside from his moving body everything is still.\n\n\n<b>INT. HALLWAY - DAWN\n</b>\nJACOB steps off a graffiti-festooned ELEVATOR into a long impersonal \nhallway. He uses three keys to unlock the door to his APARTMENT.\n\n\n<b>INT. JACOB'S APT. - DAWN\n</b>\nJACOB enters the darkness without turning on the light. He tries to \nnavigate his way to the BATHROOM, illuminated by a tiny nightlight in \nthe distance. His effort is unsuccessful. He bangs loudly into a table. \nA WOMAN\"s voice calls out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tJake, is that you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat the hell did you do, move all\n\t\tthe furniture?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tWhy didn't you turn on the light?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI didn't want to wake you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\t\t(sleepy but pleasant)\n\t\tGee, thanks a lot.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere is the lamp?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tWhere are you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIf I knew I wouldn't have to ask.\n\t\tWhat did you do? I was happy the way\n\t\tit was.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tI moved the couch. That's all.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere to?\n\nJACOB crashes into it. A light suddenly goes on. JEZEBEL \"JEZZIE\" \nPIPKIN, 33, is standing in the BEDROOM door tying a man's terrycloth \nbathrobe around her waist. Although sleepy, disheveled, and not looking \nher best, it is obvious that JEZZIE is a beefy woman, juicy and \nsensual.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tThat help?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(nearly sprawled over\n\t\t\tthe couch)\n\t\tThanks.\n\nHe pushes himself up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat do you think?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat do you mean?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tThe room!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh God, Jezzie, ask me tomorrow.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt is tomorrow. Four A.M. How come\n\t\tyou're so late?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tRoberts didn't show up. What could I\n\t\tsay? Besides, it's double time.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(seeing the grease on\n\t\t\this uniform)\n\t\tWhat happened to you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(unbuttoning his shirt\n\t\t\tas he walks to the\n<b>\t\t\tBATHROOM)\n</b>\t\tDon't ask.\n\nJACOB steps into the BATHROOM and pulls at his clothes, leaving them in \na pile on the floor. He reaches for the faucet and sends a stream of \nwater pouding against the porcelain tub. JEZZIE enjoys JACOB's \nnakedness. She reaches out to his chest and squeezes one of his \nnipples. His body tenses slightly. JEZZIE drops her robe. They enter \nthe shower together.\n\n\n<b>EXT. VIETNAM - NIGHT\n</b>\nA DENSE RAIN falls on a dark night filling puddles of water. JACOB is \ncrawling through the underbrush in the Vietnamese JUNGLE. His shirt is \nbloodsoaked. He moves slowly, creeping on his right forearm. His left \narm is holding his intestines from spilling onto the grass.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHelp me. Someone.\n\nSuddenly a flashlight beam can be seen in the distance. It dances \naround the bamboo trees and draws closer to JACOB. It is impossible to \nsee who is carrying it. The light darts near the ground where JACOB is \nlying and then bursts directly into his eyes.\n\n\n<b>INT. JACOB'S APT. - DAY\n</b>\nSUNLIGHT pours through the BEDROOM window. JACOB is sleeping fitfully \nas a bar of light saturates his face. His hand rushes up to cover and \nprotect his eyes but the damage is done. He is awake.\n\nJACOB lies in bed for a few moments, dazed. Slowly his hand gropes \nalong the shelf at the head of the bed, searching for his glasses. He \nhas trouble finding them. As his hand sweeps blindly across the \nheadboard it hits the telephone and sends it crashing to the floor. He \nsits up with a disgusted look on his face and searches the out-of-focus \nshelf behind him. Suddenly JEZZIE enters.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou up?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. Have you seen my glasses?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(shaking her head)\n\t\tWhere'd you leave 'em?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tDid you look around the headboard?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(wearily)\n\t\tJezzie, I can't see.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(she scans the shelf)\n\t\tMaybe you left 'em in the bathroom.\n\nShe leaves and returns moments later with his glasses and a large paper \nbag. She tosses them both onto the bed.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThanks.\n\t\t\t(he puts on his glasses\n\t\t\tand notices the bag)\n\t\tWhat's that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYour kid dropped it off.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho? Jed?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(stooping to pick up the\n\t\t\tphone)\n\t\tNo. The little one.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tEli. Why can't you remember their\n\t\tnames?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tThey're weird names.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThey're Biblical. They were prophets.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWell, personally, I never went for\n\t\tchurch names.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tAnd where do you think Jezebel comes\n\t\tfrom?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI don't let anybody call me that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(shaking his head)\n\t\tYou're a real heathen, you know that,\n\t\tJezzie? Jesus, how did I ever get\n\t\tinvolved with such a ninny?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou sold your soul, remember? That's\n\t\twhat you told me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYeah, but for what?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tA good lay.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tAnd look what I got.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tThe best.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI must have been out of my head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake, you are never out of your head!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(ignoring the criticism\n\t\t\tand reaching for the\n\t\t\tpaper bag)\n\t\tWhat's in here?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tPictures. Your wife was gonna toss\n\t\t'em so \"what's his name\" brought 'em\n\t\tover on his way to school.\n\nJACOB lifts the bag and pours the photographs onto the bed. There are \nhundreds of them. He examines them with growing delight.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLook at these, will ya? I don't\n\t\tbelieve it. Jesus, these are\n\t\tfantastic. Look, here's my Dad ...\n\t\tAnd here's my brother, when we were\n\t\tdown in Florida.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tLemme see.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(rummaging excitedly\n\t\t\tthrough the pile)\n\t\tHere. Look. This is me and Sarah when\n\t\tI was still at City College.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(looking closely)\n\t\tThat's Sarah?\n\t\t\t(she studies the photo)\n\t\tI can see what you mean.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhy you left.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat do you mean you can see?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tLook at her face. A real bitch.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShe looked good then.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tNot to me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWell, you didn't marry her.\n\nHe digs through more photos. Suddenly he stops.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat's wrong?\n\nTo JEZZIE's surprise and his own, tears well up in his eyes. For a \nmoment JACOB is unable to speak. He just stares at one of the photos. \nJEZZIE looks at the picture. It is an image of JACOB carrying a small \nchild on his shoulders.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIs that the one who died?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(nodding)\n\t\tGabe.\n\nJEZZIE is silent. JACOB grabs a Kleenex and blows his nose.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tSorry. it just took me by surprise. I\n\t\tdidn't expect to see him this morning\n\t\t... God, what I wouldn't ... He was\n\t\tthe cutest little guy. Like an angel,\n\t\tyou know. He had this smile ...\n\t\t\t(choking up again)\n\t\tFuck, I don't even remember this\n\t\tpicture.\n\nHiding his emotions, JACOB scrambles over the bed and reaches for a \npair of pants. He pulls out his wallet and then carefully puts the \nphoto of GABE inside. It joins photos of his two other boys. JEZZIE \nbegins shoving the remaining pictures back into the paper bag.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWait. Don't.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI don't like things that make you\n\t\tcry.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI just want to look ...\n\nHe reaches into the pile for other snapshots. We see an array of frozen \nmoments, happy, unfocused, obscure. Suddenly he stops and stares at a \nyellowing snapshot.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGod, this is me!\n\t\t\t(he holds up a baby\n\t\t\tphoto)\n\t\tLook. It's dated right after I was\n\t\tborn.\n\t\t\t(he stares at it\n\t\t\tintently)\n\t\tWhat a kid. Cute, huh? So much\n\t\tpromise.\n\nJEZZIE surveys the scene.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt's amazing, huh Jake? Your whole\n\t\tlife ... right in front of you.\n\t\t\t(she pauses before\n\t\t\tmaking her final\n\t\t\tpronouncement)\n\t\tWhat a mess!\n\n\n<b>INT. HALLWAY - DAY\n</b>\nJEZZIE carries the garbage to an INCINERATOR ROOM down the hall. She is \ncarrying several bags. Two of them are tossed instantly down the chute. \nShe hesitates with the third. After a moment she reaches into it and \npulls out a handful of photos. They are pictures of JACOB and SARAH. \nWith cool deliberation she drops them down the chute. An apartment door \nslams shut. Quickly she disposes of the pictures remaining in her hand. \nJACOB opens the door to the tiny room as the bag filled with the \nmemories of his life falls to the fire below.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tReady?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJust gettin' rid of the garbage.\n\nJACOB and JEZZIE, both wearing postal uniforms, head for the ELEVATOR. \nThey are surprised that it has arrived promptly. JEZZIE reaches out and \nplayfully sticks her tongue into JACOB's ear. He pulls her into the \nELEVATOR. They disappear, laughing, behind its closing doors.\n\n\n<b>EXT. NEW YORK CITY - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB is driving a mail truck through the crowded streets of midtown \nManhattan. As he drives he is humming to himself a rendition of Al \nJolson's \"Sonny Boy.\"\n\nJACOB stops his truck in front of a LAUNDRY on West 46th Street. He \nopens the back door and pulls a stack of boxes toward him. He lifts \nthem with effort and slams the door with his foot. It doesn't close. He \nconsiders giving it another whack but the boxes are heavy. He turns \ninstead and waddles toward the store.\n\n\n<b>INT. LAUNDRY - DAY\n</b>\nA heavyset WOMAN with a dark tan is standing behind a counter cluttered \nwith laundry. A picture of Richard Nixon is still stapled to the wall. \nShe looks at JACOB.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tWhere do you expect me to put those?\n\t\tI don't have any room.\n\nShe tries clearing the counter, but it doesn't help.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tHow 'bout over there?\n\t\t\t(she points to a table)\n\t\tNo wait. Do me a favor. Bring 'em to\n\t\tthe back room.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThey're awfully heavy.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tI know. That's why I'm asking.\n\nJACOB waddles reluctantly toward the back of the store. CHINESE \nLAUNDERERS are hovering over piles of clothes. Steam from the pressing \nmachines shoots into the air.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(huffing and puffing)\n\t\tWhere's Wong?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tThat's what I'd like to know. If you\n\t\tsee him on the street somewhere, tell\n\t\thim he's fired.\n\nJACOB stoops to put the boxes on the shelf. There is a snapping sound \nand he winces in pain. Massaging his back, JACOB unfolds some papers \nfor the WOMAN's signature.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHow was Palm Springs?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tHot. Where do I sign?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(pointing to the line)\n\t\tYou got a nice tan, though.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tTan? What tan? It faded on the\n\t\tairplane. I'd try to get my money\n\t\tback, but who do you ask?\n\t\t\t(she looks heavenward)\n\t\tTwo hundred dollars a night, for\n\t\twhat?\n\nShe hands JACOB the wrong sheet.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. I'll take the other one.\n\t\t\t(he takes it)\n\t\tRight. Well it's good to have you\n\t\tback. See you tomorrow, probably.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tIf you're lucky.\n\nJACOB smiles to himself as he leaves the store. He walks carefully. His \nback is out.\n\n\n<b>INT. MAIL TRUCK - DAY\n</b>\nANGLE ON THE MAIL TRUCK stuck in traffic. Nothing is moving. Horns are \nblaring and drivers are agitated. JACOB reaches for a newspaper lying \non top of his mail bags. To his shock one of the bags appears to move. \nCurious, JACOB pokes at it. Instantly a terrifying figure pops out from \nbeneath it and stares at him with a frightening glare. JACOB jumps \nback, stunned. It is a moment before he realizes that he is looking at \nan old WINO who has been sleeping in the truck. The man's face is \ncovered in strange bumps.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it! What the hell ... ?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWINO\n</b>\t\t\t(pleading)\n\t\tI didn't take nothin'. I was just\n\t\tnapping. Don't hit me. I was cold.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(lifting the man up)\n\t\tWhat the hell do you think you're\n\t\tdoing? You can't do this. This is\n\t\tgovernment property.\n\nHe begins opening the door. The WINO begs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWINO\n</b>\t\tDon't throw me out. They're gonna get\n\t\tme. They'll tear me to pieces.\n\nHe holds on to JACOB's leg. JACOB tries to pull away.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tCome on. You can't stay here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWINO\n</b>\t\tPlease! I never hurt anybody when I\n\t\twas alive. Believe me. I don't belong\n\t\there.\n\nJACOB gives the WINO a strange look and then escorts him from the \ntruck. A hundred eyes peer out of motionless cars and follow him as he \nleads the WINO to the sidewalk. JACOB pulls a dollar bill from his \npocket and places it in the WINO's hand. The OLD MAN crumples it into a \nball and turns away. He has a frightened look on his face. JACOB \nreturns to the truck shaking his head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNew York!\n\nHe climbs into his seat and glances into his rear view mirror. He \nnotices the WINO edging fearfully along the side of a building. A horn \nhonks and traffic begins moving. When JACOB looks back the WINO is no \nlonger there.\n\n\n<b>INT. GARAGE - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB drives his mail truck into the huge POST OFFICE PARKING GARAGE on \n34th Street. His mind seems distracted. He has difficulty parking.\n\n\n<b>INT. POST OFFICE - DAY\n</b>\nWe see a vast room filled with hundreds of PEOPLE sorting and moving \nmail.\n\nJACOB, carrying a bag of McDonald's hamburgers, walks stiffly through \nthe aisles, his left hand rubbing his back. Several workers greet him \nand grab for his french fries. He offers them around.\n\nANGLE ON a conveyor belt sorting mail. A hand reaches in, correcting \nmistakes. Suddenly a hamburger passes by. JEZZIE looks up and smiles.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHow's it going?\n\nShe takes the hamburger and shrugs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tI'm going home.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat's wrong?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know. One of these days, I'm\n\t\tgonna see Louis. My back's killing\n\t\tme.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tNow? What about the boss? He's not\n\t\tgonna like it.\n\nJACOB shrugs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWell, I'll miss riding home with you.\n\t\tI was looking forward to it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'll be glad to avoid the crush.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI enjoy crushing into you.\n\nShe grabs him and hugs him tightly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGently. My back.\n\nJEZZIE ignores him and squeezes again.\n\n\n<b>INT. CHIROPRACTIC OFFICE - DAY\n</b>\nCUT ON A SCREAM to JACOB in a CHIROPRACTOR'S OFFICE. He is lying on a \nlong leather padded device that looks like an instrument of torture. \nLOUIS, the Chiropractor, is a giant of a man, 280 pounds. He is \nadjusting JACOB's spine.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tCome on, Jake. That didn't hurt.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHow do you know?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tI know you. How come you're so tense\n\t\ttoday?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat can I tell you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tI saw Sarah the other day.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHer knee acting up?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tA bit.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat did she have to say?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tTurn on your right side.\n\t\t\t(he turns on his left)\n\t\tHow about the other \"right?\"\n\t\t\t(JACOB turns back)\n\t\tI don't understand you philosphers.\n\t\tYou've got the whole world figured\n\t\tout but you can't remember the\n\t\tdifference between right and left.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI was absent the day they taught that\n\t\tin school. What did she say?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tWho?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tSarah.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tNot much. She's like you that way.\n\t\tTwo clams. No wonder your marriage\n\t\tdidn't last. Put your hand under your\n\t\thead. Take a breath and then let it\n\t\tout.\n\nHe makes a rapid adjustment pushing down on JACOB's thigh. JACOB \ngroans.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tAh, good. Now turn to your left.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShe talk about the boys?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tShe says she can't get them new coats\n\t\tbecause you haven't sent the alimony\n\t\tfor three months.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShe told you that?\n\t\t\t(he shakes his head)\n\t\tDid she tell you about the $2,000 I'm\n\t\tstill paying for the orthodontist?\n\t\tI'll bet she didn't mention that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tShe said you were a son of a bitch\n\t\tand she regrets the day she set eyes\n\t\ton you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI thought you said she didn't say\n\t\tmuch.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tShe didn't. That's about all she\n\t\tsaid. Put your hand up. Good. I think\n\t\tshe still loves you. Take a breath\n\t\tand let it out.\n\nHe makes an adjustment. JACOB screams.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLoves me!? She hasn't said a kind\n\t\tword about me in years!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tRight. She doesn't stop talking about\n\t\tyou. You're always on her mind.\n\t\tThat's love, Jake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShe hates me, Louis.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tYou should go back to her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat? She threw me out, remember. She\n\t\twanted some professor to carry her\n\t\tfar away from Brooklyn. Only we\n\t\tdidn't make it. She can't forgive me\n\t\tthat she still lives in the same\n\t\thouse she grew up in.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tHer problem is that you spent eight\n\t\tyears getting a PhD and then went to\n\t\twork for the post office.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat can I tell you, Louis? After Nam\n\t\tI didn't want to think anymore. I\n\t\tdecided my brain was too small an\n\t\torgan to comprehend this chaos.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(looking at JACOB with\n\t\t\taffection)\n\t\tIf it was any other brain but yours,\n\t\tI might agree. Relax, this is going\n\t\tto be strong.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI can't relax.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tWiggle your toes.\n\nJACOB wiggles his toes. At that instant, LOUIS twists JACOB's neck \nrapidly. There is a loud cracking sound.\n\n\n<b>EXT. VIETNAM - NIGHT\n</b>\nTHERE IS A FLASH OF LIGHT. A MAN rushes at the camera yelling.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tI found one. He's alive.\n\nHe shines a flashlight into the lens creating rings and halos.\n\n\n<b>CHIROPRACTIC OFFICE - DAY\n</b>\nSuddenly LOUIS reappears, a halo effect still visible behind his head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGod almighty. What did you do to me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tI had to get in there. A deep\n\t\tadjustment. Rest a moment and let it\n\t\tset a bit.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI had this weird flash just then.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tWhat?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know. I've been having them\n\t\trecently.\n\t\t\t(he thinks a moment,\n\t\t\tthen changes the\n\t\t\tsubject)\n\t\tYou know, you look like an angel,\n\t\tLouis, an overgrown cherub. Anyone\n\t\tever tell you that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tYeah. You. Every time I see you. No\n\t\tmore Errol Flynn, okay? Your back\n\t\twon't take it. You tell your girl\n\t\tfriend to calm down if she knows\n\t\twhat's good for you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLouis, you're a life saver.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tI know.\n\n\n<b>EXT. BROOKLYN STREETS - EVENING\n</b>\nJACOB is walking down Nostrand Avenue. He is singing to himself and \nimitating Al Jolson.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhen there are gray skies, I don't\n\t\tmind the gray skies, as long as\n\t\tthere's you ...\n\nHe hums. It is near dusk and lights are just coming on. The shop \nwindows have a particularly garish look about them. The mannequins are \ndressed in inexpensive, almost tawdry, clothes and have a pathetic \nappearance. A few shops have set up their Christmas decorations.\n\nThe ornamentation seems strangely out of place; almost blasphemous.\n\nJACOB passes a street gang standing in the doorway of a local drug \nstore. They chortle and make taunting sounds.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGIRL\n</b>\t\t\t(shaking her tits,\n\t\t\tsinging)\n\t\t\"Hey, Mr. Postman ... \"\n\nJACOB stops and stares at them. To their surprise, he begins to sing \nwith them. He knows the words. They like that. It is a sweet moment.\n\nJACOB continues walking. He comes to a cross street. The light is \ngreen. He is still singing to himself and does not notice a BLACK CAR \nsharging around the corner. The car is moving at full speed, heading \nstraight toward him. A YOUNG MAN walking a few steps behind yells out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG MAN\n</b>\t\tLook out!\n\nJACOB turns and sees the car. He scoots out of the way but it swerves \nin his direction. The YOUNG MAN calls out again.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG MAN\n</b>\t\tJump!\n\nWith a huge thrust, JACOB hurls himself onto the curb as the car shoots \nby. Two MEN are peering at him from the back seat. They are laughing \nlike madmen and shaking their heads. They do not look human. JACOB \nyells and waves his fist, to no effect. After a moment he turns to \nthank the YOUNG MAN whose scream had saved him, but he is gone.\n\n\n<b>INT. JACOB'S APT. - DUSK\n</b>\nJACOB and JEZZIE are lying in bed. They are a sensual couple and even \nin quiet, reflective moments such as this, their positioning is erotic \nand stimulating. Both of them are nude. JACOB's hands are clasped \nbehind his neck and he is staring mournfully at the ceiling. JEZZIE is \nlying on her side, her left leg draped across JACOB's pelvis. Her head \nis propped up on her right arm while her left hand strokes the bayonet \nscar on JACOB's stomach. Neither are talking. Suddenly, out of the \nblue, JEZZIE speaks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tMaybe it's all the pressure, Jake.\n\t\tThe money. Things like that. Or your\n\t\twife.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhy do you bring her up?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t'Cause she's always on your mind.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhen was the last time I said a word?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt has nothin' to do with talkin'.\n\nShe pauses for a while, long enough to suppose that the conversation is \nover. Then she continues.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tOr maybe it's the war.\n\nJACOB closes his eyes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tIt's still there, Jake.\n\t\t\t(she points to his\n\t\t\tbrain)\n\t\tEven if you never say a word about\n\t\tit. You can't spend two years in\n\t\tVietnam ...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(annoyed)\n\t\tWhat does that have to do with\n\t\tanything? Does it explain the\n\t\tbarricaded subway stations? Does it\n\t\texplain those Godforsaken creatures?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tNew York is filled with creatures.\n\t\tEverywhere. And lots of stations are\n\t\tclosed.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThey're like demons, Jez.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tDemons, Jake? Come on. They're winos\n\t\tand bag ladies. Low life. That's all\n\t\tthey are. The streets are crawling\n\t\twith 'em. Don't make em into\n\t\tsomethin' they're not.\n\t\t\t(she rubs his forehead)\n\t\tIt's the pressure, honey. That's all\n\t\tit is.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThose guys tried to kill me tonight.\n\t\tThey were aiming right at me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tKids on a joy ride. Happens all the\n\t\ttime.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThey weren't human!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tCome on. What were they, Jake?\n\nJACOB doesn't answer. He turns over on his stomach. JEZZIE stares at \nhis naked back and drags her fingernails down to his buttocks. Scratch \nmarks follow in their wake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou still love me?\n\nHe does not respond.\n\n\n<b>INT. JACOB'S KITCHEN - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and JEZZIE are sitting at the breakfast table. JEZZIE is reading \nthe National Enquirer and chewing at her lip. Suddenly a drop of blood \nforms and falls onto the formica table top. Staring at it for a moment, \nshe wipes it with her finger and then licks it with her tongue.\n\nJACOB is nursing a cup of coffee and staring out the window at the \nhousing project across the way. The toaster pops. JEZZIE jumps. She \ngets up, butters her toast, and returns to her paper.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tSays here the world's comin' to an\n\t\tend. The battle of heaven and hell\n\t\tthey call it. Should be quite a show;\n\t\tfireworks, H-bombs, and everything.\n\t\tYou believe them, Jake?\n\nJACOB doesn't answer.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tMe neither ... God, look at this. Two\n\t\theads. Only lived two days. A day for\n\t\teach head. Could you imagine me with\n\t\ttwo heads? We'd probably keep each\n\t\tother up all night - arguing and\n\t\twhatnot. You wanna see the picture?\n\nHe does not respond. JEZZIE gets up and walks over to JACOB. Standing \nin front of him she slowly unties her robe and lets it fall apart. She \nis naked underneath it. Sensuously she leans forward, unbuttons his \nshirt, and strokes his chest. She waits for a response from him, but \nthere is none. He sits silently, disinterested.\n\nFurious, JEZZIE turns away. Grabbing the vacuum cleaner from the broom \ncloset she angrily unravels the cord and switches it on. Breasts flash \nfrom beneath her gown as the vacuum roars back and forth across the \nfloor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tGoddamn you son-of-a-bitch! My\n\t\tuncle's dogs used to treat me better\n\t\tthan you do. At least they'd lick my\n\t\ttoes once in a while. At least they\n\t\tshowed some fucking interest.\n\nA NEIGHBOR bangs on the wall, shouting.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tAll right! All right! All right!\n\nJACOB peers at the courtyard eighteen stories below and watches the \npatterns of early morning movement. Tiny figures drift purposefully \nover the concrete.\n\nSuddenly the vasuum cleaner goes off. In the silence, JACOB realizes \nthat JEZZIE is crying and turns to see her curled over the kitchen \ntable. He walks to her side and strokes her hair. JEZZIE begins to sob. \nAfter a moment she looks at him with puffy eyes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou love me?\n\nHe nods his head \"yes.\" She smiles coyly and rubs her hair like a \nkitten against his crotch. After a few moments she speaks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tDella's party's tonight. Why don't we\n\t\tgo? It'll take your minf offa things.\n\t\tAnd I won't make you dance. I\n\t\tpromise. Huh?\n\t\t\t(he nods his head in\n\t\t\tconsent. JEZZIE hugs\n\t\t\thim)\n\t\tYou still love me, Jake?\n\nHe nods his head again, only heavily, as though the question exhausts \nhim.\n\n\n<b>INT. BELLVUE HOSPITAL - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB is in the \"Mental Health Clinic\" at BELLVUE HOSPITAL walking \nthrough the PSYCHIATRIC EMERGENCY ROOM. It is overflowing with people. \nSome are handcuffed to their chairs. POLICEMEN are with them. JACOB \napproaches the main RECEPTION DESK. He speaks nervously.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'd like to speak to Dr. Carlson,\n\t\tplease.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\tCarlson? Is he new here?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNew? He's been here for years.\n\nShe shrugs and looks at a log book.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\tNot according to my charts. Do you\n\t\thave an appointment?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(shaking his head)\n\t\tLook, I need to see him. I know where\n\t\this room is. Just give me a pass. I\n\t\twon't be long. Ten minutes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\tOur doctors are seen by appointment\n\t\tonly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDamn it. I was in the veteran's out-\n\t\tpatient program. He knows me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\t\t(not happy)\n\t\tWhat's your name?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJacob Singer.\n\nShe walks over to a file drawer and goes through it several times \nbefore coming back over to JACOB.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\tI'm sorry but there's no record of a\n\t\tJacob Singer in our files.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhataya mean, no record?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\tYou want me to spell it out? There's\n\t\tnothing here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThat's ridiculous. I've been coming\n\t\there for years. Listen to me. I'm\n\t\tgoing out of my fucking mind here. I\n\t\tneed to see him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\tIf this is an emergency we have a\n\t\tstaff of psychiatric social workers.\n\t\tThere's about an hour's wait. I'll be\n\t\tglad to take your name. Why don't you\n\t\tjust fill out this form?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it! I don't want a social\n\t\tworker. Carlson knows me.\n\nJACOB pounds the desk, rattling a tiny African violet and knocking the \nRECEPTIONIST's forms to the floor. She grunts angrily and stoops to \nretrieve them. Standing up her cap hits a drawer handle and slips off. \nTWO KNUCKLE-LIKE HORNS protrude from her skull where the cap had been. \nJACOB's eyes lock on them like radar. He backs away. She immediately \nreplaces her cap and breaks the spell, but her eyes glare at him with \ndemonic intensity. JACOB, freaked, angry, turns and runs toward the \"In \nPatient\" door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRECEPTIONIST\n</b>\t\tHey! You can't go in there!\n\nJACOB doesn't stop. A POLICEMAN, guarding the entrance, runs after him.\n\n\nJACOB charges through the interior corridors of the aging institution. \nA LINE OF MENTAL PATIENTS, all holding hands, is moving down the hall. \nThey break ranks as he charges by and begin to scream. Their ATTENDANT \ntries to calm them down but the sight of the POLICEMAN increases their \nhysteria. They grab hold of him as he tries to get by.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPOLICEMAN\n</b><b>\t\tLET GO! GET AWAY!\n</b>\n\n<b>INT. GROUP ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB dashes out of view. He runs down another corridor, wildly \nsearching for a specific room. He finds it and rushes inside. He is \nsurprised to find A GROUP OF MEN AND WOMEN seated in a circle. They all \nlook up at him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLEADER\n</b>\t\tCan I help you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm looking for Dr. Carlson. Isn't\n\t\tthis his office?\n\nThe LEADER stares at him uncomfortably. After a moment he gets up and \ntakes JACOB into a corner of the room. Everyone is watching them. The \nLEADER speaks quietly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLEADER\n</b>\t\tI'm so sorry. Obviously you haven't\n\t\t... Dr. Carlson died.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(stunned)\n\t\tDied?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLEADER\n</b>\t\tA car accident.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJesus, Jesus! ... When?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLEADER\n</b>\t\tLast month, before Thanksgiving.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHow did it happen?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLEADER\n</b>\t\tNo one knows. They say it blew up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(growing pale)\n\t\tBlew up? What do you mean it blew up?\n\nThe LEADER shrugs and tries to put his arm around JACOB, but he pulls \naway.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLEADER\n</b>\t\tDo you want me to get someone?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. No. It's okay. I'm okay.\n\nHe backs quickly to the door. As he turns to leave he realizes that all \nof the PEOPLE in the group are watching him intently.\n\n\nUnsettled, JACOB hurries back into the hallway. He is frightened and \nconfused. Suddenly a voice calls out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPOLICEMAN\n</b><b>\t\tHEY YOU! MAILMAN!\n</b>\nJACOB turns and sees the POLICEMAN waiting for him. His gun is drawn.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPOLICEMAN\n</b>\t\tHold it. Just hold it. Where the hell\n\t\tdo you think you are? This is\n\t\tBellevue, for God's sake. People\n\t\trunning around here get shot.\n\nThe GROUP LEADER pokes his head out of the door and motions to the \n<b>POLICEMAN.\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tLEADER\n</b>\t\tIt's alright. He's okay.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPOLICEMAN\n</b>\t\t\t(nodding, reholstering\n\t\t\this gun)\n\t\tCome on, get out of here. I wouldn't\n\t\twant to interfere with the U.S. Mail.\n\nHe leads JACOB toward the lobby. JACOB does not look back.\n\n\n<b>INT. DELLA'S APT. - NIGHT\n</b>\nWE HEAR LOUD DANCE MUSIC. SLY AND THE FAMILY STONE. JACOB is with some \nPOST OFFICE EMPLOYEES at a crowded party in a small apartment. A DRUNK \nis telling a bad joke and trying to hold a glass of wine at the same \ntime. It is constantly on the verge of spilling. JACOB is fixated on \nit. In the background, we see JEZZIE dancing and motioning for JACOB to \njoin her. He nods no. The DRUNK, who keeps asking people if they \"get \nit,\" takes JACOB's head nodding as a sign of confusion and keeps trying \nto re-explain the joke.\n\nJACOB hears a strange noise and looks around. It seems to be coming \nfrom a covered bird cage. He goes over to it and lifts the cover. The \nBIRD is flapping its wings wildly as if trying to get out. The sound, \nloud and insistent, startles him. He lowers the cover.\n\nIn the DINING ROOM, several people are gathered around ELSA, an \nattractive black woman who is reading palms. She sees JACOB and calls \nover the music.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELSA\n</b>\t\tHey, you! Let me look at your hand!\n\nJACOB shrugs. DELLA, dancing nearby, calls out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\tGo on Jake. She reads 'em like a\n\t\tbook.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo, thanks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\tIt's fun.\n\nCUT TO A CLOSE UP OF JACOB'S HAND. ELSA is squeezing the mounds and \nexamining the lines. What begins as a playful expression on her face \nturns suddenly serious. She reaches for his other hand and compares the \ntwo of them. JEZZIE looks over from her dancing and eyes the scene \njealously.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELSA\n</b>\t\tYou have an unusual hand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI could have told you that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELSA\n</b>\t\tYou see this line here? It's your\n\t\tlife line. Here's where you were\n\t\tborn. And this is where you got\n\t\tmarried. You're a married man, huh?\n\t\tOh oh. Nope. Divorce. See this split.\n\nShe studies his life line with growing concern. JEZZIE tries to get \nJACOB's attention. He ignores her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELSA\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tYou know, you got a strange line\n\t\there.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(examining it)\n\t\tIt's short, huh?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELSA\n</b>\t\tShort? It's ended.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(laughing)\n\t\tOh, terrific.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELSA\n</b>\t\tIt's not funny. According to this ...\n\t\tyou're already dead.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling)\n\t\tJust my luck.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tCUT TO:\n</b>\nTHE DANCERS. Their movements are loose and getting looser. The music is \nstrong and insistent. The smokey atmosphere disfigures the dancers and \ngives them a strange, distorted appearance. Suddenly JEZZIE breaks from \nthe crowd and reaches for JACOB. He pulls away. Some of the MALE \nDANCERS call out to him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDANCERS\n</b>\t\tCome on man, show your stuff.\n\nJACOB is easily intimidated. Relenting, he glares at JEZZIE and nods \napologetically to ELSA. It is obvious that he is embarrassed at his \ninadequacy on the dance floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tCome on professor. You got feet, too.\n\nJACOB tries to smile but it is pained and unconvincing. JEZZIE is \nplaying with him, mimicking his movement. A number of DANCERS notice \nand laugh, which only increases his discomfort. JEZZIE's taunting has a \nstrange effect on JACOB. He grows distant and withdrawn, even though \nhis body is still going through the motions of the dance.\n\nA MAN taps JEZZIE on the shoulder. She spins around, smiling, and \nbegins dancing with him. JACOB is left alone, dancing by himself. He \nlooks away, uncomfortable.\n\nIn the shadows a WOMAN kneels close to the floor. She seems to be \nurinating on the carpet. JACOB is shocked. Several DANCERS obscure his \nview. He turns around.\n\nA PREGNANT WOMAN stands half naked in the kitchen. JACOB cannot believe \nwhat he sees.\n\nIn the next room, past JEZZIE, JACOB glimpses a terrifying image, a MAN \nwhose head seems to be vibrating at such enormous speed that it has \nlost all definition. Something about the image compels and frightens \nJACOB. Slowly he approaches it. As he draws nearer to it the tortured \nimage lets out a scream of such pain and unearthly terror that JACOB \nbacks away.\n\nA WOMAN, laughing, grabs JACOB, spins him around, and begins dancing \nwith him. He is totally disoriented.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tHold me, baby!\n\nShe takes JACOB's arm and guides it to her back. THE CAMERA follows his \nhand as it reaches the smooth skin beneath her sexy, loose fitting \ndress. He runs his fingers up to her shoulder blades. Then, suddenly, \nhe recoils. Her back is a mass of shoulder blades, hundreds of strange, \nbony protrusions. JACOB gasps. Out of the blue, JEZZIE leans into him \nand wiggles her tongue in his ear. JACOB, startled, jerks his head and \nhis glasses go flying to the floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShit!\n\nHe stoops down blindly to pick them up. Shoes just miss his fingers as \nhe digs between dancing legs trying to recover them. Miraculously, he \ngrabs the spectacles just before they are crushed and slips them back \non. Instantly his world comes back into focus.\n\nAs he stands, JACOB is surprised to find JEZZIE facing him, gyrating in \nwild abandon. There is a huge, satisfied smile on her face. She grabs \nhis hand as if encouraging him to dance but it is obvious that she is \ndancing to her own rhythm. JACOB stares at her, confused. It takes him \na moment to realize that her smile is not for him.\n\nStanding behind JEZZIE is another DANCER, his hands around her waist. \nThey are moving together, locked in erotic embrace. It appears that he \nis mounting her from behind. Looking down we see that the DANCER's feet \nare deformed. They have a bizarre clubbed appearance and look very much \nlike hooves. They skid and careen amidst the dancing feet.\n\nSomething horrible and winglike flaps behind JEZZIE's back. We cannot \nmake out what it is, but it elicits a primal terror. Before JACOB can \nreact, JEZZIE opens her mouth. With a roaring sound, a spiked horn \nerupts from her throat. It juts menacingly from between her teeth and \nthrusts into the air. A CIRCLE OF DANCERS scream out in excited \napproval.\n\nCUT TO JACOB's face as it registers terror and disbelief. He stares at \nthe DANCERS who are crowding around him. They have become perverse, \ncorrupt aspects of their normal selves.\n\nJACOB grabs his eyes as though trying to pull the vision from his head \nbut it won't go away. The music throbs. His actions become spastic, \nalmost delirious.\n\nJACOB is out of control. His frenzy becomes a kind of exorcism, a \ndesperate attempt to free himself from his body and his mind. WE MOVE \nIN ON HIM as his eyes pass beyond pain. The dark walls of the APARTMENT \nfade away.\n\n\n<b>EXT. VIETNAM - NIGHT\n</b>\nStrange faces in infantry helmets appear in the darkness, outlined by a \nbright moon that is emerging from behind a cloud. The faces are looking \ndown and voices are speaking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tHe's burning up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tTotal delirium.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tThat's some gash. His guts keep\n\t\tspilling out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tPush 'em back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tHelp me!\n\nHis eyes focus on the moon. Rings of light emenate from it filling the \nsky with their sparkling brilliance. The rings draw us forward with a \nquickening intensity that grows into exhilarating speed. The rush \ncauses them to flash stroboscopically and produces a dazzling, almost \nsensual, surge of color. The display is spectacular and compelling.\n\nMusic can be heard in the distance, growing hard and insistent, like a \nheart beat. Heavy breathing accompanies the sound. The stroboscopic \nflashes are replaced by intense flashes of red and blue light. The \nmusic grows louder and reaches a thundering crescendo. Then silence.\n\n\n<b>INT. DELLA'S APT. - NIGHT\n</b>\nThe APARTMENT reappears in all its normalcy. The neon sign is still \nflashing outside the window. DANCERS are smiling and sweating.\n\nCheers and applause ring out for JACOB and JEZZIE but JACOB barely \nhears them. JEZZIE hugs him tightly. PEOPLE smack him on the back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tADMIRER\n</b>\t\tYou are out of your mind, man. Out of\n\t\tyour fuckin' mind.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tJake, you little devil. You never\n\t\ttold me you could dance like that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tJezzie, what did you put in his\n\t\tdrink?\n\nJEZZIE smiles while pulling JACOB to a corner chair. He plops down. His \nchest is heaving and he is grabbing hold of his stomach. Hie face is \nfrightened and distorted.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou okay?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI wanna leave. Get me out of here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tOh, come on. It's early.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(pulling JEZZIE close to\n\t\t\thim, his voice filled\n\t\t\twith paranoia)\n\t\tWhere are we?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(surprised by the\n\t\t\tquestion)\n\t\tWe're at Della's.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat do you mean? Where do you think?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere's Della? Bring her here?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhy? What for?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShow me Della!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(confused)\n\t\tHey, I'm here.\n\nJACOB eyes her with a pleading look. Annoyed, JEZZIE leaves JACOB and \ncrosses the room. He watches her as she goes. JACOB is holding his \nstomach and rocking painfully. Moments later JEZZIE returns with DELLA.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\tHiya Jake. That was some dance.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(staring at her closely)\n\t\tDella?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\t\t(feeling the\n\t\t\tstrangeness)\n\t\tYou want to see me? Well, here I am.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI see.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\tWhat do you want?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJust to see you. That's all.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\t\t(a bit uncomfortable)\n\t\tWell, how do I look?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLike Della.\n\nSuddenly JACOB breaks out in a dense sweat and begins shaking. His \nentire body is convulsive.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tAre you feeling all right? Shit,\n\t\tyou're burning up. Feel his forehead.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\t\t(checking his forehead\n\t\t\tand cheeks)\n\t\tDamn, that's hot. Maybe from dancing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI think you should lie down.\n\nJACOB is shaking uncontrollably. People are gathering around.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tCan't you stop it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIf I could stop it, I'd stop it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tIs he sick?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDELLA\n</b>\t\tHe's on fire.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELSA\n</b>\t\tLet me help you.\n\nShe reaches out to JACOB. Unexpectedly he recoils, jumping to his feet \nlike a wild man. He begins to scream.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tStay away from me! Don't you come\n\t\tnear me! All of you. Go to hell! Go\n\t\tto hell, goddamn you! Stay away!\n\nJEZZIE stares at JACOB with a confused and embarrassed look. A MAN \nwhispers to her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tI'll call a cab.\n\n\n<b>INT. JACOB'S APT. - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB is lying in bed in his own BEDROOM with a thermometer in his \nmouth. JEZZIE is pacing the floor with great agitation.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI've never been so mortified in my\n\t\twhole life. Never! Screaming like\n\t\tthat. I don't understand what's\n\t\tgotten into you, Jake, to make you do\n\t\ta thing like that. You're not acting\n\t\tnormal. I've lived with too many\n\t\tcrazies in my life. I don't want it\n\t\tanymore. I can't handle it. I'm tired\n\t\tof men flipping out on me. Shit,\n\t\tyou'd think it was my fault. Well you\n\t\tpicked me, remember that. I don't\n\t\tneed this.\n\nThe NEIGHBOR pounds on the wall.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tAll right! All right!\n\nJEZZIE jabs her finger at the wall.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tIf you go crazy on me you're goin'\n\t\tcrazy by yourself. You understand?\n\nJEZZIE reaches for his mouth and pulls out the thermometer. She looks \nat it closely and then squints to see it better.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat's it say? A hundred and two?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI don't believe this. I'm calling the\n\t\tdoctor.\n\nShe runs out of the room. JACOB calls after her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat does it say?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tIt's gone to the top.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHow high is that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tThe numbers stop at 107.\n\nJEZZIE is on the phone to the doctor in the next room.\n\nJACOB begins shaking again and reaches for the extra blanket at the \nfoot of the bed. He pulls it up around his shoulders. The whole bed \nvibrates with his shivering. Suddenly JEZZIE rushes through the BEDROOM \nand into the BATHROOM. SHe turns on the bath water.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat the hell are you doin'?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tGet your clothes off.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat are you talking about? I'm\n\t\tfreezing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tGet your clothes off!\n\nJACOB gives her a confused look as she rushes back to the KITCHEN.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat'd the doctor say?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tThat you'd die on the way to the\n\t\thospital. Now get into that tub.\n\nJACOB stares at her as she bursts back into the BEDROOM carrying four \ntrays of ice cubes. She hurries into the BATHROOM and dumps them in the \ntub.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tHe's coming right over.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tComing here?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it. Get in here. I can't\n\t\tstand around waiting.\n\nShe rushes out of the BATHROOM and pulls JACOB out of bed. He is \nshaking violently and she has difficulty navigating across the room and \nundressing him at the same time. She maneuvers him into the BATHROOM \nnext to the tub. He looks down at the ice cubes floating in the water.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou're out of your mind. I'm not\n\t\tgetting in there. I'd rather die.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tThat's your decision.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLook at me. I'm ice cold.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou're red hot, damn it. Get in\n\t\tthere. I've got to get more ice.\n\nShe runs out of the room. The door to the apartment slams shut. JACOB \nsticks his toe into the water and pulls it out again instantly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh Jesus!\n\nHe sticks his whole foot in and grits his teeth as the ice cold water \nturns his foot bright red. He keeps it in as long as he can and then \nyanks it out, quickly wrapping it in a towel. JACOB rubs his foot \nvigorously to get rid of the sting and stares at the water, afraid of \nits pain.\n\n\n<b>INT. CORRIDOR - NIGHT\n</b>\nJEZZIE is running up and down the CORRIDOR knocking on doors and \ncollecting ice cubes from those who will answer. She hurries back to \nthe BATHROOM with several PEOPLE behind her carrying additional ice \ntrays. One of the MEN is shifting the trays in his hands to avoid the \nburning cold.\n\n\n<b>INT. JACOB'S BATHROOM\n</b>\nAs JEZZIE enters the BATHROOM, JACOB is sitting on the rim of the tub \nwith the water up to his calves, shivering vigorously.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI can't do it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat kind of man are you?\n\nShe unloads two trays into the water.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDon't gimme that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tLie down!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(pleading)\n\t\tJezzie! My feet are throbbing!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(calling out)\n\t\tSam, Tony, come in here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHey, I'm not dressed.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSAM\n</b>\t\tYou got nothin' we ain't seen before.\n\nSAM and TONY grab hold of JACOB who wrestles to get away.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGet the hell off me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTONY\n</b>\t\tHe's like a hot coal.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSAM\n</b>\t\tIt's for your own good, Jake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLet go of me, you sons of bitches.\n\nThe TWO MEN struggle with JACOB and force him into the water. TONY \nwinces when the water hits his arm. JACOB nearly flies out of the tub. \nThe TWO MEN fight to hold him down. JACOB screams and cries for the MEN \nto let him go but they keep him flat on his back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tI'm freezing! I'm freezing! Goddamn\n\t\tyou!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTONY\n</b>\t\t\t(his hand turning red)\n\t\tSam, I can't take it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSAM\n</b>\t\tDon't you let go.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTONY\n</b>\t\tJez, get help. My hands are killing\n\t\tme.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHelp me! Help me!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(to TONY)\n\t\tHere. I'll do it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTONY\n</b>\t\tTake his legs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSAM\n</b>\t\tRun your hands under hot water.\n\nMRS. CARMICHAEL comes in.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMRS. CARMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tI have some ice from the machine.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tBring it in.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMRS. CARMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tIs he all right?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHe doesn't like it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMRS. CARMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tI don't blame him. What should I do\n\t\twith the ice?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tPour it in.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMRS. CARMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tOn top of him?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHe's melting it as fast as we dump it\n\t\tin.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMRS. CARMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tOkay. My husband's got two more bags.\n\t\tHe's coming. They're heavy.\n\nTONY helps her pour the ice into the water. JACOB yells.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh God! You're killing me! Stop!\n\n\n<b>INT. A BEDROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\nCUT TO JACOB lying in a BEDROOM we have not seen before. He is tossing \nand turning in his bed as though struggling to get out. Suddenly he \nsits up and looks over at the window. It is open and the shade is \nflapping. Cold air is blowing in and he is shivering.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDamn! You and your fresh air.\n\nHe jumps out of bed and goes over to the window. He pushes at the frame \nand it comes flying down with a loud bang. A woman in the bed sits up. \nIt is SARAH.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tWhat was that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt's freezing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tI'm not cold.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOf course not. You have all the\n\t\tblankets. It must be ten degrees in\n\t\there. I'm telling you, Sarah, if you\n\t\twant to sleep with fresh air, you\n\t\tsleep on the fire escape. From now on\n\t\tthat window is closed.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tIt's not healthy with it closed.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThis is healthy? I'll probably die of\n\t\tpneumonia tomorrow and this is\n\t\thealthy.\n\nHe settles back into bed and pulls the covers back over to his side. He \nlies quietly for a moment, thinking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWhat a dream I was having. I was\n\t\tliving with another woman ... You\n\t\tknow who it was?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tI don't want to know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJezebel, from the post office. You\n\t\tremember, you met her that time at\n\t\tthe Christmas party. I was living\n\t\twith her. God, it was a nightmare.\n\t\tThere were all these demons and I was\n\t\ton fire. Only I was burning from ice.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tGuilty thoughts. See what happens\n\t\twhen you cheat on me, even in your\n\t\tmind?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShe was good in bed, though.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tGo to sleep.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShe had these real beefy thighs.\n\t\tDelicious.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tI thought you said it was a\n\t\tnightmare?\n\nSuddenly, out of nowhere, we hear the tinkling sound of a music box. A \nYOUNG BOY enters the room, carrying a musical LUNCH BOX in his arms. He \nis wearing a long T-shirt nearly down to his ankles. We recognize him \nfrom his photograph. It is GABE.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tDaddy, what was that noise?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(surprised to see him)\n\t\tGabe?\n\t\t\t(he stares curiously at\n\t\t\this son)\n\t\tWhat are you doing ... ?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tThere was a bang.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt was the window.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tIt's cold.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tTell your mother.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tMom, it's ...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tI heard you. Go back to sleep.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tWill you tuck me in?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\t\t(not happily)\n\t\tOh ... all right.\n\nShe starts to rise. JACOB stops her and gets up instead. He whisks GABE \nupside down and carries him into his\n\n\n<b>GABE'S BEDROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\nBEDROOM, licking his belly and tickling him all the way. GABE laughs \nand snuggles into his pillow as soon as he hits the bed. JED, 9, and \nELI, 7, are both in bunk beds across the room. JED looks up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJED\n</b>\t\tDad?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJed. It's the middle of the night.\n\t\t\t(he kisses GABE and goes\n\t\t\tover to JED in the lower\n\t\t\tbunk)\n\t\tWhat's up?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJED\n</b>\t\tYou forgot my allowance.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYour allowance? It's five A.M. We'll\n\t\ttalk at breakfast.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJED\n</b>\t\tOkay, but don't forget.\n\nSuddenly another voice pipes in from the top bunk.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELI\n</b>\t\tI love you, Dad.\n\nJACOB smiles.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat is this, a convention? I love\n\t\tyou, too, Pickles. Now go back to\n\t\tsleep.\n\nHe turns to leave.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tWait ... Daddy.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNow what?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tDon't go.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDon't go?\n\t\t\t(he smiles)\n\t\tI'm not going anywhere. I'm right\n\t\there, Gabe.\n\t\t\t(he looks at his son\n\t\t\ttenderly)\n\t\tCome on, go back to sleep. You can\n\t\tstill get a couple of hours.\n\nHe hugs him warmly and then walks to the door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\t... I love you.\n\nThere is deep emotion and seriousness in GABE's words. JACOB is struck \nby them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tDon't shut the door.\n\nJACOB nods and leaves it a tiny bit ajar.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tA bit more ... a bit more.\n\nJACOB adjusts the opening enough to please GABE and make him secure. \nGABE smiles and cuddles in his bed.\n\n\n<b>INT. SARAH'S BEDROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB settles back into bed. SARAH turns over and gets comfortable. \nJACOB lies on his back facing the ceiling. He pulls the blankets up to \nhis neck. He is overcome with feelings of sadness and longing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI love you, Sarah.\n\nShe smiles warmly. His eyes close and in a matter of seconds he is back \nasleep.\n\n\n<b>EXT. VIETNAM - PRE DAWN\n</b>\nWE HEAR SUMMER MORNING SOUNDS, CRICKETS and BIRDS. The image of trees \nmaterializes overhead and a beautiful pink sky, just before sunrise, \ncan be seen through the branches. It is an idyllic setting.\n\nSuddenly a strange sound can be heard in the distance, a metallic \nhumming, growing louder. There is a scramble of feet and a sound of \nheavy boots moving through the tall grass. Voices can be heard. Men's \nvoices.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tThey're here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tThank God. Move 'em out!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICES\n</b>\t\tBust your balls!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tMove it! Move it!\n\nThere is an instant swell of activity. Trees and branches blur and \nspeed by overhead. The idyllic image of moments before reveals itself \nas a P.O.V. SHOT. The CAMERA races out of a JUNGLE covering and into a \nhuge CLEARING.\n\nHigh overhead a helicopter appears. Its blades whirl with a deafening \nwhine. Long lines drop from its belly and dangle in mid-air. SOLDIERS \nleap up into the air reaching for them. The air is filled with \nturbulence. Tarps fly off dead bodies. SOLDIERS hold them down. Voices \nyell but the words are not clear. They are filled with urgency.\n\nThe CAMERA leaves the ground. The edges of the sky disappear as the \nhelicopter's gray mass fills the frame. It grows larger and darker as \nthe CAMERA approaches. Rivets and insignias dotting the underbelly come \ninto view. Suddenly the stretcher begins spinning, out of control. \nHands emerge from inside, reaching out to grab it.\n\nWatery, womb-like sounds rise out of nowhere, the rippling of water, a \nheart beating. Gradually voices can be heard mumbling; distant sounds, \nwarm and familiar.\n\n\n<b>INT. BATHROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB's DOCTOR reaches down to help him out of the tub. Surprisingly \nJEZZIE and MRS. CARMICHAEL are standing there too. JACOB stares at them \nin total confusion.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOCTOR\n</b>\t\tYou are a lucky man, my friend. A\n\t\tlucky man. You must have friends in\n\t\thigh places, that's all I can say.\n\nSAM and TONY appear next to the DOCTOR. They are extending their hands \nto the P.O.V. CAMERA. JACOB'S arms, nearly blue, reach out to them.\n\nSlowly they lift him from the icy water. JACOB takes one step onto the \ntile and collapses to the floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tCUT TO BLACK:\n</b>\n\n<b>INT. JACOB'S BEDROOM - DAY\n</b>\nFADE IN sounds of feet shuffling across the carpet. A glass rattles on \na tray. A television is on low in the background. Slowly the CAMERA \nLENS opens from JACOB's P.O.V. and we see JEZZIE puttering around the \nBEDROOM. Suddenly she is aware that JACOB is watching her. She smiles.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake.\n\t\t\t(she places her hand on\n\t\t\this head and strokes his\n\t\t\thair)\n\t\tYou're gonna be all right, Jake.\n\t\tYou're gonna be fine.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tAm I home?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou're here. Home. The doctor said\n\t\tyou're lucky your brains didn't boil.\n\t\t\t(she smiles)\n\t\tWhat a night, Jake. It was crazy. You\n\t\tkept sayin' \"Sarah, close the\n\t\twindow,\" over and over. And talkin'\n\t\tto your kids. Even the dead one.\n\t\tWeird. You know you melted 200 pounds\n\t\tof ice in 8 hours. Amazing, huh?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tAre we in Brooklyn?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou're right here, Jake. You just\n\t\trest.\n\t\t\t(she puffs up his\n\t\t\tpillow)\n\t\tThe doctor said you had a virus.\n\t\tThat's what they say when they don't\n\t\tknow what it is. You can't do\n\t\tanything for a week. He says you\n\t\tgotta recuperate.\n\t\t\t(she strokes his\n\t\t\tforehead, and gets up)\n\t\tNow you just lie here. Mrs. Sandelman\n\t\tmade you some chicken soup. It'll\n\t\twarm you up.\n\nJEZZIE leaves the room. JACOB watches her as she goes. He seems lost \nand confused.\n\n\n<b>INT. JACOB'S KITCHEN - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB, unshaven, wearing his bathrobe, is sitting at the KITCHEN TABLE. \nPILES OF BOOKS on demonology are spread out before him. He studies them \nto distraction. JEZZIE is standing by the counter making sandwiches. \nShe wraps them in plastic Baggies and puts one in a lunch box, another \nin the refrigerator. She is dressed in her postal uniform.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou know, you really ought to get out\n\t\ttoday. You can't just sit around like\n\t\tthis all the time. It's not healthy.\n\t\tIt's not good for your mind. Go take\n\t\ta walk, or somethin'. Go to a movie.\n\t\tChrist, who's gonna know? You think I\n\t\tcare? I don't give a shit. Go. Enjoy\n\t\tyourself. One of us should be having\n\t\ta good time.\n\t\t\t(JEZZIE knocks on\n\t\t\tJACOB's head)\n\t\tHello! Anybody home?\n\t\t\t(she looks in his ear)\n\t\tAnybody in there?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat?\n\nJEZZIE just stares at him. She does not respond. JACOB returns to his \nbooks.\n\nCUT TO CLOSE UP IMAGES OF WINGED DEMONS, real demons, with spindly \nhorns and long tails. JACOB's huge finger, magnified, scans page after \npage of ancient images and archaic text. JEZZIE, enraged at his lack of \nattention, returns to packing her lunch box. Suddenly she spins around.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it! I can't stand it anymore.\n\t\tI've had it up to here. Go ahead and\n\t\trot if you want ... You son-of-a-\n\t\tbitch, I'm talking to you.\n\nCUT BACK to the DEMONS. Suddenly a crashing sound catches JACOB's \nattention as a KITCHEN POT flies by his head. He looks up to see JEZZIE \nknocking pots and pans off the kitchen counter and kicking them wildly \nacross the room. The noise is terrible. The intensity of her rage is \nshocking. The pots crash into every surface, knocking all his books \nonto the floor. And then, suddenly, she stops.\n\nJEZZIE stoops down to the floor and picks up her sandwich, stuffs it \nback in its plastic Baggie, and puts it back in her lunch box. She is \nabout to leave when she stops and looks at JACOB.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing, her anger\n\t\t\tin check)\n\t\tI made you a tuna fish sandwich. It's\n\t\tin the fridge. Eat a carrot with it.\n\t\tThe aspirin's on the bottom shelf.\n\t\tWe're out of soap so, if for some\n\t\treason you decide to wash yourself\n\t\tagain, use the dishwashing stuff.\n\t\t\t(she walks out of the\n\t\t\troom and returns with\n\t\t\ther coat)\n\t\tI'm sorry I yelled, but you get on my\n\t\tnerves.\n\t\t\t(she bends down and\n\t\t\tmakes eye contact with\n<b>\t\t\tJACOB)\n</b>\t\tHello? Listen, I gotta go.\n\nJEZZIE sits on his lap, gives him a big kiss, and then, unexpectedly, \nraises two fingers, like horns, over her head. The gesture catches \nJACOB's full attention.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tLook, I'm horny. Keep it in mind.\n\t\t\t(she kisses his cheek)\n\t\tLove me a little?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(speaking with\n\t\t\taffection)\n\t\tYou are the most unbelievable woman I\n\t\thave ever met. One second you're a\n\t\tscreaming banshee and the next you're\n\t\tFlorence Nightingale. Who are you?\n\t\tThat's what I want to know. Will the\n\t\treal Jezzie Pipkin please stand up.\n\nSuddenly the telephone rings. It startles them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tOh shit. Tell 'em I've left.\n\nJEZZIE grabs her jacket and shoves her arm in it upside down. A \npocketful of change falls on the floor. JACOB smiles. JEZZIE curses as \nshe struggles to pick it up and get the jacket on right. JACOB gets the \nphone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHello.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tJacob Singer?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tSpeaking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tPaul Gruneger!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tPaul Gruneger! Well I'll be\n\t\tgoddamned!\n\nJACOB indicates it's for him. JEZZIE throws him a kiss goodbye and \nhurries out the door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tPaul! You son-of-a-bitch, how the\n\t\thell are you? I haven't seen you in\n\t\twhat, five, six, years?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tA long time.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJesus Christ. How've you been? What's\n\t\thappening in your life?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tNothin' much.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tMe neither. Nothing too exciting. So\n\t\ttell me, to what do I owe the honor?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tI need to see you, Jake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShit, Paul. I'd love to see you. But\n\t\tI'm kind of laid up here. I've been\n\t\tsick.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tI need to see you.\n\n\n<b>INT. PAUL'S CAR - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and PAUL are driving through EAST NEW YORK heading toward \nWILLIAMSBURG. The elevated trains rumble above them. JACOB pats PAUL on \nthe back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJesus, man, you look terrific. You\n\t\tmust have put on twenty pounds.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tI work in a bakery.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou're lucky. How many vets you know\n\t\tare even employed?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tCount 'em on one hand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt's almost like a conspiracy, huh?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tNo joke. Fuckin' army! That goddamn\n\t\twar. I'm still fightin' it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt's not worth it. You'll never win.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tYou tellin' me? How many times can\n\t\tyou die, huh?\n\nPAUL looks in his rear view mirror before changing lanes. He sees a \nblack car tagging close behind him. He pulls out. So does the car.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tStill married, Jake?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNope.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tYou and everybody else. God I hate\n\t\tthis area. Makes me nervous.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhy the hell we drivin' here?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tI just need to talk.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou can't talk in Brownsville?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tI'm not sure where I can talk\n\t\tanymore.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat's wrong?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tLet's get a couple drinks, okay?\n\t\t\t(he looks at his rear\n\t\t\tview mirror)\n\t\tHey, take a look behind us. Do you\n\t\tthink that car is followin' us?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(turning to look)\n\t\tThat black car?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tPull the mirror down on the sun\n\t\tvisor.\n\t\t\t(JACOB does)\n\t\tJust watch 'em.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat's goin' on Paul?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tI don't know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou in trouble?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tYeah.\n\nJACOB notices PAUL's left arm. It is shaking. The black car passes on \nthe left. Both PAUL and JACOB stare at it as it speeds by.\n\n\n<b>INT. BAR - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and PAUL are sitting in a dark booth in an obscure WILLIAMSBURG \nBAR. It is nearly empty. PAUL is leaning across the table in a very \nintimate fashion.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tSomethin's wrong, Jake. I don't know\n\t\twhat it is but I can't talk to\n\t\tanybody about it. I figured I could\n\t\twith you. You always used to listen,\n\t\tyou know?\n\nJACOB nods. PAUL takes a sip of his drink and stares deliberately into \nJACOB's eyes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tI'm going to Hell!\n\nJACOB's face grows suddenly tense.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tThat's as straight as I can put it.\n\t\tAnd don't tell me that I'm crazy\n\t\t'cause I know I'm not. I'm goin' to\n\t\tHell. They're comin' after me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(frightened, but holding\n\t\t\tback)\n\t\tWho is?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tThey've been followin' me. They're\n\t\tcomin' outta the walls. I don't trust\n\t\tanyone. I'm not even sure I trust\n\t\tyou. But I gotta talk to someone. I'm\n\t\tgonna fly outta my fuckin' mind.\n\nPAUL cannot contain his fear. He jumps up suddenly and walks away from \nthe booth. JACOB follows him with his eyes but does not go after him. A \nYOUNG MAN in the next booth observes the scene with interest. He looks \nvaguely familiar, like we have seen him before.\n\nPAUL stares out the window for a moment and then walks over to the juke \nbox. He pulls a quarter out of his pocket and drops it in the slot. His \nfinger pushes a selection at random. Some '60's rock hit blares out. \nJACOB's mind is reeling by the time PAUL sits back down.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tSorry. Sometimes I think I'm just\n\t\tgonna jump outta my skin. They're\n\t\tjust drivin' me wild.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho, Paul? What exactly ... ?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tI don't know who they are, or what\n\t\tthey are. But they're gonna get me\n\t\tand I'm scared, Jake. I'm so scared I\n\t\tcan't do anything. I can't go to my\n\t\tsisters. I can't even go home.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhy not?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tThey're waitin' for me, that's why.\n\nPAUL's hand starts to shake. The tremor spreads rapidly to his whole \nbody. The booth begins to rattle.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tI can't stop it. I try. Oh God! Help\n\t\tme Jake.\n\nJACOB slides quickly out of his side of the booth and moves in toward \nPAUL. He puts his arm around him and holds him tightly, offering \ncomfort as best he can.\n\nPAUL is obviously terrified and grateful for JACOB's gesture. A few \nPEOPLE at the bar look over in their direction.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt's okay, Paul. It's okay.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\t\t(crying)\n\t\tI don't know what to do.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDon't do anything.\n\t\t\t(PAUL begins to relax a\n\t\t\tbit and the shaking\n\t\t\tsubsides)\n\t\tPaul, I know what you're talking\n\t\tabout.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tWhat do you mean?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI've seen them too ... the demons!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\t\t(staring at JACOB)\n\t\tYou've seen them?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tEverywhere, like a plague.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tGod almighty. I thought I was the\n\t\tonly one.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tMe, too. I had no idea. It's like I\n\t\twas coming apart at the seams.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tOh God. I know. I know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat is it Paul? What's happening to\n\t\tme?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tThey keep telling me I'm already\n\t\tdead, that they're gonna tear me\n\t\tapart, piece by piece, and throw me\n\t\tinto the fire.\n\t\t\t(he fumbles in his coat\n\t\t\tpocket and pulls out a\n\t\t\tsmall Bible and silver\n\t\t\tcross)\n\t\tI carry these everywhere but they\n\t\tdon't help. Nothing helps. Everyone\n\t\tthinks I'm crazy. My mother filed a\n\t\treport with the army.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(stunned)\n\t\tThe army?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tShe said I haven't been the same\n\t\tsince then. Since that night. There's\n\t\tstill this big hole in my brain. It's\n\t\tso dark in there, Jake. And these\n\t\tcreatures. It's like they're crawling\n\t\tout of my brain. What happened that\n\t\tnight? Why won't they tell us?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know. I don't know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tThey're monsters, Jake. We're both\n\t\tseein' 'em. There's gotta be a\n\t\tconnection. Something.\n\nJACOB leans back in the booth, his mind racing. The YOUNG MAN in the \nnext booth is watching them with rapt attention.\n\n\n<b>INT. MEN'S ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nPAUL and JACOB are in the MEN'S ROOM. PAUL flushes the urinal.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tI'm afraid to go by myself anymore. I\n\t\tkeep thinkin' one of 'em's gonna come\n\t\tup behind me. Somethin's wrong when a\n\t\tguy can't even take a leak by\n\t\thimself. I've seen 'em take people\n\t\tright off the street. I used to go\n\t\thome a different way every night. Now\n\t\tI can't even go home.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou come home with me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tWhat about your girlfriend? You don't\n\t\tthink she'll mind?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tAre you kidding? We've put up more of\n\t\ther cousins. You wouldn't believe how\n\t\tthey breed down there.\n\nPAUL smiles.\n\n\n<b>EXT. BAR - DAY\n</b>\nThe TWO MEN leave the bar on a dingy side street. It is cold outside. \nChristmas lights seem ludicrous dangling in the bar's front window. \nPAUL looks at them and smiles.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tMerry Christmas.\n\nPAUL steps into the street and walks to the driver's side of his car. \nHe pulls out his keys and opens the door. JACOB looks down on the \nsidewalk and notices a dime.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddamn, this is my lucky day.\n\nHe bends down to pick it up. PAUL inserts the key into the ignition and \nsteps on the gas. He turns the key.\n\nTHE CAR EXPLODES. Pieces of metal and flesh fly into the air. JACOB \nsprawls out flat on the ground as the debris hurls above him. He covers \nhis head.\n\n\n<b>EXT. VIETNAM\n</b>\nCUT TO A HELICOPTER suffering an air bombardment. Flack is exploding \nall around it and the shock waves are rocking the craft violently. \nJACOB's eyes peer to the left.\n\nINFANTRY GUNNERS are firing rockets into the JUNGLE below. A pair of \nMEDICS are huddled over him. A sudden gush of arterial bleeding sends a \nstream of blood splattering over the inside of the windshield. The \nPILOT, unable to see, clears it away with his hands.\n\nJACOB screams over the roar of the chopper. One of the MEDICS presses \nhis ear close to JACOB to hear.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHelp me!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMEDIC\n</b>\t\tWe're doing the best we can.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGet me out of here!\n\n\n<b>EXT. BAR - DAY\n</b>\nTHE YOUNG MAN from the bar grabs JACOB under the arms and drags him \ndown the sidewalk.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG MAN\n</b>\t\tJust hold on.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere am I? Who are you?\n\nThe YOUNG MAN yanks JACOB around the corner just as another explosion \nconsumes the car. The air is filled with flames and flying debris. The \nYOUNG MAN pulls JACOB into the bar.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tYOUNG MAN\n</b>\t\tJust lie still. You're okay. You're\n\t\tnot hurt.\n\nThe CUSTOMERS are in a state of bedlam. Part of the wall has blown \napart and bricks and glass are everywhere. The cross from around PAUL's \nneck is buried in the debris. Sirens are heard in the distance. A BLACK \nCAR speeds off down the street. JACOB looks for the YOUNG MAN who had \nhelped him. He is gone.\n\n\n<b>EXT. FUNERAL PROCESSION - DAY\n</b>\nA FUNERAL PROCESSION heads down Ocean Parkway.\n\n\n<b>INT. JACOB'S CAR - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and JEZZIE are driving in an old Chevy Nova. They are dressed up. \nJACOB's face is bruised and he has a gauze pad over his ear. They drive \nin silence. JACOB appears very sad. Slowly his right hand reaches \nacross the seat, seeking JEZZIE's. Their fingers embrace.\n\n\n<b>EXT. CEMETERY - DAY\n</b>\nThe FUNERAL PROCESSION enters the CEMETERY. Cars park along the length \nof the narrow road. MEN IN DARK SUITS emerge from their cars along with \nWIVES and GIRLFRIENDS.\n\nThey are the SOLDIERS we have seen at the opening of the film, only \nthey are older now. A small group of FAMILY MEMBERS are helped to the \ngraveside.\n\nJACOB joins the other VETERANS as pallbearers. They carry the casket in \nsemi-military formation to the grave.\n\n\n<b>INT. PAUL'S LIVING ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB'S OLD ARMY BUDDIES are sitting together in Paul's living room, \ntalking. PAUL'S WIFE can be seen in the BEDROOM. Several WOMEN are \ncomforting her.\n\nJEZZIE is talking to a small group of LADIES in the DINING ROOM and \nnibbling off a tray of cold cuts. PAUL'S SISTER is with her and they \nseem to be having a lively, almost intimate, conversation.\n\nJACOB and his BUDDIES are drinking beer. They all have a tired, \ndefeated look about them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tDid anyone see the police report? It\n\t\tsounds like a detonation job to me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tThe paper said it was electrical; a\n\t\tfreak accident.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tBullshit. Someone's covering\n\t\tsomethin'. That was no accident.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tWhy do you say that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tCars don't explode that way. Any\n\t\tsimpleton knows that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tBut the paper ...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tThat was set. I'm tellin' you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tBy who? Why? Paul didn't have an\n\t\tenemy in the world.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tHow do you know?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tHey, you're talkin' about Paul. Who'd\n\t\twant to hurt him?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tWhat did he talk about when you guys\n\t\twent out? Did he say anything?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHe was upset. He thought people were\n\t\tfollowing him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tYou're kidding. Who?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHe didn't know ... Demons.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\t\t(obviously struck by the\n\t\t\tword)\n\t\tWhat do you mean, demons?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHe told me he was going to Hell.\n\nThe statement has a surprising impact on the group. There is immediate \nsilence and eyes averted from one another.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tWhat'd he say that for? What made him\n\t\tsay that? Strange, huh? Strange.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tWhat else did he say, Jake?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHe was scared. He saw these creatures\n\t\tcoming out of the woodwork. They were\n\t\ttryin' to get him, he said.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\t\t(his arm shaking)\n\t\tHow long had that been going on?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tA couple of weeks, I think.\n\nHe notices GEORGE's beer can rattling.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tHe say what they looked like?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. Not really ...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tExcuse me a minute. I'll be right\n\t\tback.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tIn one end, out the other, huh\n\t\tGeorge?\n\nGEORGE tries to smile as he hurries to the bathroom. His arm is nearly \nout of control and beer is spilling on the carpet as he walks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tStill a spastic, huh? I hope you can\n\t\thold your dick better than you hold\n\t\tthat can.\n\nNo one laughs. There is an uncomfortable silence.\n\n\n<b>EXT. A BACK ALLEY - DAY\n</b>\nThe SIX MEN are walking quietly through an unpaved alley. It is already \ngray and getting darker.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tI know what Paul was talking about. I\n\t\tdon't know how to say this ... but in\n\t\ta way it's a relief knowing that\n\t\tsomeone else saw them, too.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tYou're seeing ... ?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tThey're not human, I'll tell you\n\t\tthat. A car tried to run over me the\n\t\tother day. It was aiming straight for\n\t\tme. I saw their faces. They weren't\n\t\tfrom Brooklyn.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tWhat are you tellin' me? They're from\n\t\tthe Bronx?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tIt was no joke, Rod.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tSomething weird is going on here.\n\t\tWhat is it about us? Even in Nam it\n\t\twas always weird. Are we all crazy or\n\t\tsomething?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tYeah, ever since that ...\n\nHe hesitates. They all understand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tWhat's that have to do with anything?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tIt was bad grass. That's all it was.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tGrass never did that to me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tYou know, I've been to three shrinks\n\t\tand a hypnotist. Nothing penetrates\n\t\tthat night. Nothing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tIt's not worth goin' over again and\n\t\tagain. Whatever happened, happened.\n\t\tIt's over.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t... I've seen them, too.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tShit!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tSo have I.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLook, there's something fucking\n\t\tstrange going on here. You know\n\t\tPaul's not the only one who's died.\n\t\tYou remember Dr. Carlson over at\n\t\tBellevue? His car blew up, too.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tDr. Carlson's dead?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tAn explosion, just like Paul's.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tNo!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tJesus!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEORGE\n</b>\t\tYou think they're connected?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(he nods)\n\t\tI think something's fucking connect-\n\t\ted. I mean, a car tried to run me \n\t\tover the other day. Doug too, right? \n\t\tWe've got six guys here going fucking\n\t\tcrazy.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tNot me, buddy.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOkay, not you Rod. But the rest of us\n\t\tare flipping out for some goddamn\n\t\treason. They're tryin' to kill us.\n\t\tFuck it man, we need to find out\n\t\twhat's going on.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tDo you think it has something to do\n\t\twith ... the offensive?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt's got something to do with some-\n\t\tthing. I think we've got to confront\n\t\tthe army. If they're hiding shit from\n\t\tus, we better find out what it is.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tCome on, Professor. The army's not\n\t\tgonna give you any answers. You'll be\n\t\tbuttin' your head against a stone\n\t\twall.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tMaybe that's the only way to get\n\t\tthrough. Besides, six heads'll be\n\t\tbetter than one.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tNot my head, buddy. Not me. I'm\n\t\tgettin' a headache just listenin' to\n\t\tyou.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWe should get ourselves a lawyer.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tI say you should get a shrink.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tToo late. I've tried. I think you're\n\t\tright, Jake. I'm game.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJERRY\n</b>\t\tMe, too.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tYou guys are fucking paranoid. It was\n\t\tbad grass. That's all it was. There's\n\t\tno such thing as demons.\n\n\n<b>INT. LAW OFFICE - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB, FRANK, JERRY, GEORGE, DOUG, and ROD are sitting on plush chairs \nin the LAW OFFICE of DONALD GEARY. GEARY, a red-faced man with three \nchins, is sucking on an ice cube. He looks at each of the men, and then \nspits the ice cube into an empty glass. It clinks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tI'm sorry, Mr. Singer, but do you\n\t\thave any idea how many people come to\n\t\tme with the injustices of the world?\n\t\tIt'd break your heart.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThis isn't injustice, Mr. Geary. The\n\t\tarmy did something to us and we've\n\t\tgot to find out what.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tThe army. The army. What is it with\n\t\tyou guys? We're not talking about a\n\t\ttrip to the library here. This is the\n\t\tUnited States Government for God's\n\t\tsake. This is red tape coming out of\n\t\tyour ass. You know what I mean?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tExactly. And we need someone to cut\n\t\tthrough it. We hear you're the man.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tOh yeah? What am I - Perry Mason\n\t\there?\n\nGEARY stands up and grabs a bag of Cheetos from a file drawer. He \nchomps down a few and offers the bag to the others. There are no \ntakers. Thirsty, he downs the ice cube and cracks it between his teeth.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tOkay. I'll look into it.\n\nThe MEN are surprised and excited.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPAUL\n</b>\t\tWow! Do you think we have a chance?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tWhat do you want, a fortune teller or\n\t\ta lawyer? ... I'll need sworn\n\t\tdepositions from each of you and a\n\t\tlist of the other members of the\n\t\tplatoon, or their survivors.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOUG\n</b>\t\tHey, this is great.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tI'll tell you, if we find the \n\t\tmilitary is implicated in any way,\n\t\tyou could stand to recover quite a\n\t\tlot of money. Not that I can predict\n\t\tanything, but some class action suits\n\t\tof this kind have been awarded fairly\n\t\tgenerous judgements. That wouldn't be\n\t\tso bad, would it Mr. Singer?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDoctor.\n\t\t\t(GEARY looks at him\n\t\t\toddly)\n\t\tPh.D.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tAh! I thought you were a mailman.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI am.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\t\t(confused)\n\t\tThen why aren't you teaching? Why\n\t\taren't you in a university?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm too messed up to teach.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling)\n\t\tAh! Well then, they're going to have\n\t\tto pay for that, aren't they?\n\nThe MEN all nod in agreement.\n\n\n<b>EXT. OFFICE BUILDING - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and the others exit the OFFICE BUILDING. They are jubilant, \nclasping hands and smacking each other on the back. We watch as they \nbreak up. JACOB heads for the subway. FRANK and another group hop a \ncab. As the cab pulls away we notice that a black car pulls out behind \nit. It follows them out of sight.\n\n\n<b>INT. JACOB'S KITCHEN - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB and JEZZIE are making wild and unadulterated love on the kitchen \nfloor. The wastebasket flips over. JACOB's hand splashes into the dog's \nbowl. Nothing impedes their passion. JEZZIE laughs, hollers, and \nswoons. Hands grab hold of table legs. Chairs topple. Feet bang wildly \nagainst the stove. It is all mayhem and ecstacy. And then it ends.\n\nJACOB's face is ecstatic. He can barely talk and simply basks in \nJEZZIE's glow. She looks especially lovely and radiant. They lie \nexhausted and exhilarated on the linoleum floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tSo tell me ... am I still an angel?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling broadly)\n\t\tWith wings. You transport me, you\n\t\tknow that? You carry me away.\n\nJEZZIE kisses him softly around his face and gently probes his ear with \nher pinky. JACOB loves it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWe're all angels, you know ...\n\t\t\t(she bites his earlobe.\n\t\t\tHe winces)\n\t\t... and devils. It's just what you\n\t\tchoose to see.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI love you, Jez.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tUnderneath all the bullshit, just\n\t\tlove.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tRemember that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou know what? I feel ... exorcised\n\t\t... like the demons are gone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHow come? The army?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIn a way. At least now I have some\n\t\tidea of what was happening. If we can\n\t\tonly get them to admit ... to explain\n\t\twhat they did ... I don't know. Maybe\n\t\tit'd clear things up in my head. I'll\n\t\ttell you something, Jez, honestly\n\t\t... I thought they were real.\n\nSilence. Suddenly JEZZIE roars like a monster and scares JACOB half to \ndeath. They laugh and tumble back to the floor.\n\n\n<b>INT. JACOB'S APT. - EVENING\n</b>\nJACOB emerges from the bathroom shower and pulls on a robe. JEZZIE is \nmoving rapidly around the KITCHEN.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI put a frozen dinner in the oven, a\n\t\tManhandler. It'll be ready at a\n\t\tquarter of. I threw a little salad\n\t\ttogether. It's in the fridge. I also\n\t\tbought some apple juice, Red Cheek.\n\t\tDon't drink it all. Oh, and Jake,\n\t\tyour lawyer called.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHe did? When?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(grabbing her coat)\n\t\tWhile you were in the shower.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhy didn't you call me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHe didn't give me a chance.\n\t\t\t(she pauses nervously)\n\t\tLook, honey, don't get upset, but\n\t\the's not taking your case.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(stunned)\n\t\tWhat? What do you mean?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHe said you didn't have one.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat's he talking about?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI don't know. That's all he said. He\n\t\twasn't very friendly. Oh, yeah. He\n\t\tsaid your buddies backed down. They\n\t\tchickened out, he said.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't believe this.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tBaby, I'm sorry. I feel terrible. I'd\n\t\tstay and talk but I'm so late. Look,\n\t\tdon't be upset. We'll talk when I get\n\t\thome. See you around midnight.\n\t\t\t(she kisses him on the\n\t\t\tcheek)\n\t\tBye. And don't brood. Watch T.V. or\n\t\tsomething.\n\n\n<b>JACOB'S APT./FRANK'S APT. - INTERCUT\n</b>\nThe door slams securely. The locks set. JACOB begins instantly rifling \nthrough a desk drawer. He comes up with a frayed address book and looks \nup a number. He dials.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tHello.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tFrank. It's Jake. Jacob SInger.\n\nWe see FRANK standing at a window fingering the Venetian blinds. He \ndoes not reply. The scene intercuts between the two men.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tListen, I just got a strange call\n\t\tfrom Geary. He said the guys backed\n\t\tdown. What's he talking about?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\t\t(fingering the Venetian\n\t\t\tblinds)\n\t\tThat's right. We did.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat does that mean, Frank? I don't\n\t\tget it. Why?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tIt's hard to explain.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(angry)\n\t\tWell, try, huh.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tI don't know if I can. It's just that\n\t\twar is war. Things happen.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThings happen? What the fuck are you\n\t\ttalking about? They did something to\n\t\tus, Frank. We have to expose this.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tThere's nothing to expose.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJesus Christ! Who's been talking to\n\t\tyou?\n\t\t\t(silence)\n\t\tWhat's going on? How can you just\n\t\tturn away?\n\t\t\t(no response)\n\t\tWhat about the others?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tThey're not interested, Jake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShit! You know it's not half the case\n\t\tif I go it alone. We're all suffering\n\t\tthe same symptoms, Frank. The army is\n\t\tto blame. They've done something to\n\t\tus. How can you not want to know?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\t\t(pausing)\n\t\tMaybe it's not the army, Jake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat do you mean?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tMaybe there's a larger truth.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat are you talking about?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tMaybe the demons are real.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it. What kind of bullshit is\n\t\tthat?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tListen, Jake. I gotta go.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat the hell? What kind of mumbo\n\t\tjumbo ... ?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tI'm hanging up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHey, wait!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tFRANK\n</b>\t\tDon't bother to call again, okay?\n\nFRANK hangs up. JACOB stands holding the phone for a long time, until \nthe high pitched whine from the receiver reminds him it's off the hook. \nThe sound frightens him and he slams the receiver down. QUickly JACOB \ntears through his address book looking for other phone numbers. They \naren't there.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShit!\n\n\n<b>INT. JACOB'S APT.\n</b>\nJACOB hurries into the BEDROOM and pulls an old shoe box from the \ncloset. The box is filled with yellowing army papers, dog tags, and \nphotos of old comrades. Beneath his discharge papers he finds a sheet \nscribbled with the names and addresses of platoon buddies. JACOB grabs \nit. Then his eyes fall on the frayed remains of an old letter. He picks \nit up and unfolds it with great care. The letter is written in a \nchild's handwriting. \"DEAR DADDY, I LOVE YOU. PLEASE COME HOME. JED GOT \n<b>A FROG. ELI LOST MY KEY. MOM WANTS YOU TO SEND HER MONEY. LOVE, GABE.\"\n</b>\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tCUT TO:\n</b>\n<b>EXT. BROOKLYN SIDEWALK - DAY\n</b>\nGABE, on a BICYCLE, is rushing down the sidewalk. JACOB is running \nalongside him, holding onto the seat. Plastic streamers trail from the \nhandlebars. GABE is a bit wobbly, but determined. After a couple of \nfalse starts, JACOB lets go and GABE is riding by himself. For an \ninstant, GABE looks back at his father with a huge grin on his face. \nJACOB is grinning, too. THE CAMERA HOLDS ON GABE as he pulls away from \nus and heads into the distance.\n\n<b> \t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tCUT BACK TO:\n</b>\n<b>INT. JACOB'S APT. - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB swallows hard as he stands there, holding the letter. Suddenly \nhis eyes lift off the page and glance at a full length mirror mounted \non the bedroom door. Something in the mirror, like the image of a \nchild, seems to move. He looks over. There is nothing there. Curious, \nJACOB walks toward the mirror. As his image appears, he gasps and stops \nmoving. To his horror and ours, it is his own back that is reflected in \nthe mirror. The impossibility of the moment startles him. He lifts his \nhand. The reflection moves with him. Frightened but defiant, JACOB \nmoves toward the mirror. The image in the mirror spins around. It is \nthe FRIGHTENING VIBRATING FACE he saw at the party with JEZZIE. An \nunearthly scream comes from both their mouths.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tNO!!!\n</b>\n\n<b>INT. BROOKLYN COURT HOUSE - LATE AFTERNOON\n</b>\nA huge wooden door slams open. JACOB charges through it.\n\nHe is chasing his lawyer, DONALD GEARY, through a crowded court house \ncorridor. GEARY, sweaty and unshaven, is cradling a Coke in one hand, a \nsandwich and a briefcase in the other. His stomach bounces wildly as he \nwalks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGeary! Mr. Geary! Listen, goddamn it!\n\t\tYou can't just walk away from this.\n\nGEARY keeps walking. JACOB catches up to him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWho's been talking to you? The army?\n\t\tHave they been talking to you, huh?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tNobody's been talking to nobody. You\n\t\tdon't have a case, you hear me? It's\n\t\tpure and simple. Now leave me alone.\n\t\tOkay?\n\nJACOB grabs the back of GEARY's jacket and pulls him up short.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tTake your hands off me!\n\nJACOB lets go. He stares into GEARY's eyes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tListen, will you listen? They're\n\t\ttrying to get me. They're comin' out\n\t\tof the walls. The army's done\n\t\tsomething to me. I need you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tYou need ... a doctor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tA doctor? And what's he gonna do,\n\t\ttell me I'm crazy? They've fucked\n\t\twith my head. I've got to prove it.\n\t\tYou've got to do something.\n\nGEARY gives JACOB a pitiful look.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tThere's nothing I can do.\n\nHe turns and walks away. JACOB stands there a moment, and then rushes \nafter him. GEARY is biting into his sandwich.\n\nMayonnaise spills onto his hand. He licks it with his tongue. JACOB \ncatches up to him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tYou mind? I'm eating, huh?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tSomething's going on here. You're not\n\t\ttelling me something. What the hell's\n\t\tgotten into you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tI'll tell you what's gotten into me.\n\t\tI don't know you from Adam, right?\n\t\tYou come to my office with this\n\t\tbizarro story and demand I look into\n\t\tit. Okay. I said I'd check it out and\n\t\tI did. Now I don't know what kind of\n\t\tfool you take me for, but you have\n\t\tused and abused me, and I don't like\n\t\tit.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tUsed you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tI talked to the Army's Bureau of\n\t\tRecords. You've never even been to\n\t\tViet Nam.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat the hell is that supposed to\n\t\tmean?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tIt means that you and your buddies\n\t\tare whacko, that you were discharged\n\t\ton psychological grounds after some\n\t\twar games in Thailand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(stunned)\n\t\tWar games? Thailand? That's not true!\n\t\tHow can you believe that? Can't you\n\t\tsee what they're doing? It's all a\n\t\tlie. We were in Da Nang, for God's\n\t\tsake. You've got to believe me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tI don't have to do any such thing.\n\t\tI'm eating my lunch, okay?\n\nGEARY takes a swig of his COKE and begins walking away. JACOB, enraged, \ncharges after him. With a wild swipe he sends the COKE CAN shooting out \nof GEARY's hand. It reverberates down the corridor. GEARY is stunned.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou slimy bastard! You goddamn piece\n\t\tof shit!\n\nWith a powerful thrust, JACOB rips the sandwich from GEARY's other \nhand. Tossing it on the floor, he grinds his heel in it. Tomato and \nmayonnaise squirt onto GEARY's shoe. JACOB turns away.\n\n\nCUT TO JACOB walking down the COURT HOUSE CORRIDOR to the elevators. \nThere is a look of satisfaction on his face.\n\n\nCUT BACK TO GEARY. He picks up a telephone and dials. Someone comes on \nthe line. GEARY speaks quietly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGEARY\n</b>\t\tHe's on his way.\n\nCUT TO JACOB stepping onto the elevator. The doors close. The Muzak is \nplaying \"Sonny Boy\" with Al Jolson singing. JACOB is surprised to hear \nit. He presses the down button for the main floor.\n\n\nThe elevator stops at the LOBBY. The doors open swiftly. SEVERAL \nSOLDIERS are standing there. They approach JACOB.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSOLDIER 1\n</b>\t\tLet's go, Singer.\n\nJACOB is shocked to see them. He tries to get away but two of the \nSOLDIERS yank him toward the LOBBY doors.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSOLDIER 2\n</b>\t\tYou're coming with us.\n\n\n<b>INT. CAR - LATE AFTERNOON\n</b>\nJACOB is hustled to a waiting car and shoved inside, in between two \nofficious looking MEN. The doors lock from the DRIVER's command.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tARMY OFFICIAL #1\n</b>\t\tMr. Singer. What an appropriate name\n\t\tfor a man who can't keep his mouth\n\t\tshut.\n\nThe car drives off.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho are you? What do you want?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tARMY OFFICIAL #2\n</b>\t\tWe've been watching you for a long\n\t\ttime. You and your friends. You've\n\t\tbeen exhibiting some very odd\n\t\tbehavior. Frightening people with\n\t\tfoolish talk about demons - and\n\t\texperiments.\n\nJACOB tries to speak but the other MAN grabs his mouth.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tARMY OFFICIAL #1\n</b>\t\tYou're in over your head, Mr. Singer.\n\t\tMen drown that way. The army was\n\t\tanother part of your life. Forget it.\n\t\tIt is dead and buried. Let it lie.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tARMY OFFICIAL #2\n</b>\t\tI hope we have made our point, Mr.\n\t\tSinger.\n\nJACOB stares at the men for a moment and then goes totally berserk. \nLetting out a howl, he begins pounding and thrashing like a madman. He \nis totally out of control.\n\nWith a wild leap, he grabs for the door handle. The door flies open. It \nflaps back and forth, slamming into parked cars. JACOB tries to jump \nout, but the men yank him back in. One of them pulls out a gun. JACOB \nsees it and goes crazy. His feet kick in all directions, slamming the \nDRIVER's nose into the steering wheel and shattering the side window.\n\nThe car careens around a corner sending the gun flying to the floor. \nThe men dive for it. It lodges beneath the seat. In the mayhem, JACOB \nthrows himself out of the flapping door and sprawls onto the pavement. \nPeople look down at him as the car speeds away.\n\n\n<b>EXT. BROOKLYN - LATE AFTERNOON\n</b>\nJACOB grabs his back. He is in excruciating pain. He tries to get up, \nbut can't move. He reaches out to people passing by, but they ignore \nhim and hurry past.\n\nA SALVATION ARMY SANTA has been watching the entire scene. After a \nmoment's consideration he leaves his post and ambles over to JACOB. He \nleans down and steals his wallet.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSANTA\n</b>\t\tMerry Christmas.\n\n\n<b>EXT. BROOKLYN STREETS - EVENING\n</b>\nCUT TO THE SOUND OF A SIREN as an AMBULANCE races through the streets.\n\n\n<b>INT. HOSPITAL - EVENING\n</b>\nAN AMBULANCE CREW rushes JACOB to a HOSPITAL EMERGENCY ROOM.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBEARER\n</b>\t\tHe's been screaming like a madman.\n\t\tYou better get something in him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRESIDENT\n</b>\t\t\t(approaching JACOB)\n\t\tHi. I'm Doctor Stewart. Can you tell\n\t\tme what happened?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tMy back. I can't move. I need my\n\t\tchiropractor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRESIDENT\n</b>\t\tYour back? Did you fall?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBEARER\n</b>\t\tThey said he slipped on the ice. May\n\t\thave hit his head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tATTENDANT\n</b>\t\tDoes he have any identification?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBEARER\n</b>\t\tNo waller. Nothing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThey stole it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRESIDENT\n</b>\t\tWho did?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know. Santa Claus. I had my\n\t\tson's picture in it. Gabe's picture.\n\t\tIt's the only one I had.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRESIDENT\n</b>\t\tWe better get an orthopedic man in\n\t\there. Is Dr. Davis on call?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tI'll page him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tCall my chiropractor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tWe're doing everything we can.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLouis Schwartz. Nostrand Avenue.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRESIDENT\n</b>\t\tI'm going to have to move you a bit,\n\t\tjust to check for injuries. This may\n\t\thurt a little.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. Don't move me.\n\nThe RESIDENT ignores him. JACOB screams.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRESIDENT\n</b>\t\tI don't have to ask if you can feel\n\t\tthat.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it. I want Louis.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tWho's Louis?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tRESIDENT\n</b>\t\tHe's out of it. I'm taking him down\n\t\tto X-ray.\n\nAn ORDERLY pushes the gurney through a pair of sliding doors. JACOB \ntries to get up but the pain keeps him immobilized.\n\n\n<b>INT. CORRIDORS - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB begins a journey down what appears to be an endless series of \ncorridors. The wheels of the gurney turn with a hypnotic regularity. \nThe smooth tile floor gives way to roguh cement. The ORDERLY's feet \nplod through pools of blood that coagulate in cracks and crevices along \nthe way. The surface grows rougher, the wheels more insistent. Body \nparts and human bile splash against the walls as the gurney moves \nfaster.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere are you taking me? Where am I?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tORDERLY\n</b>\t\tYou know where you are.\n\nJACOB, panicked, tries again to get up but to no effect. He glances to \nthe side and sees mournful CREATURES being led into dark rooms. No one \nfights or struggles. We hear muffled screams from behind closed doors. \nOccasionally he glances inside the rooms and sees mangled bodies in \nstrange contraptions, people in rusty iron lungs, and hanging from \nmetal cages. Dark eyes peer out in horror. In one room a baseboard \nheater bursts into flame. No one seems concerned. A door opens. A \nbicycle with plastic streamers on the handlebars lies crushed and \nmangled. One of its wheels is still spinning. JACOB cries out but it is \nnot his voice we hear. Rather it is a familiar unearthly roar. His \nwhole body stiffens. As he rounds the corner he sees a figure, its head \nvibrating in endless terror. it is the same image he has seen before. \nJACOB screams.\n\n\n<b>INT. ROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB is wheeled into a tiny ROOM. A numer of \"DOCTORS\" are waiting. As \nthey draw closer JACOB notices that something about them is not right. \nThey bear a subtle resemblance to Bosch-like DEMONS, creatures of \nanother world. JACOB tries to sit up but winces in pain. He cannot \nmove. He tries to scream but no sound comes out.\n\nChains and pulleys hang from the ceiling. They are lowered and attached \nwith speed and efficiency to JACOB's arms and legs. He screams.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh God!\n\nThe \"DOCTORS\" laugh. There is the sound of a huge door closing. JACOB \nis left in semi-darkness. Suddenly a new group of \"DOCTORS\" emerges \nfrom the shadows. They are carrying sharp surgical instruments. They \nsurround JACOB, their eyes glistening as bright as their blades. JACOB \nis panting and sweating in fear. One of the \"DOCTORS\" leans over JACOB. \nHe gasps with horror. It is JEZZIE.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tJEZZIE!\n</b>\nShe pays no attention to him. He stares at her, THE CAMERA TILTING DOWN \nHER BODY. As it gets to her foot we see it is a decaying mass, swarming \nwith maggots. The \"DOCTORS\" laugh. They take great pleasure in his \nsuffering. Their voices are strange and not human. Each utterance \ncontains a multitude of contradictory tones, sincere and compassionate, \ntaunting and mocking at the same time. The confusion of meanings is a \ntorment of its own.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tGet me out of here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tWhere do you want to go?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tTake me home.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tHome?\n\t\t\t(they all laugh)\n\t\tThis is your home. You're dead.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDead? No. I just hurt my back. I'm\n\t\tnot dead.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tWhat are you then?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm alive.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tThen what are you doing here?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know. I don't know.\n\t\t\t(he struggles like an\n\t\t\tanimal)\n\t\tThis isn't happening.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tWhat isn't happening?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLet me out of here!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tThere is no out of here. You've been\n\t\tkilled. Don't you remember?\n\nA \"DOCTOR\" approaches JACOB. As he turns, we notice with horror that he \nhas no eyes or eye sockets. He extracts a long needle from his belt and \npositions it over JACOB's head. Like a divining rod it locates a \nparticular point near the crown of his head. With a powerful thrust the \n\"DOCTOR\" shoves the needle into JACOB's skull and pushes it slowly into \nhis brain. JACOB howls.\n\n\n<b>EXT. VIETNAM - NIGHT\n</b>\nCUT RAPIDLY TO VIETNAM and a replay of flashes of the opening sequence \nof the film. SOLDIERS with bayonets are charging over rice paddies in \nthe dark of the night. ONE OF THE SOLDIERS charges at JACOB with a long \nbayonet blade and jams it into his intestines. JACOB cries out.\n\n\n<b>INT. ROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\n<b>CUT BACK TO THE \"DOCTORS\".\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tRemember?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo! That was years ago! I've lived\n\t\tyears since then.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\"\n</b>\t\tIt's all been a dream.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo! The army did this to me! They've\n\t\tdone something to my brain.\n\t\t\t(he raves like a madman)\n\t\tJezzie! I want my boys! Sarah! I'm\n\t\tnot dead! I want my family!\n\nThe \"DOCTORS\" laugh and back away, disappearing into the darkness.\n\n\n<b>INT. HOSPITAL - NIGHT\n</b>\nSuddenly a fluorescent light flashes overhead. NORMAL HOSPITAL WALLS \nmaterialize instantaneously around him. A NURSE enters the room \nfollowed by SARAH, ELI, and JED. They approach JACOB who is lying in \ntraction, suspended over a hospital bed.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tHe's still pretty doped up. I don't\n\t\tthink he'll be able to talk yet and I\n\t\tdoubt that he'll recognize you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tI just want to see him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJED\n</b>\t\t\t(eating a Snickers bar)\n\t\tDad. Hi. It's us. We just found out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELI\n</b>\t\tYou look terrible. Does that hurt?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tI'll be outside if you need me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tJake. It's me. We heard what\n\t\thappened.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(his voice hoarse,\n\t\t\tnearly whispering)\n\t\tI'm not dead. I am not dead.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tNo. Of course you're not. You've just\n\t\thurt your back. That's all. You're\n\t\tgoing to be fine. It'll just take\n\t\tsome time.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJED\n</b>\t\tA month, they said.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELI\n</b>\t\t\t(trying to joke)\n\t\tYou just hang in there, Dad.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\t\t(smacking him)\n\t\tThat's not funny.\n\t\t\t(she reaches over and\n\t\t\trubs JACOB's brow)\n\t\tWhat a mess, huh? God I wish there\n\t\twas something I could do. I love you,\n\t\tJacob. For whatever that's worth. I\n\t\tdo.\n\nThere is a sudden sound of \"DOCTORS\" laughing. JACOB jerks his head \npainfully, but does not see them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\"DOCTOR\" (O.S.)\n</b>\t\tDream on!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(yelling at the unseen\n\t\t\tvoice)\n\t\tNo! Oh God.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSARAH\n</b>\t\tJacob, what can I do?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tSave me!\n\nJACOB's plea confuses SARAH. She responds with a kiss.\n\n\n<b>INT. HOSPITAL - DAY\n</b>\nDAYLIGHT streams through the window in JACOB's ROOM. He is still in \ntraction and looks very uncomfortable. A new NURSE enters holding a \nplastic container with a straw poking out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tWell, don't we look better this\n\t\tmorning? That was a hard night,\n\t\twasn't it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere am I?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tLennox Hospital.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm awake?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tYou look awake to me. Here.\n\t\t\t(she holds the straw to\n\t\t\this lips)\n\t\tDrink some of this.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(staring at her\n\t\t\tintently)\n\t\tWhere's Sarah? Where did she go?\n\t\t\t(the NURSE gives him a\n\t\t\tstrange look)\n\t\tShe was here ...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tNo. No. You haven't had any visitors.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThat's a lie. My family was here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tI'm sorry.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLast night! They were as real as you\n\t\tare!\n\nThe NURSE smiles and nods in appeasement.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThis is not a dream! This is my life.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE\n</b>\t\tOf course it is. What else could it\n\t\tbe?\n\nShe giggles nervously. There is a funny glint in her eyes. JACOB looks \naway. He doesn't want to see it.\n\n\n<b>OMIT\n</b>\n\n<b>INT. HOSPITAL CORRIDOR - EVENING\n</b>\nThere is a loud commotion in the HALL. We see LOUIS SCHWARTZ, JACOB's \nchiropractor, screaming JACOB's name.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tJacob! Jacob Singer!\n\nJACOB yells.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLouis! I'm here! In here!\n\n\n<b>INT. JACOB'S ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nLOUIS storms through JACOB's door followed by several NURSES and \n<b>ORDERLIES.\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tLOUIS!\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE 1\n</b>\t\tYou can't go in there!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tORDERLY\n</b>\t\tYou're going to have to leave.\n\nLOUIS stares furiously at JACOB stretched out on the traction \napparatus. He begins to yell.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tGood God, Jake. What have they done?\n\t\t\t(he examines JACOB and\n\t\t\tscreams at the NURSES)\n\t\tWhat is this, the Middle Ages? And\n\t\tthey call this modern medicine. This\n\t\tis barbaric! Barbaric!\n\t\t\t(turning to JACOB)\n\t\tIt's okay, Jake. It's not serious.\n\t\tI'll get you out of here.\n\t\t\t(yelling at the ORDERLY)\n\t\tWhat is this, the Inquisition? Why\n\t\tdon't you just burn him at the stake\n\t\tand put him out of his misery?\n\nLOUIS charges over to the traction equipment and begins working the \npulleys that suspend JACOB over the bed. The NURSES and ORDERLIES \nbecome instantly hysterical and start screaming.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tORDERLY\n</b>\t\tWhat the hell do you think ... ?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tDon't you come near me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE 2\n</b>\t\tYou can't do that!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tWhat is this, a prison? Stay back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNURSE 1\n</b>\t\tYou can't. Call the police.\n\nOne of the ORDERLIES lunges at LOUIS who swings back at him with one of \nthe pulley chains. It just misses.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(to the ORDERLIES)\n\t\tYou take one step and I'll wrap this\n\t\taround your neck.\n\nLOUIS lowers JACOB into a wheelchair while holding the others at bay.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tHold on, Jake, we're getting out of\n\t\there.\n\nNURSES and ORDERLIES part as he pushes him quickly from the room.\n\n\n<b>OMIT\n</b>\n\n<b>INT. CHIROPRACTIC OFFICE - EVENING\n</b>\nLOUIS helps JACOB over to an adjusting table in a room that, compared \nwith the hospital, is comfortable and serene. He pushes a lever and the \ntable rises to a vertical position. JACOB leans against it and rides it \ndown to a horizontal position. Every moment is agony for him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tHalf an hour from now and you'll be\n\t\twalking out of here all by yourself.\n\t\tMark my words.\n\t\t\t(JACOB barely hears\n\t\t\tthem)\n\t\tWell, you've done it to yourself this\n\t\ttime, haven't you?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(nearly whispering)\n\t\tAm I dead, Louis?\n\t\t\t(LOUIS leans over to\n\t\t\thear)\n\t\tAm I dead?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling)\n\t\tFrom a slipped disc? That'd be a\n\t\tfirst.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI was in Hell. I've been there. It's\n\t\thorrible. I don't want to die, Louis.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tWell, I'll see what I can do about\n\t\tit.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI've seen it. It's all pain.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(working on JACOB's\n\t\t\tspine like a master\n\t\t\tmechanic)\n\t\tYou ever read Meister Eckart?\n\t\t\t(JACOB shakes his head\n\t\t\t\"no\")\n\t\tHow did you ever get your Doctorate\n\t\twithout reading Eckart?\n\t\t\t(LOUIS takes hold of\n\t\t\tJACOB's legs and yanks\n\t\t\tthem swiftly)\n\t\tGood. Okay, let's turn over gently.\n\t\tRight side.\n\nJACOB turns to his left. LOUIS shakes his head in dismay.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tThe other \"right,\" okay?\n\t\t\t(he helps JACOB turn\n\t\t\tover)\n\t\tYou're a regular basket case, you\n\t\tknow that?\n\t\t\t(he moves JACOB's arm\n\t\t\tover his head)\n\t\tEckart saw Hell, too.\n\nLOUIS positions JACOB's other arm, bends his legs, and then pushes down \non his thigh. His spine moves with a cracking sound. JACOB groans.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tYou know what he said? The only thing\n\t\tthat burns in Hell is the part of you\n\t\tthat won't let go of your life; your\n\t\tmemories, your attachments. They burn\n\t\t'em all away. But they're not punish-\n\t\ting you, he said. They're freeing\n\t\tyour soul. Okay, other side.\n\nHe helps JACOB and repositions him. Again he pushes and the spine \ncracks.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWonderful. So the way he sees it, if\n\t\tyou're frightened of dying and hold-\n\t\ting on, you'll see devils tearing\n\t\tyour life away. But if you've made\n\t\tyour peace then the devils are really\n\t\tangels freeing you from the earth.\n\t\tIt's just a matter of how you look at\n\t\tit, that's all. So don't worry, okay?\n\t\tRelax. Wiggle your toes.\n\nJACOB's toes dance as LOUIS gives him a quick, unexpected jab to the \nlower vertebrae in his back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tPerfect. We got it.\n\t\t\t(LOUIS pushes a lever\n\t\t\tand the table rises back\n\t\t\tup)\n\t\tOkay. Let's just give it a little\n\t\ttry. See if you can stand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat? By myself?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tYou can do it. Come on. Easy. Just\n\t\tgive it a try.\n\nJACOB steps cautiously away from the table. He moves hesitantly, with \ndeliberate restraint. LOUIS encourages him like a faith healer coaxing \nthe lame. His first steps have an aura of the miraculous about them. \nJACOB walks slowly, without help. LOUIS smiles impishly. He looks like \na giant cherub.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tHallelujah.\n\nLOUIS puts his arm around him. Then JACOB tries again, gradually \nrediscovering his balance and strength. With each step his confidence \nreturns. LOUIS is pleased. Then, suddenly, without warning, JACOB turns \nand heads toward the door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tWhat are you doing?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThere's something I've gotta take\n\t\tcare of, Louis.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tWhat are you talking about? You can\n\t\tbarely stand.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm walking, aren't I?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS\n</b>\t\tJake, you need to rest.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNot tonight, Louis. No more rest.\n\nHe walks slowly out the door. LOUIS starts to go after him. JACOB turns \naround and shakes his head \"no.\" The look on his face is firm and \ndefiant. LOUIS stands back and lets him go.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI love you, Louis.\n\n\n<b>EXT. U.S. ARMY RECRUITING HEADQUARTERS - NIGHT\n</b>\nCUT TO A SDIREN BLARING and a fire engine racing through the streets of \nlower MANHATTAN. A CROWD is forming. Banks of lights and television \ncameras amass in the cold night air. Police cars and mobile units rush \nto the scene.\n\nCUT TO JACOB. In one hand he is holding a brightly lit torch. In the \nother he is holding a container of gasoline and pouring it on the steps \nof the U.S. ARMY RECRUITING HEADQUARTERS. The volatile liquid splashes \nagainst his pants and shoes and runs down the pavement. A five gallon \ncontainer lies emptying nearby. Gasoline belches from it insistently \nand pours onto the street. Bystanders back away as the gasoline snakes \ntoward them.\n\nTelevision cameras and microphones are pointing in JACOB's direction, \nbut at a safe distance. He is yelling at them, his teeth chattering \nfrom the cold.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tListen to me. There were four\n\t\tcompanies in our batallion. Five\n\t\thundred men. Seven of us were left\n\t\twhen it was over. Seven! Four\n\t\tcompanies engaged in an enemy\n\t\toffensive that not one of us who\n\t\tsurvived can remember fighting.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBYSTANDERS\n</b>\t\tUse the torch!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tONLOOKER\n</b>\t\tShut up! Let him talk!\n\nPOLICE AMBULANCES are arriving at the scene. FIREMEN ready hoses at \nnearby hydrants. T.V. CAMERAS are rolling.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(shouting)\n\t\tYou don't forget a battle where 500\n\t\tmen were killed. They did something\n\t\tto us. I want to know the truth, the\n\t\tgoddamn truth. We have a right to\n\t\tknow.\n\t\t\t(he yells toward the\n\t\t\tcameras)\n\t\tAre you getting all this? I want this\n\t\ton national T.V. I want the whole\n\t\tcountry, the whole world to know.\n\nHe holds up the torch. A loudspeaker blares through the crowd.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tThrow that torch away, young man.\n\t\tGive yourself up. You're under\n\t\tarrest.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tFor what? For seeking the truth?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tPlease come quietly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou come near me and I'll blow us all\n\t\tup.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tWe're not going to hurt you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tONLOOKER\n</b>\t\tGive him a chance to talk!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThe army will deny it. They've\n\t\tfalsified my records. They've lied to\n\t\tmy lawyer, threatened my buddies. But\n\t\tthey can't threaten me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBYSTANDER\n</b>\t\tYou tell 'em!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBYSTANDER\n</b>\t\tUse the torch!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tOkay, let's clear the area. Everyone\n\t\tout.\n\nSuddenly a lighted match flies in JACOB's direction. JACOB is enraged. \nHe brandishes the torch at the crowd.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat the fuck do you think you're\n\t\tdoing?\n\nAnother match hurls toward him and dies in mid-air. PEOPLE on the \nfringe of the crowd begin to run. JACOB does not move.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tClear the area. This is an order!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat is wrong with you?\n\nWe hear laughter from PEOPLE in the crowd. As JACOB looks out into some \nof their eyes he sees demons looking back. One of them throws another \nmatch. Crazed, JACOB runs toward them. PEOPLE jump back.\n\nSuddenly JACOB freezes. Standing on the sidelines, he sees one of the \nARMY OFFICIALS who trapped him in the car. He is reaching for a gun. \nJACOB, stunned, yells at the top of hhis lungs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tNO!\n</b>\nWith a defiant roar, he hurls the torch straight up into the air. We \nsee it from high above the crowd spinning higher and higher. All eyes \nstare upward watching it in a kind of wonder. Then, reaching its apex, \njust below the camera, it begins its descent. The eyes of the crowd \nturn to fear. SOMEONE yells.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tONLOOKER\n</b>\t\tHe'll burn us all!\n\nScreams fill the air as PEOPLE scramble to escape the potential \nconflagration. Only JACOB remains motionless, standing silently, almost \nheroically, in the middle of it all.\n\nSuddenly the torch hits the ground and a pool of gasoline ignites with \na blinding flare that sends flames shooting in all directions. PEOPLE \npanic. T.V. REPORTERS and CAMERAMEN run for their lives. The ARMY \nOFFICIALS run, too. The flames travel toward the Army Headquarters and \nrush along the curb. Water hoses are trying to douse them as they \nspread. JACOB, surprisingly untouched by the fire, walks slowly through \nthe frightened crowds, as if in a daze. Viewed through the flames the \nscene momentarily resembles a vision of Hell.\n\n\n<b>INT. JACOB'S APT. - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB, stark naked and covered with goose bumps, runs his hands under a \nshower spray. The water is freezing and taking forever to warm up. \nAnxious, he dashes past his gasoline drenched clothes, grabs a suitcase \nfrom the BEDROOM closet, and stuffs it with clothes. Then he hurries \nback to the shower, tests it, and jumps in.\n\nLather covers JACOB's hair and hangs over his tightly closed eyes. His \nentire body is covered in suds. He is washing as quickly as he can. \nSuddenly he hears a noise as someone enters the BATHROOM. He tenses.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho's there? Who is it?\n\nJACOB struggles to rinse the soap from his eyes. They are burning. \nThere is a shadow behind the curtain.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tGoddamn it! Who's there?\n\nJACOB rubs his eyes, fighting to see. Suddenly the shower curtain is \nthrown back. JACOB backs against the wall. A hand reaches in and pulls \nhis nipple, pinching hard.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt's just me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJezzie?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWho else were you expecting?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLet go!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhere were you, Jake? Where've you\n\t\tbeen? Why haven't you called?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tStay away from me, Jez.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI want to know. You tell me!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou wanna know? Turn on the T.V.\n\t\tWatch the fucking news!\n\nHe pushes her away and jumps out of the shower.\n\nCUT TO JACOB dressing and piling the last of his clothes into his \nsuitcase. JEZZIE, in a robe, is watching him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhy are you doing this to me? You\n\t\tcan't just go away like that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI can do anything I want.\n\nShe stares at him with confusion. THE PHONE RINGS.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDon't!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt might be for me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm not here. You haven't seen me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(picking up the\n\t\t\treceiver)\n\t\tHello ... No. He's not here. I\n\t\thaven't seen him all night ... I\n\t\tdon't know when ... What? Tell him\n\t\twhat?\n\t\t\t(JACOB looks up)\n\t\tVietnam? ... What experiments?\n\nJACOB lunges for the phone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHello. This is Jacob Singer.\n\t\t\t(he listens with growing\n\t\t\tfascination)\n\t\tGod almighty! ... Yes. Yes. Right.\n\t\tWhere would you like to meet?\n\t\t\t(he listens)\n\t\tHow will I know you.\n\t\t\t(JACOB seems\n\t\t\tuncomfortable)\n\t\tOkay. I'll be there.\n\nHe hangs up the phone and stands silently for a moment.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWho was that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tA chemist. Part of a chemical warfare\n\t\tunit out of Saigon. He said he knows me\n\t\tand that I'll know him when I see him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHow?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI have no idea.\n\t\t\t(he thinks)\n\t\tI was right. There were experiments.\n\t\tI knew it. I knew it. My God.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHow do you know he's telling the\n\t\ttruth?\n\nJACOB stares at JEZZIE for several moments but does not respond. The \n11:00 NEWS is coming on. JACOB's image can be seen on the screen. We \nhear the NEWSCASTER speaking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNEWSCASTER\n</b>\t\tLeading the news tonight, a bizarre\n\t\tdemonstration on the steps of the\n\t\tU.S. Army Recruiting Headquarters, in\n\t\tdowntown Manhattan. Jacob Singer, an\n\t\talleged Vietnam vet ...\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tAlleged? Alleged?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tNEWSCASTER\n</b>\t\t... challenged the United States Army\n\t\tto admit conducting secret experi-\n\t\tments involving hundreds of American\n\t\tsoldiers during the Vietnam war.\n\nJEZZIE stares at the T.V., dumbfounded. JACOB takes his suitcase and \nhurries to the front door. He opens it a crack and peers into the \nhallway. JEZZIE runs after him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(almost threatening)\n\t\tDon't leave me, Jake.\n\n\n<b>INT. BUILDING CORRIDOR - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB gazes at JEZZIE for a moment and then hurries down the HALL. He \nstops at the stairwell and looks back. JEZZIE is still standing there. \nShe is very angry. JACOB just stares at her for a moment and then \ndisappears down the stairwell.\n\n\n<b>EXT. WESTSIDE HIGHWAY - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB is standing near the WESTSIDE HIGHWAY. GROUPS OF MEN in black \nleather jackets are crusing the area and look at JACOB with curiosity. \nOne MAN in particular cruises by several times and then approaches him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tJacob? Hi. I'm Michael Newman.\n\t\tFriends call me Mike.\n\nJACOB is startled when he sees him. He is the same YOUNG MAN who has \nappeared throughout the film, assisting JACOB in moments of crisis.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tSurprised, huh? I told you you'd know\n\t\tme. I've been tracking you for a long\n\t\ttime. I just wish I'd spoken to you\n\t\tbefore tonight.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't get it. Who are you? Why have\n\t\tyou been following me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tObservation, mainly. Clinical study.\n\t\tYou were one of the survivors.\n\nA POLICE CAR passes them on the street. MICHAEL grabs JACOB's shoulder \nand turns him away nervously.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tCome on, we're not safe around here.\n\n\n<b>HUDSON RIVER PIER - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB and MICHAEL are sitting on a deserted WEST SIDE PIER that juts \ninto the Hudson River. JACOB is wide-eyed as he listens to MICHAEL's \nstory.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tSo first I'm arrested, right? Best\n\t\tLSD I ever made, right down the\n\t\tdrain. I figure this is it, twenty\n\t\tyears in the joint, if I'm lucky.\n\t\tThat was '68.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLong time ago.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(nodding his head)\n\t\tNext thing I know I'm on Rikers\n\t\tIsland. Ever been there?\n\t\t\t(JACOB shakes his head)\n\t\tSuddenly they take me from my cell to\n\t\tthe visitors room with those bank\n\t\tteller windows, you know. Four army\n\t\tcolonels, medals up their asses, are\n\t\tstanding on the other side. They tell\n\t\tme if I'll come to Vietnam for two\n\t\tyears, no action, mind you, just work\n\t\tin a lab, they'll drop all the\n\t\tcharges and wipe the record clean.\n\t\tWell, I'd only been in jail for\n\t\tthirteen hours and I already knew\n\t\tthat Nam couldn't be any worse.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShows how much you knew.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tNo shit. They had me by the balls.\n\t\tNext thing I know I'm in Saigon ...\n\t\tin a secret lab synthesizing mind-\n\t\taltering drugs. Not the street stuff\n\t\tmind you. They had us isolating\n\t\tspecial properties. The dark side,\n\t\tyou know? They wanted a drug that\n\t\tincreased aggressive tendencies.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYeah, sure. We were losing the war.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tRight. They were worried. They\n\t\tfigured you guys were too soft. They\n\t\twanted something to stir you up, tap\n\t\tinto your anger, you know? And we did\n\t\tit. The most powerful thing I ever\n\t\tsaw. Even a bad trip, and I had my\n\t\tshare, never compared to the fury of\n\t\tthe Ladder.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThe Ladder?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tThat's what they called it. A fast\n\t\ttrip right down the ladder.\n\t\t\t(he makes a downward\n\t\t\tdive with his hand)\n\t\tRight to the primal fear, the base\n\t\tanger. I'm tellin' you, it was\n\t\tpowerful stuff. But I don't need to\n\t\ttell you. You know.\n\nJACOB can barely catch his breath, the information he is receiving is \nso powerful to his mind.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWe did experiments on jungle monkeys.\n\t\tThey bashed each other's heads in,\n\t\tgouged out their eyes, chewed off\n\t\ttheir tails. The brass loved it. Then\n\t\tthey made us try it on Charlie.\n\t\t\t(he pauses)\n\t\tThey took these POW's, just kids\n\t\treally, and put 'em in a courtyard.\n\t\tWe fed 'em huge doses of the stuff.\n\t\t\t(he stops for a moment;\n\t\t\ta tear rolls down his\n\t\t\tcheek)\n\t\tThey were worse than the monkeys. I\n\t\tnever knew men could do such things.\n\t\tThe whole thing still blows me away.\n\nMICHAEL stands up and begins walking in circles around the PIER. JACOB, \nastounded, gets up and walks beside him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tAnyway, this big offensive was coming\n\t\tup. Everyone knew it; Time Magazine,\n\t\tHuntley-Brinkley. And the brass was\n\t\tscared 'cause they knew we couldn't\n\t\twin. Morale was down. It was gettin'\n\t\tugly in the States. Hell, you\n\t\tremember.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tLike it was yesterday.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tA couple days later they decided to\n\t\tuse the Ladder, on one test\n\t\tbattalion. Yours. Just in an\n\t\tinfintessimal dose in the food\n\t\tsupply, to prove its effectiveness in\n\t\tthe field. They were sure your unit\n\t\twould have the highest kill ratio in\n\t\tthe whole goddamn offensive. And you\n\t\tdid, too. But not the way they\n\t\ttnought.\n\nJACOB is beginning to shake. MICHAEL pulls a container of pills out of \nhis jacket pocket.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tHey, want something to calm you down?\n\t\tMade 'em myself.\n\nJACOB shakes his head no.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNone of us can remember that night. I\n\t\tget flashes of it but they don't make\n\t\tsense. We saw shrinks for years. But\n\t\tnothing they did could ever touch it.\n\t\tWhat happened? Was there ever an\n\t\toffensive?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tA couple of days later. It was\n\t\tfierce. You guys never saw it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tBut there was an attack. I can still\n\t\tsee them coming. There was a fight,\n\t\twasn't there?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tYeah. But not with the Cong.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho then?\n\nHe hesitates, obviously uncomfortable. His eyes grow puffy. He looks at \nthe river for a moment and then turns to JACOB.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tYou killed each other.\n\nJACOB's mouth drops open. The words hit him like a truck.\n\n\n<b>EXT. VIETNAM - NIGHT\n</b>\nGunfire explodes in the darkening sky. We are in Vietnam. JACOB is at \nthe bottom of a trench fighting with FRANK. Chaos surrounds them. Men \nare screaming. The ENEMY is storming at them from the rear. ROD raises \nhis bayonet and jams it into the belly of his ATTACKER. It is only \nafter a series of jabs that he sees it's another American he's killed. \nROD's eyes go blank with confusion and terror.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tROD\n</b>\t\tOh my God! WHAT'S HAPPENING?\n\nJACOB looks up from the trench and sees a continuing wave of AMERICAN \nSOLDIERS bearing down on them. FRANK jumps up, knocking JACOB to the \nground and slamming his rifle into JACOB's back. As he spins around \nJACOB sees another SOLDIER charging at him. His bayonet is aimed at \nJACOB's stomach. For the first time JACOB remembers the face of his \nattacker. He is a YOUNG MAN, about 19 years old, clean cut, wearing \nglasses. The two men stare at each other in terrible confusion. It \nseems like a moment out of time. And then the SOLDIER lurches forward \nand rams his bayonet deep into JACOB's abdomen.\n\nCUT TO MICHAEL BACK ON THE PIER. JACOB is ashen-faced.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tIt was brother against brother. No\n\t\tdiscrimination. You tore each other\n\t\tto pieces. I knew it would happen. I\n\t\twarned them. I WARNED THEM. But I was\n\t\tjust a hippie chemist, right? Jesus!\n\t\tAnd I helped 'em make the stuff ... I\n\t\ttalked to the guys who bagged the\n\t\tbodies. They're in worse shape than\n\t\tyou, believe me. They saw what was\n\t\tleft. It's a blessing you don't\n\t\tremember. Of course the brass covered\n\t\tthe whole thing up right away. Blamed\n\t\tit all on a surprise attack.\n\t\t\the pauses)\n\t\tI needed to find you. The Ladder was\n\t\tmy baby.\n\nTears start flowing down MICHAEL's face. He wipes them with his sleeve. \nIt takes him a moment to regain his composure. JACOB is shivering. \nMICHAEL takes off his jacket, drapes it over JACOB, and leads him to \nthe wooden planks overhanging the water. They sit and gaze at the \n<b>JERSEY SHORE.\n</b>\n\nCUT TO A WIDE SHOT OF MICHAEL AND JACOB in pre-dawn light.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tI always suspected the effects might\n\t\tcome back. That's why I had to follow\n\t\tyou. I had a hell of a time getting\n\t\thold of your records.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIf you knew, why didn't you say\n\t\tanything?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tThe truth can kill, my friend. Five\n\t\thundred men died out there. This\n\t\tisn't a story they'd ever want out.\n\t\tWhen Paul's car blew up I realized\n\t\tthe scope of the thing. I knew they\n\t\tmeant business.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tSo why tell me now?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tBecause I can get rid of the demons.\n\t\tI can block the Ladder. I have an\n\t\tantidote. We can kill them off,\n\t\tchemically speaking. They'll all\n\t\tdisappear. It's chemistry, my friend.\n\t\tI know. I created it. Come with me. I\n\t\tcan help.\n\n\n<b>INT. HOTEL - DAWM\n</b>\nJACOB and MICHAEL enter a sleazy HOTEL near the docks, obviously \nfrequented by a gay clientele. JACOB is uncomfortable as they check in. \nMICHAEL, however, seems to know the ropes. They go to a small room.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou come here often?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tSometimes. When it's convenient.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHow do I know this isn't just some\n\t\tkind of, you know, seduction or\n\t\tsomething?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tHey, I'm not the problem. You've got\n\t\tbigger problems than me.\n\nMICHAEL reaches into his pocket and casually extracts a vial.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tI came up with the formula back in\n\t\tNam but I never got a chance to use\n\t\tit.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNever?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tI'd hoped I'd never have to. Just\n\t\topen your mouth and stick out your\n\t\ttongue.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat is it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tDon't worry. Take it. It'll free your\n\t\thead. Come on.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(fearful)\n\t\tI don't know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\"Yea though I walk through the valley\n\t\tof the shadow of death I shall fear\n\t\tno evil,\" but no one ever said I\n\t\twouldn't be shittin' in my pants\n\t\tevery step of the way, huh?\n\t\t\t(JACOB smiles, his mouth\n\t\t\topen)\n\t\tStick out your tongue.\n\t\t\t(JACOB obeys as an\n\t\t\teyedropper deposits a\n\t\t\tdrop of liquid on the\n\t\t\tback of his tongue)\n\t\tThat'a boy. Now why don't you just\n\t\tlie down and relax.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOne drop?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tIt's strong stuff.\n\nJACOB stretches out on the bed. He stares up at the ceiling and \nexamines its pock-marked lunar look. Long cracks and shallow craters \nerode the surface. It is an alien terrain.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI think I'm falling asleep.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tPleasant dreams.\n\nThe words send a jolt through JACOB's body. He tries to get up but \ncan't. He's frightened.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI can't move.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tJust relax.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat's happening? Help me.\n\nThe ceiling begins to rumble. Cracks split wide open. Huge crevasses \ntear through the plaster. JACOB's world is crumbling. He stares in \nhorror as DEMONIC FORMS attempt to surge through the rupture above him. \nPiercing eyes and sharp teeth glimmer in the darkness. Hooved feet and \npointed claws clamor to break through.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n<b>\t\tHELP ME!\n</b>\nInstantly MICHAEL appears standing over him. He is holding the vial \nwith the antidote. He draws an eyedropper full of the fluid and holds \nit over JACOB's mouth.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tTake it!\n\nJACOB fights him, but MICHAEL forces the entire contents of the \neyedropper down his throat. JACOB gags. He tries to spit it out, but \ncan't.\n\nSuddenly the ceiling erupts in violent clashes as whole chunks break \noff and collide like continental plates. The collisons wreak havoc on \nthe DEMONS, chopping and dismembering them. Body parts fall from the \nceiling like a Devil's rain. Horrible screams echo from the other side.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tDon't fight it. It's your own mind.\n\t\tIt's your own fears.\n\nFlashes of light and dark storm over JACOB's head, thundering like a \nwar in the heavens. It is a scene of raw power and growing catastrophe. \nIt builds in fury and rage until suddenly the ceiling explodes. JACOB's \neyes stare into the formlessness expanding around him. All space is \nbecoming a dark liquid void.\n\nGradually the liquid grows bluer, clearer. There is an undulating sense \nto the imagery, a feeling of womb-like comfort. Strange lights appear \nand sparkle before us like sunlight on the ocean. JACOB is rushing \nupward, toward the surface.\n\nWith the delirious sound of water giving way to air, JACOB breaks \nthrough. To his amazement, he finds himself floating out-stretched on \nshimmering sunlit water. Above him are clouds of such wondrous beauty \nthat they cannot possibly be of the earth. Pillars of golden light \nreach down from the heavens creating a cathedral of light. It is a \nvision of heaven, a vast, almost mythic paradise. JACOB is awed.\n\nA sudden movement catches his attention. He looks over and sees MICHAEL \nstanding before him. Only MICHAEL looks different. His face seems to \nradiate an inner light, a transcendental beauty. JACOB is nearly \nblinded by his presence and must shield his eyes to look at him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tSo, how you doin'?\n\nThe casualness of the words catches JACOB by surprise. He sits up. To \nhis shock and amazement, he finds that he is back in THE HOTEL ROOM. \nMICHAEL is standing at the foot of the bed. JACOB is totally \ndisoriented. His eyes move slowly around the room, taking everything \nin. He doesn't speak.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tIt was better than you expected, huh?\n\nJACOB just stares at him for a while and then suddenly begins to laugh. \nIt is a huge laugh, full of energy and life.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tAnd no more demons. I told you they'd\n\t\tbe gone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't believe this. It's a miracle,\n\t\tMichael. A miracle.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tBetter living through chemistry,\n\t\tthat's my motto.\n\n\n<b>EXT. GREENWICH VILLAGE - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and MICHAEL are walking through the STREETS OF GREENWICH VILLAGE. \nIt is early MORNING and the sidewalks are bustling with PEOPLE. JACOB \nstares into their faces and beams when they smile back. MICHAEL enjoys \nJACOB's happiness.\n\n\n<b>EXT. WASHINGTON SQUARE - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and MICHAEL walk through WASHINGTON SQUARE PARK.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt was paradise, Michael. You showed\n\t\tit to me. You were there.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tWell that's good to know.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tMike, it was real. It was glorious.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tGlorious. I'm not surprised. I fed\n\t\tyou enough of that stuff to send a\n\t\thorse to heaven. I'm just glad you\n\t\tcame back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI would have stayed there if I could.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tI'm sure. You've got nothing but\n\t\ttroubles waitin' for you here.\n\nHe points to two POLICEMEN on the far side of the SQUARE.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(taking JACOB's arm)\n\t\tCome on.\n\n\n<b>EXT. GRAMERCY PARK HOTEL - DAY\n</b>\nThe TWO MEN head up to GRAMERCY PARK and stop in front of the GRAMERCY \nPARK HOTEL. Reaching into his wallet, MICHAEL pulls out a huge stack of \ncredit cards and hands one to JACOB.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tHere. I've got every credit card ever\n\t\tprinted. Take this. Stay here till\n\t\tyou can arrange to get away. It's on\n\t\tme.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. I couldn't.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tWhat? You want the Plaza? Don't be\n\t\tfoolish. Here. Take this, too.\n\t\t\t(he pulls out a business\n\t\t\tcard)\n\t\tThis is my place on Prince Street.\n\t\tIt's got my phone, everything. Call\n\t\tif you need me ... but you won't.\n\t\tEverything's gonna work out. You just\n\t\tget outta town as fast as you can.\n\t\tThe New York police can be effective\n\t\twhen they want to be.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know what to say.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tSave the words ... Just send back my\n\t\tcredit card.\n\nMICHAEL laughs, hugs JACOB, and walks away.\n\n\n<b>INT. HOTEL ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB is in a lovely MOTEL ROOM overlooking GRAMERCY SQUARE. He is \nsprawled out happily on the bed when there is a knock at the door. He \njumps up and opens it. JEZZIE is standing there. She looks at JACOB \nquizzically. He smiles and takes her in his arms, swinging her into the \nroom.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat are you doing here? Are you all\n\t\tright? How do you expect to pay for\n\t\tthis?\n\t\t\t(JACOB smiles)\n\t\tEveryone's looking for you, Jake. I\n\t\tdodged people all over the place,\n\t\treporters, police. I don't know what\n\t\tyou're gonna do.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm gonna make love to you. That's\n\t\twhat I'm gonna do.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tAre you out of your mind?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYep. Finally. I love you, Jez.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tGod, I can't keep up with all your\n\t\tchanges.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tMe neither.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat's gotten into you?\n\nJACOB grins.\n\nCUT TO JACOB and JEZZIE lying in bed gently caressing one another. For \nall his ardor JACOB is exhausted from the events of the preceding day. \nWhile stroking JEZZIE's hair he begins to fall asleep. JEZZIE crawls on \ntop of him and shoves her hand down his pants. JACOB smiles.\n\nDISSOLVE TO JACOB and JEZZIE making love.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tTIME CUT:\n</b>\n\nDISSOLVE TO JACOB and JEZZIE lying in front of the T.V. watching a \nromantic movie. JEZZIE snuggles up to JACOB.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt's amazing, you know, that a drug\n\t\tcould change things like that,\n\t\tdestroy a life and then give it back.\n\t\tIt's hard to believe that the world\n\t\tcould be so hellish on day and like\n\t\theaven the next.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI tell you, it was so wonderful. I\n\t\tfelt like a little boy. I saw\n\t\tParadise, Jezzie.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt's so hard to believe.\n\nThere is a knock at the door. JACOB throws on a bathrobe. JEZZIE jumps \nunder the sheets.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho's there?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tBELLBOY (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tIt's your dinner, sir.\n\nJEZZIE's eyes brighten. JACOB opens the door. A BELLBOY wheels in a \ntable set for dinner. He sets it in a corner of the room. JEZZIE jumps \nout of bed, runs to the table, sniffs at the food, and squeals \nexcitedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tThis is one of my dreams, Jake. Ever\n\t\tsince I was a little girl. I never\n\t\tthought it would happen.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tStick with me, kid.\n\nJEZZIE smiles.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tTIME CUT:\n</b>\n\nDISSOLVE to JACOB and JEZZIE sitting next to a large window overlooking \nGRAMERCY PARK. They are sipping champagne.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI want to go with you, Jake. Wherever\n\t\tyou go.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tIt's not practical, Jez. It'll be\n\t\thard enough alone.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI can waitress. I'm good.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. Things are too hot. Later. I'll\n\t\tsend for you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tBullshit!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI promise.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tPlease.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo. I'm a marked man, Jez. I'm the\n\t\tonly one left. I don't want to expose\n\t\tyou to that. It's not right for you\n\t\tor me. Be reasonable.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tReasonable? Reasonable? Jake ...\n\t\tYou're gettin' me angry.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI love you when you're angry.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tOh yeah?\n\t\t\t(her eyes twinkle\n\t\t\tsuggestively)\n\t\tTry leavin' without me.\n\nJACOB laughs. JEZZIE doesn't. Unexpectedly she grabs JACOB and pushes \nhim onto the bed. In seconds they are all over each other, their \nclothes flying in all directions. They seem as happy as could be.\n\n\n<b>OMIT\n</b>\n\n<b>INT. GRAND CENTRAL STATION - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB enters GRAND CENTRAL STATION. He checks out all the PEOPLE around \nhim. Not a DEMON in sight. Hurrying to the TICKET WINDOW he gets in \nline. The TICKET SELLER looks up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tChicago. One way. For tomorrow.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSELLER\n</b>\t\tHow many?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOne.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSELLER\n</b>\t\tThat'll be $119.75.\n\nJACOB pulls out MICHAEL's credit card. The SELLER rings it up. While he \nis waiting JACOB notices a POLICEMAN looking at him. The stare \nunsettles him. The SELLER hands JACOB his ticket. He takes it and \nhurries into the CROWD. Looking back he notices the POLICEMAN is \nfollowing him.\n\n\n<b>INT. MEN'S ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB enters the MEN'S ROOM. He hurries into one of the stalsls, drops \nhis pants, and sits. He eyes the graffiti on the walls and then notices \na wad of tissue stuffed into a hole between him and the next stall. It \nis moving. Suddenly the tissue falls to the floor. JACOB glances at the \nhole curiously and leans forward to examine it. He is shocked to see an \neye staring back at him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it!\n\t\t\t(he covers it with his\n\t\t\thand. A pencil jabs his\n\t\t\tpalm. He yells)\n\t\tFucking pervert.\n\nTwo lips form around the hole. A tongue wags obscenely.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tDream on!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(shocked)\n\t\tWhat?!\n\nThe mouth is gone. JACOB hears the stall door fly open and feet running \nfrom the room. He jumps up and grabs his pants. He dashes out of the \nMEN'S ROOM. He hears footsteps and chases after them.\n\n\n<b>INT. GRAND CENTRAL STATION - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB bursts into the MAIN TERMINAL. He sees someone rushing toward the \nmain doors and speeds after him. HOMELESS PEOPLE, huddling along the \ncorridors, watch as they run past. Escaping to the street, the MAN \ndisappears in the holiday throngs. JACOB, crazed, stands gasping for \nbreath. His fists dig into his coat pocket. Suddenly he feels something \nand seems surprised when MICHAEL's CARD emerges in his hands.\n\n\n<b>OMIT\n</b>\n\n<b>INT. SOHO LOFT BUILDING - EVENING\n</b>\nJACOB runs up the stairs in a SOHO LOFT BUILDING. It is a dingy, \nindustrial staircase, poorly lit. He reaches a door with MICHAEL's name \npainted on it in large black letters. He knocks loudly. There is no \nanswer. He pounds on it. Another door opens on the floor above. A head \nsticks out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tYou lookin' for Mike?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(panting hard)\n\t\tWhere is he?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tDon't know. Hasn't picked his mail up\n\t\tin days. It's not like him.\n\nJACOB has a frenzied look in his eyes. He searches around the staircase \nand sees a pile of lumber stacked in a corner. He grabs a two-by-four \nand lunges at the door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tWhat the hell are you doing?\n\nJACOB doesn't answer. He smashes wildly at the door until the lock \nflies open.\n\n\n<b>INT. MICHAEL'S LOFT - EVENING\n</b>\nJACOB charges into the dark space groping for a light. He finds it. The \nLOFT is a disaster area. Nothing is standing. JACOB runs from room to \nroom. In the back he discovers a large private chemistry lab. Glass \nvials and bottles are shattered on the floor.\n\nJACOB rifles through the cabinets. A few bottles are intact but their \nlabels mean nothing to him.\n\nHe reaches for one cabinet and notices a reddish liquid oozing out from \nthe bottom. He opens it. MICHAEL's severed head stares him in the face. \nIt is smiling.\n\nA scream rings out as the MAN from upstairs sees what JACOB has seen. \nJACOB jumps back, trips, and falls over MICHAEL's headless body. It is \nlying sprawled across the floor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMAN\n</b>\t\tOh my God!\n\nJACOB stumbles to pull himself up. He is in a state of unrelieved \npanic. He runs past the MAN and spills out the doorr. He takes two and \nthree stairs at a time, nearly flying to the street.\n\n\n<b>EXT. SOHO STREETS - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB rushes into the icy air and runs wildly down the sidewalk as fast \nas his legs will move. With unexpected violence he charges into the \nside of a building. Over and over he hurls himself against it. He grabs \nfor the bricks. His fingers insert themselves into the crevices. It is \nas though he is trying to merge with the wall.\n\nSuddenly JACOB turns and dashes into the street. A taxi is speeding \ntoward him, its lights the only sign of life and warmth in the dark \nnight. JACOB steps into its path. It is hard to tell if he is trying to \nstop the cab or waiting to be hit. The taxi screeches to a halt. JACOB \nstares at it a moment and then steps to get in. The DRIVER tries to \npull off but JACOB yanks at the door and drags himself inside.\n\n\n<b>INT. TAXI - NIGHT\n</b>\nRain is beginning to fall. It streaks the windows.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(barely audible)\n\t\tI'm going to Brooklyn.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDRIVER\n</b>\t\tSorry, Mac. Not with me you're not. I\n\t\tget lost in Brooklyn.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI know the way.\n\nJACOB reaches into his pants pocket, pulls out a twenty dollar bill, \nand hands it to the DRIVER. He takes it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tLook, this is all the money I've got\n\t\tin the world. Take me home and it's\n\t\tyours.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDRIVER\n</b>\t\t... Where's your home?\n\nCUT TO THE TAXI heading down WEST BROADWAY, approaching the BROOKLYN \nBRIDGE, crossing the EAST RIVER, and driving through dark BROOKLYN \n<b>STREETS.\n</b>\nJACOB's face passes in and out of dense shadows. Every time he is \nbathed in light his image seems to alter. Something in him is falling \naway.\n\n\n<b>EXT. SARAH'S APARTMENT BUILDING - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB gets out of the TAXI and approaches the LOBBY of SARAH'S \nAPARTMENT BUILDING. JACOB is greeted by the DOORMAN.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOORMAN\n</b>\t\tDr. Singer. It's been a long time.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(greeting him warmly)\n\t\tHello, Sam.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOORMAN\n</b>\t\t\t(noticing JACOB's\n\t\t\tbattered condition)\n\t\tAre you all right?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm okay.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOORMAN\n</b>\t\tDo you want some help? I can call\n\t\tupstairs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo, don't. But thanks.\n\n\n<b>INT. HALLWAY - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB stops in front of the APARTMENT door and reaches his hand \nunderneath a section of the hallway carpet. It comes back with a key. \nHe inserts it into the lock and gently opens the door. He calls out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHello. It's me.\n\n\n<b>INT. SARAH'S APARTMENT - NIGHT\n</b>\nSome lights are on. The APARTMENT looks comfortable and cozy.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHello? Is anybody home? Jed? Eli?\n\t\tDaddy's here.\n\nThere is still no answer. JACOB is surprised. He peers into the dark \nLIVING ROOM and then walks to the KITCHEN. No one is around. A photo of \nJACOB, SARAH, AND THEIR BOYS is sitting on the counter. He picks it up \nand carries it with him through the apartment. He walks into his old \nBEDROOM and then into the BOYS' ROOM. The beds are still unmade. There \nis no one home. He sees his image in the BATHROOM mirror and turns away \nin disgust. He walks back to the LIVING ROOM. He is about to switch the \nlights on when he hears footsteps coming down the hall. He calls out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tSarah, is that you? I hope you don't\n\t\tmind. I needed to come home.\n\nJACOB is startled to see JEZZIE enter the room. She does not seem he \nusual self. She appears larger, more imposing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHello, Jake. I knew you'd come here\n\t\tin the end.\n\nJACOB is nervous.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat're you ... ? Where's Sarah?\n\t\tWhere are the boys?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tSit down, Jake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere are they?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tSit down.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo! What's going on? Where's my\n\t\tfamily?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt's over, Jake. It's all over.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere have they gone?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWake up. Stop playing with yourself.\n\t\tIt's finished.\n\nJEZZIE stares at JACOB with a frightening, powerful glare. The edge of \nher coat rustles and flutters as she moves toward him. It is an \ninnocent sound at first, but after a moment it transforms into \nsomething else, an obsessive flapping noise, the sound of a wing.\n\nJACOB's body feels the first waves of an inner tremor. His legs are \nshaking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat's going on?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYour capacity for self-delusion is\n\t\tremarkable, Dr. Singer.\n\nJEZZIE begins walking around the dark living room as she talks to him. \nSomething about her walk is very unnatural. JACOB eyes her fearfully.\n\nIn the darkness JEZZIE's movements become increasingly strange and \nelusive. We see her pass before a shadow and disappear within it, only \nto reappear, seconds later, in a doorway on the other side of the room. \nJACOB spins around, confused. Suddenly JEZZIE is inches from his face, \nalthough it seems like there has been no time for her to get there. Her \nmovements are totally impossible, defying all logic, all physical laws.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWhat's wrong, Jake?\n\t\t\t(she mocks him)\n\t\tForget to take your antidote?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho are you? What are you doing to me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou have quite a mind, Jake. I loved\n\t\tyour friends. That chemist - the\n\t\tLadder. What an imagination you have!\n\nJACOB freezes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tAnd your vision of paradise ...\n\t\tfantastic! You're a real dreamer, you\n\t\tknow that? Only it's time to wake up.\n\nJEZZIE has disappeared in the darkness of the room. Only the sounds of \nflapping wings remain. They grow louder and more menacing, whooshing \npast him with no visible source.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tYour mind is crumbling, Jake. No more\n\t\t\"army.\" No more conspiracies. You're\n\t\tdying, Dr. Singer. It's over.\n\nJACOB, frightened, turns toward the door as if to hurry out. \"JEZZIE\" \nlaughs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWhere's to run, Jacob? Where's to go?\n\nJACOB pauses a moment and then turns to confront the terror behind him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tWHO ARE YOU?\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHow many times have you asked me\n\t\tthat? How many times?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tTELL ME, DAMN YOU!\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(with consummate power)\n<b>\t\tYOU KNOW WHO I AM.\n</b>\nJEZZIE appears from the shadows. Her coat collar obscures her and it \nseems for a moment that she has no face. Then, to JACOB's horror, she \nturns around. He is staring at the vibrating creature he has seen so \noften before. Glimpsed almost in abstraction it is a living terror, \ndark and undefinable. Its face is a black and impenetrable void in \nconstant vibration. Its voice is an unspeakable demonic cry, the \nessence of fear and suffering. JACOB pulls away from it, overhwelmed by \nconfusion. He is rooted in fear.\n\nA sudden wind howls through the room, great gales blowing JACOB's hair \nstraight up. It is like a hurricane pushing him into the wall. He can \nbarely stand. He struggles to pull himself away. The flapping sound \nreturns, charging at him from all directions. It is as if the darkness \nitself is swooping down, trying to envelop him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(whispering to himself)\n\t\tThis isn't happening.\n\nNew terrible sounds arise, chain saws slashing through the air, knives, \nand sabers ripping through space with unrelenting anger. Guns fire and \nexplode past his head. It is as though all the sounds of destruction \nare closing in on him. JACOB yells but his own voice is lost in the \nmelee. Terrified, he looks heavenward, as if crying for help.\n\nSuddenly, from the noise, a calm voice rises, speaking, as if from a \ndistance. It is LOUIS. JACOB is shocked to hear him. He stands \nmotionless.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tLOUIS (V.O.)\n</b>\t\tIf you're frightened of dying you'll\n\t\tsee devils tearing you apart. If\n\t\tyou've made your peace then they're\n\t\tangels freeing you from the world.\n\nThe voice fades. JACOB just stands there, not sure what to do. And then \nthe sounds return. Only now they are more terrifying than ever. \nHideously loud, they become a cacophony of sounds, voices of parents, \nfriends, lovers, the sounds of battle, fighting, and dying.\n\nJACOB looks up and sees the creature in the center of the room. All the \nsounds seem to emenate from it. The more JACOB stares at it the louder \nthey become. After a moment, JACOB takes a huge breath. We sense a \ngreat resolve forming inside him. Then, slowly, courageously, he begins \nmoving toward it.\n\nNEw and more terrifying noises assault JACOB, attempting to drive him \nback, but he will not be stopped. He continues walking toward the \ncreature.\n\nIn the hallway a standing lamp slams sparking to the floor. It rolls \nback and forth like a living thing, with a maddening hypnotic \nregularity. Doors slam open and closed, unlatching, snapping, shutting, \nwith deafening force. The room itself seems like an organic presence. \nIt is alive, angry, and threatening.\n\nThe CREATURE sits in the midst of the insanity like the source of \nmadness itself. It writhes, contorts and vibrates with unstoppable \nfury. JACOB, terrified, but unrelenting, continues to approach it.\n\nAS THE CAMERA DRAWS CLOSER TO THE CREATURE'S HEAD the density of its \nfeatureless form overwhelms the screen. It is like staring into \nemptiness itself, the ultimate darkness.\n\nWith superhuman effort JACOB grabs hold of the creature. It is like \ngrabbing hold of a live wire. His body begins shaking uncontrollably \nlike a man being electrocuted. He is flying in all directions but does \nnot let go. His fingers claw at the creature's head. JACOB struggles \ndefiantly with the monster.\n\nSuddenly a terrible voice emerges from within it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCREATURE\n</b><b>\t\tWHO DO YOU THINK YOU'RE FIGHTING!\n</b>\nJACOB does not respond. It cries out again.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tCREATURE\n</b><b>\t\tWHO THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU'RE\n</b><b>\t\tFIGHTING?\n</b>\nDeep inside the darkness JACOB begins to make out the presence of a \nform, something writhing and tortured lurking before us. It looks \nbriefly like an animal until we realize it is the image of a human \nface. It is covered by a dark suffocating film, like a mask.\n\nJACOB digs into it with all his might and pulls it off.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\t\tCUT TO:\n</b>\nDEAD SILENCE as JACOB SEES HIS OWN FACE staring back at him from \nbeneath the mask. It is JACOB SINGER as we first saw him on the \nbattlefield in Vietnam. Only now his image is pale and lifeless. It \ntakes JACOB a moment to realize that he is dead. The recognition is one \nof terrible confusion and pain. JACOB stares at himself for a long time \nas a huge cry wells up inside him. It bursts forth with devastating \nsadness.\n\nAs that instant the whole of space seems to explode in a flash of \ncatacylsmic power. Hundreds of images from JACOB's life flash before \nus, his birth, his childhood, his adulthood. The demons, the room, \nJEZZIE, LOUIS, MICHAEL, SARAH, all seem to assail us in a rush of \nblinding intensity.\n\nWe are flying over a landscape of memories, zooming across a constantly \nchanging field of images. Some of the images move, some of the people \nin them speak. They are not particularly significant memories, in some \nways they are quite banal, but something about them is infused with \nlife and joy. Even the painful moments resonate with vital force. Some \nof the moments we recognize from the time we've spent with JACOB. Some \nwe have not seen before. There is no order to them, no logic to why \nthey have been recalled.\n\nA newborn baby takes its first breath and screams. SARAH pulls clothes \noff a clothes line on a rainy day. JACOB's FATHER stands in the Florida \nsurf as sea foam laps gently at his legs. PAUL, FRANK, and JACOB play \ncards on the edge of a rice paddy. GABE rides his bike into the path of \nan oncoming car. A child puts his ear next to a bowl of cereal, \nlistening to it talk. A young girl standing in a doorway lifts up her \nblouse to show her new breasts. JACOB and SARAH slice a wedding cake \nthat topples to the floor. JEZZIE looks at JACOB and asks \"Love me a \nlittle?\"\n\nAnd then it is over. Total silence overwhelms the screen, a wonderful \nsoothing calm. JACOB's eyes open and he is shocked to find himself \nsitting on the floor in SARAH's apartment. He is all alone. The first \nrays of early morning sunlight are filtering through the window. \nSomething about the apartment seems transfigured, magical. JACOB sits \nmotionless, stunned to be back there.\n\nThe faint sound of music can be heard coming from the hallway. It is \nwarm and familiar, the tinkling of a music box. JACOB listens to it for \na few moments and then something registers inside him. Curious, he gets \nup and approaches the corridor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHello?\n\nThere is no response. Suddenly the music stops. JACOB freezes for a \nmoment. He sees someone standing in the shadows at the other end.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWho is it? Who's there?\n\nTentatively JACOB moves forward. As he draws closer he begins to see \nthe outline of a child. Then, all of a sudden, he realizes who it is. \nHis eyes well up as he stands there, the full impact of the moment \nregistering inside him. It's his son, GABE. He is carrying the same \nmusical lunch box we have seen before. The young boy smiles warmly at \nhis father. It is the smile of an angel. JACOB swallows hard.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tGabe? Gabe!\n\nJACOB runs to his son. Unable to hold back the tears, he embraces him \nin a rush of love and emotion.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tGabe. Oh God. I don't believe ...\n\nThey hug one another over and over. JACOB, overcome, sits down on the \nstiars. After a moment GABE puts his arm around his father's shoulder \nin a gesture of surprising maturity and compassion. We sense for an \ninstant that their roles have reversed. GABE reaches for JACOB's hand \nand gently encourages him to stand up.\n\nWith a sweet tug GABE leads his father up the steps.\n\nSunlight streams down from the top of the stiars, hitting the first \nlanding. GABE is bathed in its warm glow. As JACOB reaches the landing, \nhe too is surrounded by the comforting light.\n\nGABE hurries up the last set of stairs. JACOB turns to follow but is \nstunned by the brilliance of the light pouring in from above. \nSquinting, he cannot see his son. Then suddenly GABE steps back out of \nthe light and takes his father's hand once more. His eyes sparkle with \nexcitement.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\tCome on Dad ... You know what we've\n\t\tgot? A sandbox just like the\n\t\tWilliston's, only it's bigger and the\n\t\tsand's all white. You won't believe\n\t\tit.\n\nJACOB smiles at his son. GABE smiles at him. It is a moment of total \neuphoria. THE CAMERA HOLDS as they continue up the stairs.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tGABE\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tAnd my parakeet. Remember, the one\n\t\tgrandma let out of the cage? He's\n\t\tokay. And he's talking now. He knows\n\t\tmy name.\n\nGABE's voice slowly trails off as he and his father disappear in the \nintenstity of the light. THE CAMERA HOLDS on the image. For a brief but \nstunning moment there appears to be a huge ethereal staircase \nshimmering before us. It rises up into infinite dimensions. Then the \nbrilliance of its blinding light overwhelms the screen.\n\nSuddenly the brightness condenses into a smaller light source. It holds \nfor a second and then flashes off. An overhead surgical lamp remains \nstubbornly in view.\n\n\n<b>INT. VIETNAM FIELD HOSPITAL - DAY\n</b>\nA DOCTOR leans his head in front of the lamp and removes his mask. His \nexpression is somber. He shakes his head. His words are simple and \nfinal.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOCTOR\n</b>\t\tHe's gone.\n\nCUT TO JACOB SINGER lying on an operating table in a large ARMY FIELD \nTENT in VIETNAM. The DOCTOR steps away. A NURSE rudely pulls a green \nsheet over his head. The DOCTOR turns to one of the aides and throws up \nhis hands in defeat.\n\nAN ORDERLY wheels JACOB's body past rows of other DOCTORS and NURSES \nfighting to save lives. A YOUNG VIETNAMESE BOY pulls back a screen door \nto let them out of the tent. It is a bright, fresh morning. The sun is \nrising.\n\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tTHE END\n</b>\n\n\n\n\n<b>\"JACOB'S LADDER\" (DELETED SCENES)\n</b>\nby\n\nBruce Joel Rubin\n\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 1: PROFESSOR STERN\n</b>\n<b>--\n</b>\n\n<b>INT. CITY COLLEGE LECTURE HALL - DAY\n</b>\nCUT TO a huge ampitheatre-style LECTURE HALL at CITY COLLEGE. It \nis almost empty. No more than FORTY STUDENTS are scattered near \nthe front of nearly three hundred seats. All are listening to \nPROFESSOR EMANUEL STERN who is nearing the end of his lecture.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tThus at the core of today's discu-\n\t\tsion we find four fundamental doc-\n\t\ttrines. First, that the world of\n\t\tmatter and individual consciousness\n\t\tare both manifestations of one Divine\n\t\tReality.\n\nOne of the STUDENTS seems about to fall asleep and keeps nodding \nhis head.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tEven you, Mr. Palmer, are part of it,\n\t\tas amazing as that may seem.\n\nMR. PALMER sits up quickly in his seat as other STUDENTS smile.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tSecond, human beings are capable not\n\t\tonly of kowledge about this Divine Re-\n\t\tality by inference but can realize\n\t\tits existence by direct intuition,\n\t\tsuperior even to reason.\n\nA door opens in the upper reaches of the lecture hall. JACOB \nenters and walks quietly down the stairs to within hearing range \nof the professor.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tThird, man possesses a double nature,\n\t\tan ego and an eternal self, what we\n\t\tcall \"spirit\" or \"soul.\"\n\nJACOB takes a seat at one of the desks. There is a pencil lying \non it which he fingers distractedly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tFourth, and most important, man's\n\t\tlife on earth has only one end and\n\t\tpurpose, to learn to let go of the\n\t\tseparate ego and to identify with the\n\t\tDivine spark within.\n\nMR. PALMER is nodding off again.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tAlmost impossible to believe, isn't\n\t\tit Mr. Palmer, that somewhere in that\n\t\tunconscious head of yours lies the\n\t\tsource of all consciousness?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tPALMER\n</b>\t\tYes, Sir. Very hard.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(nodding his head)\n\t\tWell now, having reached this\n\t\tapotheosis there seems little, if\n\t\tanything, left to say. So rather than\n\t\ttry, you are dismissed.\n\nThe STUDENTS seem surprised but not unhappy with the sudden \ndismissal. They quickly gather their books and begin the long \nclimb to the exits. Only JACOB remains seated.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHello Prof.\n\nPROFESSOR STERN looks up and stares at KACOB for several seconds \nbefore recognizing him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tMy oh my. Doctor Singer. Isn't this a\n\t\thappy surprise?\n\nJACOB comes down the aisle and clasps hands with his old \n<b>PROFESSOR.\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(looking at JACOB's uni-\n\t\t\tform)\n\t\tAre you in the service?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThe postal service. I'm a mailman.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(surprised but non-\n\t\t\tjudgemental)\n\t\tAh. Neither snow nor sleet, nor dark\n\t\tof night ... I always admired that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling)\n\t\tIt's good to see you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tLikewise.\n\n\n<b>EXT. CITY COLLEGE - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB AND PROFESSOR STERN walk down the city streets that \nconstitute the CAMPUS of CITY COLLEGE.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tAnd how is your wife? Sarah, no?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(shrugging his shoul-\n\t\t\tders)\n\t\tI haven't seen her in months.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(understanding)\n\t\tAh!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm with another woman now. We're\n\t\tboth with the post office, Midtown,\n\t\t34th Street branch.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tHmm. I don't suppose there are too\n\t\tmany philosophers in the post office?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh, you'd be surprised. They just don't\n\t\thave their doctorates, that's all.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(he smiles)\n\t\tLast I heard you were offered a posi-\n\t\ttion in the West somewhere. Tuscon\n\t\twas it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh, that goes way back. They had a\n\t\thiring freeze, one of those last min-\n\t\tute things. Bad timing for me though.\n\t\tMiddle of the war. The draft.\n\t\t\t(STERN nods his head.\n\t\t\tThey walk a moment in\n\t\t\tsilence)\n\t\tI'll tell you Prof, after Viet Nam\n\t\t... I didn't want to think anymore. I\n\t\tdecided my brain was just too small\n\t\tan organ to comprehend this chaos.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(looking at JACOB with\n\t\t\taffection)\n\t\tJacob, if it was any other brain but\n\t\tyours, I might agree.\n\t\t\t(he pauses)\n\t\tTell me, does your lady friend know\n\t\twhat a brilliant thinker, what a sub-\n\t\tlime intellect she's living with?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling coyly)\n\t\tI doubt it's my mind that interests\n\t\ther. I tell you Prof, she's a fiery\n\t\tlady.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(with a fatherly\n\t\t\tdemeanor)\n\t\tWell, try not to get burned. You have\n\t\ta great mind, Jacob. Don't let anyone\n\t\ttempt you away from it.\n\n\n<b>INT. OFF CAMPUS COFFEE SHOP - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB and PROFESSOR STERN are sitting at a quiet table in a \nnearly empty coffee shop. They are both fixing cups of tea, not \nspeaking. Suddenly JACOB looks at STERN.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI've got a problem, Prof. More Augus-\n\t\ttine than Kierkegaard, if you know\n\t\twhat I mean.\n\t\t\t(STERN looks at him\n\t\t\tquestioningly)\n\t\tI need to know about ... demons.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(surprised)\n\t\tDemons, Jacob? Why demons? Are you\n\t\twriting ... ?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo.\n\t\t\t(he pauses a moment)\n\t\tI see them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tSee them?\n\t\t\t(he smiles uncomforta-\n\t\t\tbly)\n\t\tWhat do you mean? Physically?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(hesitantly)\n\t\tYes.\n\nSTERN pauses. He looks at JACOB. The intensity of his gaze is \nunsettling and JACOB reaches for his tea. The cup rattles.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tI know very little about demons, Ja-\n\t\tcob, fleshy ones anyway. I know them\n\t\tas literary figures, biblical ones\n\t\t... Dante, Milton ... but Jacob,\n\t\t\t(he pauses)\n\t\tthis is the 20th Century. We don't\n\t\tsee demons now.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI see them, Prof. Everywhere. They're\n\t\tinvading my life.\n\nA look of concern fills STERN's eyes.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tChrist, I know how it sounds.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tHave you considered a doctor? A psy-\n\t\tchiatrist?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYes.\n\t\t\t(suddenly uneasy)\n\t\tI don't want them. I'm not looking\n\t\tfor analysis or drugs. It's too easy\n\t\tto dismiss as some kind of psychosis.\n\t\t\t(he pauses uncomforta-\n\t\t\tbly)\n\t\tIt's more than that. I can feel it. I\n\t\tneed you Prof. You're the only one I\n\t\tcan talk to.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tI don't know what to say.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI need your insight, your intuition.\n\nSTERN sips his tea slowly. He is thinking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tDemons? I don't know what to tell\n\t\tyou. It sounds like a spiritual mat-\n\t\tter to me. The problem, Jacob, is\n\t\tthat you have no context for it.\n\t\tYou're a renegade Existentialist suf-\n\t\tfering demons a hundred years after\n\t\tFreud. How the hell am I supposed to\n\t\tmake it fit?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm afraid, Prof. Nothing makes\n\t\tsense.\n\t\t\t(he pauses)\n\t\tPlease help me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\t\t(trying to be delicate)\n\t\tJacob, I don't believe in demons, not\n\t\tin the empirical sense. I don't be-\n\t\tlieve in devils fighting for our\n\t\tsouls. I don't believe in enternal\n\t\tdamnation. I don't believe in other-\n\t\tworldly creatures tormenting us. We\n\t\tdon't need them. We do a good enough\n\t\tjob on ourselves.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(disturbed)\n\t\tBut I see them.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tLook. I don't pretend to know what's\n\t\tgoing on inside your head. For all I\n\t\tknow it's pathological and they\n\t\tshould be pumping Valium into your\n\t\tveins by the quart. But if you're not\n\t\twilling to accept the help of sci-\n\t\tence; and believe me, I admire you\n\t\tfor that: then you'll have to do bat-\n\t\ttle on your own. What can I say? It's\n\t\ta lonely pilgrimage through our times\n\t\teven for the strongest souls. But to\n\t\tbe pursued by ... demons no less ...\n\t\tThere are no guides, Jacob.\n\t\t\t(he muses)\n\t\tYou wanna know what I'd do if I sud-\n\t\tdenly started seeing demons? I'd hail\n\t\tthe first taxi that came along, shoot\n\t\tover to Bellvue and beg them for\n\t\tshock treatment. I'm no saint.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHell, you think I am?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tSTERN\n</b>\t\tI'venever understood you, you know\n\t\tthat? You were by far the best pupil\n\t\tI've ever had, bar none. Intellectu-\n\t\tally, you were the most original, the\n\t\tmost imaginative. Who knows, maybe\n\t\tyou've been \"elected\" to see demons.\n\t\tMaybe you're in touch with ... some-\n\t\tthing. Nothing would surprise me\n\t\tabout you Jacob. Nothing.\n\nJACOB gazes at his old friend and mentor, frustration blazing in \nhis eyes. They are both surprised to see tears form and run down \nhis cheek. JACOB reaches for a napkin and dries them quickly. \nSTERN, uncomfortable in the face of emotion, turns away.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 2: THE PARTY AT DELLA'S\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\nSuddenly a strange and terrifying spectacle unfolds before him. \nThe DANCERS undergo a shocking transformation, a full three-\ndimensional alteration of their physical forms. Clothes fuse to \ntheir bodies like new skin. Horns and tails emerge and grow like \nexotic genitalia, exciting a frenzy among the DANCERS. New \nappendages appear unfolding from their flesh. Dorsal fins \nprotrude from their backs. Armored scales run in scallops down \ntheir legs. Tails entwine sensuously. Long tongues lick at the \nundersides of reptilian bellies. The metamorphosis holds a \nbiological fascination. Bones and flesh mold into new forms of \nlife, creatures of another world.\n\nCUT TO JACOB's face as it registers terror and disbelief. He \nstares at the DANCERS. They are perverse, corrupt aspects of \ntheir normal selves. He is mesmerized by JEZZIE. Her flesh has \ngrown hard and wrinkled and has the markings of a snake. Her \ntongue, long and curled, darts in and out of her mouth \nrepeatedly. Her eyes are thin and domineering. They lock JACOB in \ntheir gaze. He wants to stop, to run, but JEZZIE won't release \nhim.\n\nJACOB grabs his eyes as though trying to pull the vision from \nthem but it won't go away. The music throbs. His actions become \nspastic, almost delirious. His hysteria attracts the attention of \nthe other DANCERS.\n\nA circle forms around JACOB and JEZZIE as their frenzy transcends \nthe boundaries of dance and erupts into an almost orgiastic \ndisplay. JACOB is out of control. His fury becomes a kind of \nexorcism, a desperate attempt to free himself from his body and \nhis mind.\n\nCUT TO JACOB as his eyes pass beyond pain. The dark walls of the \nAPARTMENT fade away.\n\n\n<b>EXT. VIETNAM - NIGHT\n</b>\nStrange faces in infantry helmets appear in the darkness, \noutlined by a bright moon that is emerging from behind a large \ncloud. The faces are looking down and voices are speaking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tHe's burning up.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tTotal delirium.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tHe'll never make it.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tThat's some gash. His guts keep\n\t\tspilling out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tPush 'em back.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB (V.O.)\n</b>\t\t\t(crying weakly)\n\t\tHelp me!\n\nHis eyes focus on the moon. Rings of light emanate from it \nfilling the sky with their sparkling brilliance. The rings draw \nus forward with a quickening intensity that grows into \nexhilarating speed. The rush causes them to flash \nstroboscopically and produce a dazzling, almost sensual, surge of \ncolor. The display is spectacular and compelling. A voice can be \nheard in the distance.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tI think we're losing him.\n\nSuddenly the flickering rings begin to define a tangible image, a \nkind of CELESTIAL STAIRCASE, rising up into infinite dimensions. \nAs we speed toward it, it grows increasingly majestic. The image \nis so awesome and other-worldly that it is difficult to grasp \nwhat is being seen.\n\nMusic can be heard in the distance. It too is celestial in its \nbeauty. Then, unexpectedly, it grows hard and insistent, like a \nheartbeat. Heavy breathing accompanies the sound. The image of \nthe STAIRCASE shatters and disappears, replaced by intense \nflashes of red and blue light. The music grows louder and reaches \na thundering crescendo. Then silence.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 3: JACOB'S LIVING ROOM\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>INT. JACOB'S LIVING ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nCUT TO APPLAUSE from a real television game show as JACOB \nswitches channels on the LIVING ROOM T.V. He stops on an \ninterview program, turns up the sound, and runs to the BATHROOM. \nThe CAMERA stays on the television. JACOB can be heard urinating \nin the distance.\n\nMAC HAYES, a young, virile, and smug REPORTER is speaking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYES\n</b>\t\tThe Reverend Norman Murphy, leader of\n\t\tone of the largest groups supporting\n\t\tthe Armageddon Committee, told our\n\t\tcameras that we are no longer dealing\n\t\tin decades but years.\n\nTHE REVEREND fills the T.V. screen.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMURPHY\n</b>\t\tThe battleground is being readied.\n\t\tOur planet is the battlefield. Our\n\t\tsouls are the prize. All the signs\n\t\tpoint to the inevitable confrontation\n\t\tbetween the forces of good and evil.\n\t\tPeople must choose sides. There is no\n\t\tdraft evasions in this war. All are\n\t\tcalled. All must take up weapons. Are\n\t\tyou prepared? That's the question we\n\t\task.\n\nThe toilet flushes and JACOB walks back into the LIVING ROOM and \nturns down the sound.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYES\n</b>\t\tDo you find people scoffing at you,\n\t\tReverend? After all, there have been\n\t\tdoomsayers for thousands of years and\n\t\twe're still here.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMURPHY\n</b>\t\tPeople are less apt to laugh these\n\t\tdays. The prophecies are too close\n\t\tfor comfort. I mean, all you have to\n\t\tdo is watch the news.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYES\n</b>\t\tThere are some who claim that your\n\t\tpessimism is defeatist and what the\n\t\tworld needs now is hope, a positive\n\t\tthrust.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMURPHY\n</b>\t\tI think the time for hope has passed.\n\t\tThe seeds have been planted. We shall\n\t\treap what we've sown.\n\t\t\t(he pauses)\n\t\tPessimists, no. I think we are\n\t\tpercieved as the only realists\n\t\taround.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tHAYES\n</b>\t\tOther movement leaders agree. In an\n\t\tinterview ...\n\nSuddenly the telephone rings. It startles JACOB. He jumps. It \nrings again. He reaches down, turns off the T.V., and picks up \nthe phone. His eyes continue to stare at the blank screen as he \ntalks.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 4: JACOB'S BEDROOM\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>INT. JACOB'S BEDROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\nTHE BEDROOM is dark. JACOB and JEZZIE are making love. A half-\nsmoked joint is smouldering in an ashtray by the bed. JEZZIE is \npoised on top of JACOB and his eyes are focused on her face.\n\nA hurricane lamp casts a warm glow over their bodies. Its \nflickering light plays games with JACOB's eyes and for a moment \nJEZZIE seems to disappear. JACOB reaches out for her breasts and \nhis hands seem to vanish into the shadows dancing across her. \nWith sudden, hallucinogenic impact, JACOB feels himself drawn \ninto a starry universe opening from inside her.\n\nTHE CAMERA plunges through her image into a galxy of stars and \nrushes toward one that is twinkling brightly. Pulsations of its \nlight whiten the screen. Out of the whiteness appears a momentary \nflash of the CELESTIAL STAIRCASE, accompanied by sounds of sexual \nclimax.\n\nThe STAIRCASE sparkles for an instant and then it's gone. The \nsparkle becomes a glimmer in JEZZIE's eye as her face fills the \nscreen. She looks especially lovely and radiant. Her image moves \nwith the lamplight.\n\nJACOB's face is ecstatic. He can barely talk and simply basks in \nJEZZIE's glow. Slowly, she leans forward and whispers in his ear.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tSo tell me ... am I still an angel?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling broadly)\n\t\tWith wings.\n\t\t\t(he strokes her hair)\n\t\tYou transport me, you know that? You\n\t\tcarry me away.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 5: DEMON IN THE WALL\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>INT. JACOB'S APARTMENT - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB is sitting in a comfortable chair in his living room. He is \nreading. The room is dark, lit only by a reading light. The walls \nare mostly in shadow. The light, however, falls on one section of \nthe wall, a portion that has been lined in fake wood paneling.\n\nJACOB's eyes suddenly lift off the page and roam over the wood \ngrain on the wall. All of a sudden he notices something strange, \nan image in the grain. He stares at it. The more he stares the \nmore precise its definition. The image of a DEMON appears in the \nwall.\n\nJACOB sits up quickly and stares at the walll. It is impossible \nto get the DEMON's image out of the grain. It seems etched, even \nimbedded, in the paneling.\n\nJACOB looks away and returns to his book. He is reading about \narchetypes and the primordial mind. But the book does not hold \nhis attention. He is obsessed with the wall. Its molecules seem \nsuddenly active, the wood grain suddenly animate. Layers begin to \nappear in the surface of the wall as the grain patterns slowly \ndefine a rocky, barren landscape.\n\nThe DEMON is growing solid. Cries and screams rise up in the \ndistance. Flames and a red glow emanate from the space extending \nrapidly into the wall. The image of Hell erupts before him.\n\nJACOB stands up. He can see bodies suffering beyond the wall, \nmasses of PEOPLE wailing and enduring the torments of a fiery \nworld. The DEMON's arm slowly extends from the plane of the wall \nand reaches into the room. He is huge, covered in flames and \nskulls, a living horror. He grabs hold of JACOB and pulls him \ntoward the wall. JACOB tries to back away but he cannot. His face \nis white with fear. The DEMON draws JACOB toward the inferno.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(yelling at the top of\n\t\t\this lungs)\n<b>\t\tNO!\n</b>\nSuddenly JEZZIE appears, the light from the BEDROOM flooding the \npaneled wall. The DEMON vanishes instantly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake, are you all ... ?\n\nShe stops dead in her tracks.\n\nCUT TO JACOB pressed up against the wall, defying gravity and \nlogic, as though about to merge with the solid surface. His body \nholds there for a moment and then collapses to the floor. JEZZIE \ngoes to him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake? Jake?\n\nHe doesn't answer. He looks at JEZZIE with a blank stare. His \nbody begins shaking.\n\n\n<b>INT. JACOB'S BEDROOM - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB is lying on the bed, curled up in a fetal pose. JEZZIE is \nstroking his hair and trying to calm him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt's going to be all right, Jake.\n\t\tIt's going to be all right. Don't be\n\t\tafraid. I've got you now.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHold me, Jezzie. Hold me.\n\nJEZZIE wraps herself around his shivering body and warms him with \nher own. The image seems tender and comforting until we notice \nJEZZIE's tongue darting nervously in and out. It looks strangely \nlike a snake's.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 6: THE HOSPITAL\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\nThe RESIDENT injects the serum into JACOB's veins while two \nORDERLIES hold him still. JACOB barely struggles. His eyes fixate \non the EMERGENCY ROOM WALL. It is white and sterile. Within \nmoments it begins to emit a reddish glow. JACOB watches with \nastonishment as the wall's two-dimensional surface separates into \nthree-dimensional planes. The solid surface gives way to a DARK \nCHAMBER that was not there before.\n\nOut of the transmuted space CREATURES begin to form. Bosch-like \nDEMONS with horns and tails, undeniably of another world. Slowly \nseveral of them emerge from the wall and approach JACOB. They \nlook like parodies of doctors and nurses, wearing traditional \nhospital gowns. Without a word they wheel him through the space \nwhere the wall had been. JACOB tries to scream but no sound comes \nout.\n\n\n<b>INT. HELL - NIGHT\n</b>\nThe DARK CHAMBER is filled with mournful CREATURES being led by \nDEMONS through a series of CORRIDORS. No one fights or struggles. \nJACOB's stretcher is moved through the darkness. He tries to sit \nup but is forced back down. He is obviously drugged.\n\nJACOB is wheeled into a tiny CHAMBER. A number of DEMONS are \nwaiting for him. Chains and pulleys hang from the ceiling. They \nare lowered and attached with speed and efficiency to JACOB's \narms and legs. The devices are manipulated smoothly and JACOB is \nlifted off the stretcher. The chains retract, stretching him \nspread-eagle in the air. He screams loudly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh God!\n\nThe DEMONS laugh. There is the sound of a huge door closing. \nJACOB is left in darkness. The darkness is hallucinogenic. Fires \nappear beyond the boundaries of the wall; images of Dante's \nInferno, souls of the dead in endless torment. JACOB is but one \nof countless beings sharing a vastness of torment. His own \nscreams for help are lost in the magnitude of voices crying.\n\nSuddenly, out of the meancing shadows, a contingent of DEMONS \nemerges. They are carrying sharp surgical instruments. They \nsurround JACOB, their eyes glistening as bright as their blades. \nJACOB is panting and sweating with fear. For an instant, one of \nthe DEMONS looks like JEZZIE. JACOB calls out to her.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tJezzie! Help me!\n\nThe DEMONS laugh as she changes form. They take great pleasure in \nhis suffering. Their voices are strange and not human. Each \nutterance contains a multitude of contradictory tones, sincere \nand compassionate, taunting and mocking at the same time. The \nconfusion of meanings is a torment of its own.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 7: JACOB'S BEDROOM\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>INT. JACOB'S BEDROOM\n</b>\nJACOB is lying on the floor of his BEDROOM doing exercises for \nhis back. He has several days' growth of beard and does not look \nwell. His mind is drifting and only the occasional pain in his \nback reminds him of what he is doing. JEZZIE can be heard \nvacuuming the carpet in the LIVING ROOM. Suddenly the door swings \nopen. The wail of the vacuum cleaner causes JACOB to tense. His \neyes drift down from the ceiling. JEZZIE vacuums around him and \nseems insensitive to his presence.\n\nJEZZIE shoves the vacuum cleaner under the bed and hits \nsomething. JACOB tightens. She looks and is shocked to discover a \ncan of gasoline and boxes of kitchen matches. It takes her a \nsecond to understand the implications of what she has found. \nJACOB is ready when she begins yelling.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou're completely off your rocker,\n\t\tyou know that? You'd think you fell\n\t\ton your head instead of your back.\n\t\tWhat are you planning to do, burn\n\t\tdown the apartment along with your\n\t\tdemons?\n\nShe begins to remove the gasoline can.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(yelling)\n\t\tDon't you touch it.\n\t\t\t(he glares at her)\n\nJEZZIE lets go of the can and grabs the vacuum. She moves it \nfuriously across the carpet. Suddenly JACOB sees her tongue \ndarting in and out, unconsciously. She looks strange, not human. \nJACOB freezes. He yells out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWho are you?\n\nThe sound of the vacuum cleaner drowns out his voice. He yells \nagain. JEZZIE sees him and turns off the machine. His voice booms \nout.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n\t\tWho the hell are you?\n\nJEZZIE ignores the question and turns the vacuum cleaner back on. \nJACOB rolls over and pulls out the plug.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhy won't you answer me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(angry)\n\t\tCause you know goddamn well who I am.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI don't know you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou've lived with me for two years.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThat doesn't mean shit. Where do you\n\t\tcome from, huh? And I don't mean\n\t\tIndiana.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat do you want me to say? My\n\t\tmother's tummy?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tYou know goddamn well what I mean.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou're out of your fucking mind. I'm\n\t\tnot gonna stand around here gettin'\n\t\tinterrogated by you.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWell leave then. Go to Hell.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(furious)\n\t\tYou son-of-a-bitch. Who do you think\n\t\tyou are? I don't deserve this. Who\n\t\ttakes care of you day and night? Who\n\t\tcleans the floor and washes your\n\t\tgoddamn underwear? Well, I've had it.\n\t\tYou flip out on your own, you\n\t\tungrateful bastard. I'm done holding\n\t\tyour hand. I don't want anything to\n\t\tdo with you, you hear? Nothing!\n\nShe storms out of the room, kicking the vacuum cleaner as she \ngoes. JACOB can see flashes of her through the open crack of the \nbedroom door. Occasional curses and epithets hurl through the \nopening along with a flood of tears.\n\nJACOB catches glimpses of her as she grabs her coat from the hall \ncloset and as she pulls her money out of the desk drawer. He can \nsee the lamp as she shoves it to the floor and hears it shatter \nas she stomps on it with her foot. There is a blur as she heads \nto the front door and a deafening bang as she leaves.\n\nJACOB's eyes drift up to the ceiling. They hardly blink. He \nstares at the plaster, chipped and cracked, above him. Suddenly \nthe cracks begin to move. JACOB jumps up. A DEMON is \nmaterializing over his head. JACOB yells and grabs hold of the \nextension pole for the vacuum cleaner. With a furious cry he \nbegins jamming it at the ceiling. Rather than blot out the \nevolving image his attack helps to define it. JACOB slams harder. \nPlaster and wood lath cover the floor. The DEMON is gone. Panting \nhard, JACOB reaches for matches and the gasoline can. He stops \nand stares at them with great intensity.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 8: THE ANTIDOTE SEQUENCE\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\nThe ceiling begins to rumble. Cracks split wide open. Huge \ncrevasses tear through the plaster. JACOB's world is crumbling. \nHe stares in horror as DEMONIC FORMS attempt to surge through the \nrupture above him. Piercing eyes and sharp teeth glimmer in the \ndarkness. Hooved feet and pointed claws clamor to break through.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(continuing)\n<b>\t\tHELP ME!\n</b>\nInstantly MICHAEL appears standing over him. He is holding the \nvial with the antidote. He draws an eyedropper full of the fluid \nand holds it over JACOB's mouth.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tTake it!\n\nJACOB fights him but MICHAEL forces the entire contents of the \neyedropper down his throat. JACOB gags. He tries to spit it out, \nbut can't.\n\nSuddenly the ceiling erupts in violent clashes as whole chunks \nbreak off and collide with one another like continental plates. \nThe collisions wreak havoc on the DEMONS, chopping and \ndismembering them. Body parts fall from the ceiling like a \nDevil's rain. Horrible screams echo from the other side.\n\nFlashes of light and dark storm over JACOB's head, thundering \nlike a war in the heavens. It is a scene of raw power and growing \ncatastrophe. It builds in fury and rage until suddenly the \nceiling explodes.\n\nMatter atomizes instantly. Trillions of particles hurl \nchaotically in all directions. The walls shatter into a dazzling \nbrightness. For a moment there is a sense of intense forward \nmovement, a rush toward oblivion. And then, suddenly, it stops. \nThere is absolute quiet and stillness.\n\nJACOB's eyes stare into the formlessness sparkling around him. \nAll space has become a shining void. Gradually faint pastel \ncolors appear like colored molecules, dancing and spinning, \nredirecting space into new formations. They weave patterns of \nintricate complexity and stunning beauty.\n\nAs the colors grow brighter and more vivid their abstraction \ngives way to solid form. A GARDEN SCENE emerges. It is a GARDEN \nOF LIGHT, a vast, almost mythic, Rousseau paradise. It radiates \nan intense shimmering light.\n\nJACOB's eyes are cpativated by the vision before him. A sudden \nmovement catches his attention. He looks up and notices MICHAEL \nstill standing beside him. MICHAEL, however, is rapidly changing \nform. It is a full, plastic, three-dimensional metamorphosis. His \nvery flesh seems to expand and glow with its own inner light. His \nface shines and radiates an almost transcendental beauty.\n\nJACOB is nearly blinded by MICHAEL's presence and must shield his \neyes to look at him. MICHAEL smiles an extraordinary and joyous \nsmile that radiates such intense luminosity that JACOB has to \nsquint to see it.\n\nSuddenly MICHAEL steps off the ground. He rises into the air and \nfloats above JACOB. JACOB can barely breathe as he watches him. \nMICHAEL rises into a sky filled with orbs and blazing lights. The \nlights shine on JACOB's head. He effervesces and shimmers in \ntheir glow.\n\nOne of the orbs sends a burst of light exploding over JACOB. So \nintense is the light that JACOB grabs his eyes. As he opens them \nagain he sees that the GARDEN is fading back into pure light. \nMICHAEL, too, is fading.\n\nAnother burst of light and the GARDEN is reabsorbed by the void. \nOnly the brightness remains. It is many seconds before we realize \nthat the HOTEL ROOM is coming together, reconstructed by the \nlight. In moments it is fully formed. Sunlight is pouring through \nthe window. MICHAEL is sleeping lightly in a chair. He hears \nJACOB stare and sits up.\n\nJACOB is sitting on the bed. He does not seem to know where he \nis. His eyes are filled with awe. They move slowly around the \nroom, taking everything in. He doesn't speak. MICHAEL gets up and \nsits beside him. He respects his silence.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 9: HOTEL ROOM\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>INT. HOTEL ROOM - DAY\n</b>\nJACOB enters the HOTEL ROOM. JEZZIE is already there watching the \nevening news. She is still in her postal uniform, lying on the \nbed. She taps the mattress, inviting JACOB to lie next to her. A \nWOMAN is crying to a REPORTER on the T.V.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tWOMAN\n</b>\t\tIt's been four days. No word. It's\n\t\tnot like him. He's never done any-\n\t\tthing like this before. It's like he\n\t\tjust disappeared from the face of the\n\t\tearth.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tREPORTER\n</b>\t\tThe Bureau of Missing Persons is con-\n\t\tfounded by the continuing surge of\n\t\treports ...\n\nJACOB snaps off the T.V.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat'd you do that for? It's an in-\n\t\tteresting story. All these people are\n\t\tstill disappearing. Right off the\n\t\tstreet.\n\t\t\t(staring at JACOB)\n\t\tHey, what's wrong? Are you all right?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm okay. I just don't want to lis-\n\t\tten.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou look upset.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(angry)\n\t\tI'm not upset.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake, what is it?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tI'm tired.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou look terrible. What happened?\n\t\t\t(he turns away. She\n\t\t\tstares at him for a mo-\n\t\t\tment, concerned)\n\t\tJake ... is it the antidote?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tGoddamn it. Why do you say that?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tLook at yourself. You look like\n\t\tyou've seen a ghost.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tShit! Can't I just have a bad day?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYou can have anything you want.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tThen don't bug me.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI'm not bugging you. Come and lie\n\t\tdown. I'll give you a massage.\n\t\t\t(she taps the mattress\n\t\t\tagain and JACOB joins\n\t\t\ther. She unbuttons his\n\t\t\tshirt)\n\t\tWhere'd you go today?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(evasively)\n\t\tMid-town mostly.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tOh yeah? What was happenin' there?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(looking away from her)\n\t\tI picked up my ticket.\n\t\t\t(he pauses)\n\t\tI'm leaving in the morning, Jez.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(tensing)\n\t\tOh?\n\t\t\t(acting innocent)\n\t\tWhere you going?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(nervously)\n\t\tWest.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(growing angry)\n\t\tWhere's West? New Jersey?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDon't be funny.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tI always liked the West, west of Il-\n\t\tlinois anyway. But you gotta give me\n\t\ttime to pack.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tStop it, Jez. Don't do that.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tDo what? I haven't done a thing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tDon't play games with me. There's\n\t\tnothing more to say.\n\nThere is a quiet rage building in JEZZIE's eyes as she continues \nto stroke JACOB's chest. He tries to relax and give himself over \nto the movement of her hand. Silently she leans over and begins \nlicking his stomach. JACOB's eyes close. His stomach hardens. He \nreaches back and adjusts the pillow beneath his head. Slowly, \nJEZZIE works her way back up to his chest. Her tongue darts in \nand out suggestively. He eyes are burning with anger. Her mouth \npoises itself over his nipple. She toys with it for a few seconds \nand then chomps down hard. The bite draws blood.\n\nJACOB screams. His eyes shoot open. For the flash of an instant \nhe sees a DEMON hovering over him, a hideous horned creature \nlicking his blood. JACOB flies off the bed as the creature hurls \nto the floor. JACOB is ready to pounce on it when he sees that it \nis JEZZIE lying at his feet. His head begins reeling. He backs \naway from the bed, not taking his eyes off JEZZIE for a second. \nHe backs to the closet and grabs his coat.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake. What are you doing? Look, I'm\n\t\tsorry, I didn't mean to bite. Let me\n\t\tget you a towel.\n\nJACOB grabs his wallet and his glasses. He backs toward the door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake, don't. You can't leave. You're\n\t\tnot seeing things clearly. The drug's\n\t\twearing off.\n\nShe stands up and begins to approach him. JACOB lifts up a desk \nchair and holds it in front of him. Blood is running down his \nchest.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tJake, don't leave me!\n\nJACOB throws the chair at the floor, opens the door, and hurries \ninto the HALLWAY. JEZZIE scurries around the chair and runs to \nthe door. She yells after him, but he is already gone.\n\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>ADDENDUM 10: THE END OF THE MOVIE\n</b>\n<b>---\n</b>\n<b>INT. HALLWAY - NIGHT\n</b>\nJACOB stoops in front of the APARTMENT door and reaches his hand \nunderneath a section of the hallway carpet. It comes back with a \nkey. He inserts it into the lock and gently opens the door.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(calling out)\n\t\tHello. It's me.\n\n\n<b>INT. SARAH'S APARTMENT - NIGHT\n</b>\nThe lights are on and the APARTMENT looks comfortable and cozy.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tHello? Is anyone home? Jed? Elie? Dad-\n\t\tdy's here.\n\nThere is still no answer. JACOB is surprised. He walks into the \nLIVING ROOM and then the KITCHEN. No one is around. He walks into \nhis old BEDROOM and then the BOYS' ROOM. He is surprised to hear \nfootsteps coming down the hall. He turns around and calls out.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tSarah, is that you? I hope you don't\n\t\tmind. I needed to come home.\n\nJACOB is startled to see JEZZIE enter the room. She does not seem \nto be her usual self. She seems larger, more imposing.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHello, Jake. I knew you'd come here\n\t\tin the end.\n\nJACOB is nervous.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere's Sarah? Where are the boys?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tSit down, Jake.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere are they?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tSit down!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tNo! What's going on? Where's my\n\t\tfamily?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tIt's over, Jake. It's all over.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhere have they gone?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWake up! Stop playing with yourself.\n\t\tIt's finished.\n\nJEZZIE stares at JACOB with a frightening, powerful glare. Her \nlips snarl. Her tongue begins darting in and out, only now it is \nnot a nervous habit but a conscious act. JACOB's body feels the \nfirst waves of an inner tremor. His legs are shaking.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat's going on?\n\nJEZZIE smiles at him. Her tongue wags and suddenly shoots from \nher mouth beyond human extension. JACOB recoils.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(whispering to himself)\n\t\tThis isn't happening.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tYour capacity for self-delusion is\n\t\tremarkable, Dr. Singer.\n\nJEZZIE's head begins to tighten and squeeze, as though she is \nsuffering from cramps. JACOB watches in horror as her skull gives \nbirth to pointed horns.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh God!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tWhat's wrong, Jake?\n\t\t\t(she mocks him)\n\t\tForget to take your antidote?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(screaming)\n\t\tGoddamn you!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(smiling and then\n\t\t\tlaughing)\n\t\tI loved your chemist, Jake. The\n\t\theight of fantasy. And your vision of\n\t\tparadise.\n\t\t\t(she laughs with a hu-\n\t\t\tmiliating tone)\n\t\tA most romantic creation. You're\n\t\tquite a dreamer, Jake. Only it's time\n\t\tto wake up.\n\nJACOB's eyes are locked on JEZZIE. His mouth is wide open. His \nbody is shaking badly. He tries to back away from her but his \nlegs barely move.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tThere is nowhere to run, Jacob.\n\t\tYou're home.\n\nSuddenly the pictures on the wall crash to the floor. Plaster \nfrom the ceiling breaks off in huge chunks and slams to the \ncarpet. Light bulbs and lamps explode. JACOB runs to the door. He \npulls it open and screams. He is on the edge of a fiery abyss. \nJEZZIE laughs with a new intensity of demonic force. JACOB spins \naround.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tWHO ARE YOU?\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\tHow many times have you asked me\n\t\tthat? How many times?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tTELL ME, DAMN YOU!\n</b>\n<b>\t\t\t\tJEZZIE\n</b>\t\t\t(with consummate power)\n\t\tYou know who I am.\n\nSuddenly JEZZIE reaches for her tongue and pulls at it with all \nher might. It is an act of total, unrelieved grotesqueness. With \neach yank the horror grows as JEZZIE literally pulls herself \ninside out before JACOB's eyes.\n\nThe emerging creature is JEZZIE transfigured, a demonic presence \nbeyond anything we have seen before. It is black and covered with \na thick oozing slime. Its head, still recognizable as JEZZIE, is \nrodent-like, with piercing green eyes and terrible horns \nprotruding from its brow. Its powerful arms have long spiked \nclaws. Its feet are cloven hooves. Extending from its back is a \nlong, thick, muscular tail that whips around the room with \ndevastating force. It throws furniture crashing through the air.\n\nA sudden cracking sound emerges from the DEMON's back. Dark forms \npenetrate the air. JACOB is breathless as huge wings unfold and \nspread out to the living room walls. The sound of their flapping \nis deafening. The walls shatter from their blows. As they crumble \ndarkness appears on the other side. There are no other rooms. The \nVOID envelops them. The INFERNO emerges in all directions. The \nDEMON roars.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDEMON\n</b>\t\t\t(with JEZZIE's voice)\n\t\tStill love me, Jake?\n\t\t\t(it laughs and reaches\n\t\t\tout to him)\n<b>\t\tCOME!\n</b>\nCUT TO JACOB's face. He has gone beyond fear. An intensity of \nrage is building in him that we have not witnessed before. His \nwhole image seems transformed by it. He glows like a volcano \nbefore it erupts.\n\nSuddenly he explodes. The full fury of the Ladder detonates \ninside him. He yells at the DEMON with all his might.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b><b>\t\tNO!!!!!\n</b>\nWith a power and energy of devastating force he attacks the \nDEMON. JACOB is battling for his very soul and tears at the DEMON \nwith an animalistic fury that takes it by surprise. Its giant \nwings flap furiously, lifting them both up off the floor. JACOB \nkeeps fighting. He claws, bites, and rips at the wings, \ndecimating their delicate fabric.\n\nThe DEMON, shocked, and trying to gain control, crashes up \nthrough the last fragments of the ceiling. JACOB does not let go. \nThey burst into the fiery darkness. The room crumbles beneath \nthem and disappears into the void.\n\nThe abyss opens beneath them. JACOB continues his attack. His \nlegs are locked around the DEMON's waist. His hands dig into her \neyes. The DEMON shrieks and surges downward with awesome \nvelocity.\n\nThe DEMON charges into a rocky slope, smashing JACOB into its \ncliffs. JACOB claws at her wings, shredding as much of them as he \ncan reach. The DEMON takes a huge chunk out of JACOB's arm. JACOB \nscreams, grabs a rock, and shatters the DEMON's teeth. The DEMON \nfalls to the ground. JACOB holds on.\n\nAll of a sudden the DEMON begins to shrink. JACOB is shocked and \nstruggles to contain it. As it dwindles in size it reorders its \nshape. Within seconds a powerful INSECT is cupped in his hands. \nJACOB tries to crush it but it stings with such force that \nJACOB's entire body recoils. The stinging persists. JACOB hurls \nhimself to the ground on top of his arms to hold the CREATURE \ndown. So massive is the INSECT's attack. however, that JACOB's \nwhole body heaves off the ground with each sting. Then the \nattacks subside. JACOB waits for the next blow.\n\nSuddenly JACOB's body shoots straight up. His hands fly apart as \na new life form erupts between them. He holds on tightly as flesh \nand blood mold and expand between his fingers. The new body takes \nrapid shape. It is a CHILD. JACOB grasps it with all his might as \nit completes its identity. He is horrified when he sees it. It is \nhis son.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELI\n</b>\t\tDaddy!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh God!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELI\n</b>\t\tYou're hurting me!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\t\t(yelling)\n\t\tStop!!!!\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELI\n</b>\t\tDaddy. Let go.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tWhat do you want from me?\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tELI\n</b><b>\t\tLET GO!\n</b>\nJACOB does not let up. In an instant his SON explodes into a \ngelatinous form, constantly undulating and changing shape. Within \nits translucent mass a new body is forming. JACOB stares at it \nwith growing terror. It is himself. A terrible perplexity fills \nJACOB's eyes as he struggles to dig in and destroy his own image. \nHe recoils as his own voice calls out to him.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tVOICE\n</b>\t\tWho the Hell do you think you're\n\t\tfighting?\n\nThe words shock him and for the first time, he lets go.\n\nInstantly the image disappears and the jelly-like mass dissolves \ninto an oily liquid rapidly encircling his feet. JACOB looks down \nat the shallow pool spreading out beneath him. Its surface \nreflects a smoky, unearthly light.\n\nJACOB gazes into the darkness. He is all alone. The quiet \noverwhelms him. The only sound is his own breath. He looks \naround, in all directions, but can see nothing. The CAMERA holds \non him as he stands waiting for the next assault, but nothing \ncomes. He is left only with his anticipation and with hinself. He \nstares at the terrible darkness.\n\nA subtle phospheresence begins to glow in the liquid beneath \nJACOB's feet. He steps away from it, but it follows his movement. \nSuddenly, as if by spontaneous combustion, it bursts into flames. \nJACOB screams and tries to run but the flames move with him, \nlapping at his legs. He cannot escape them. As far and as fast as \nhe runs the fire is with him. He yells and cries and screams as \nthe fire eats at his lower limbs. He falls and jumps back up \nagain, his hands charred. His eyes grow wild.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tJACOB\n</b>\t\tOh God, help me.\n\nInstantly the flames roar and engulf him. It is total \nconflagration. JACOB's skin blisters and turns black. His flesh \ncrackles. Writhing in pain he runs through the flames but can \nfind no freedom from his suffering.\n\nAll at once JACOB stops running. He throws his hands up into the \nburning air and stands motionless, in absolute agony. It is a \ngesture of total submission and surrender to forces beyond \nhimself. His flesh bubbles and chars but something is suddenly \nquiet inside him.\n\nThrough the flames JACOB's dark form can be seen as it slowly \nsits down, like a Buddhist monk, in the midst of the holocaust. \nHe appears a figure of sudden nobility as the flames annihilate \nhim.\n\nGradually the fire dies. JACOB's body, his flesh like a charred \nand brittle shell, sits motionless, beyond pain. An orange glow \nfrom the embers of his body slowly fades, leaving him in the \nfinal darkness.\n\nThe SCREEN stays dark for as long as possible. Then, slowly, an \neerie light appears in an unfamiliar sky. It backlights JACOB, \nrevealing his silhouette. The CAMERA dollies slowly toward him. \nIt approaches the burned and unrecognizable remains of JACOB's \nface. It is the face of death. The CAMERA holds on the image.\n\nSuddenly, with shocking impact, JACOB's eyes move. Within the \ncrumbling shell of a body something is still alive, still \nconscious. The eyes survey the darkness and the first stirrings \nof a new light.\n\nIt is dawn. JACOB's dark remains are suffused by a preternatural \nglow. Slowly, huge orbs begin to appear on the horizon. JACOB's \neyes open to the growing light as they seek out the familiar in \nthe still dark lansdcape. Gradually the orbs begin their ascent \nlike a thousand suns rising at the same time. JACOB's eyes widen \nas his new world stands revealed. He is sitting in a GARDEN OF \nLIGHT, the Rousseau paradise he has visited once before.\n\nA sudden burst of light fills the sky directly overhead. The \nvegetation around him is instantly illuminated with its soft \nglow. Like a gentle breeze MICHAEL descends from the light and \nstands radiant before JACOB. He smiles and the air itself seems \nto brighten. MICHAEL quietly approaches JACOB's body.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tI am with you, Jacob.\n\nJACOB stares at him through dark eyes with a mixture of awe and \ndisbelief.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\t\t(speaking with a gentle\n\t\t\tcompassion)\n\t\tIt's all right now. It's over. You've\n\t\twon. You're here.\n\t\t\t(JACOB stares at him\n\t\t\tquestioningly. MICHAEL\n\t\t\treaches out his hands)\n\t\tTrust me.\n\nSoftly MICHAEL places his hands on top of JACOB's head and begins \nto peel at the charred flesh. Layer by layer he strips it away. \nThen, with an unexpected gesture, he rips away a whole section \nwith one quick pull. A BLAZE OF LIGHT bursts through the gaping \nhole in JACOB's head and beams into the air around them. It is an \nastounding sight.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tCome on. Don't make me do it all.\n\t\t\t(his eyes sparkle)\n\t\tStand up.\n\t\t\t(JACOB's eyes are burst-\n\t\t\ting with wonder)\n\t\tYou can do it.\n\nSlowly JACOB begins to stir. He moves feebly at first, like an \nold man. His black flesh creaks and cracks and through each \nsudden fissure another beam of light blasts out with laserlike \nintensity.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tStop hobbling. Your flesh can't hold\n\t\tyou anymore.\n\nJACOB nods in response and takes a huge, gigantic breath. His \nlungs expand and suddenly all the old flesh bursts from his body \nas a radiant being of light breaks through beneath it. JACOB \nstands transfigured, filled with his own luminosity. His face is \nlike a child's as he stares in amazement at his own hands, \nglowing with light.\n\nMICHAEL directs JACOB's vision to the sunrise. It is majestic, \nalmost Biblical in its grandeur. Great rays of light penetrate \nvast cloud formations and descend into the GARDEN. Slowly the \nclouds, as if orchestrated by some higher power, begin to part. A \nmassive light complex emerges from behind them. JACOB watches, \nawestruck, as the CELESTIAL STAIRWAY stands revealed. It reaches \ndown from unknown heights, radiating an infinite power and grace. \nIt touches down far in the distance, hovering over many acres of \nteh GARDEN. JACOB's eyes are filled with its splendor. MICHAEL \nlooks at him and nods.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tMICHAEL\n</b>\t\tGo on, Jacob. It has come for you.\n\nJACOB cannot speak. His eyes are fixed on the STAIRWAY dazzling \nhim from afar. He can see ANGELIC FORMS moving up and down it. \nSuddenly, as if transported by light itself, he feels himself \nfloating up into the air. He looks down upon EDEN sparkling below \nhim. His mouth is wide open as he soars above it.\n\nThe light pulsating from the STAIRWAY is brilliant and thrilling. \nJACOB's own inner light intensifies as he approaches it. The \nSTAIRWAY grows increasingly wondrous as we draw nearer. It pulls \nJACOB toward it.\n\nSTREAMS OF ANGELS enter the STAIRWAY like a fast flowing river. \nIt carries them instantly within its current up beyond the \nvisible reaches of the glittering sky. Billowing clouds glow in a \nparade of colors and the starry heavens seem to part as the \nSTAIRWAY reaches beyond all known dimensions.\n\nJACOB stares at the light that is about to absorb him. It is a \nmoment of total euphoria. He surges into the stream as the \nbrilliant light of the STAIRWAY overwhelms the screen.\n\nSlowly the brightness of the screen condenses into a smaller \nlight source. An overhead surgical lamp remains stubbornly in \nview.\n\n\n<b>INT. VIETNAM FIELD HOSPITAL - DAY\n</b>\nA DOCTOR leans his head in front of the lamp and removes his \nmask. His expression is somber. He shakes his head. His words are \nsimple and final.\n\n<b>\t\t\t\tDOCTOR\n</b>\t\tHe's gone.\n\nCUT TO JACOB SINGER lying on an operating table in a large ARMY \nFIELD TENT in VIET NAM. The DOCTOR steps away. A NURSE rudely \npulls a green sheet up over his head. The DOCTOR turns to one of \nthe aides and throws up his hands in defeat.\n\nTWO ORDERLIES wheel JACOB's body past rows of other DOCTORS and \nNURSES fighting to save lives. A YOUNG VIETNAMESE BOY pulls back \na screen door to let them out of the tent. It is a bright, fresh \nmorning. The sun is rising.\n\n\n<b>THE END\n</b>"},"answers":{"kind":"list like","value":["Paul's death."],"string":"[\n \"Paul's death.\"\n]","isConversational":false},"length":{"kind":"number","value":36413,"string":"36,413"},"dataset":{"kind":"string","value":"narrativeqa"},"language":{"kind":"string","value":"en"},"all_classes":{"kind":"null"},"_id":{"kind":"string","value":"c0442bb0d481a92b102c0a19f1b9ffeb338f9094d0fdea97"}}},{"rowIdx":1797,"cells":{"input":{"kind":"string","value":"What analogy does socrates compare citizens and the law to?"},"context":{"kind":"string","value":"This etext was prepared by Sue Asscher <asschers@aia.net.au>\n\n\n\n\n\nCRITO\n\nby Plato\n\n\n\n\nTranslated by Benjamin Jowett\n\n\n\n\nINTRODUCTION.\n\nThe Crito seems intended to exhibit the character of Socrates in one light\nonly, not as the philosopher, fulfilling a divine mission and trusting in\nthe will of heaven, but simply as the good citizen, who having been\nunjustly condemned is willing to give up his life in obedience to the laws\nof the state...\n\nThe days of Socrates are drawing to a close; the fatal ship has been seen\noff Sunium, as he is informed by his aged friend and contemporary Crito,\nwho visits him before the dawn has broken; he himself has been warned in a\ndream that on the third day he must depart. Time is precious, and Crito\nhas come early in order to gain his consent to a plan of escape. This can\nbe easily accomplished by his friends, who will incur no danger in making\nthe attempt to save him, but will be disgraced for ever if they allow him\nto perish. He should think of his duty to his children, and not play into\nthe hands of his enemies. Money is already provided by Crito as well as by\nSimmias and others, and he will have no difficulty in finding friends in\nThessaly and other places.\n\nSocrates is afraid that Crito is but pressing upon him the opinions of the\nmany: whereas, all his life long he has followed the dictates of reason\nonly and the opinion of the one wise or skilled man. There was a time when\nCrito himself had allowed the propriety of this. And although some one\nwill say 'the many can kill us,' that makes no difference; but a good life,\nin other words, a just and honourable life, is alone to be valued. All\nconsiderations of loss of reputation or injury to his children should be\ndismissed: the only question is whether he would be right in attempting to\nescape. Crito, who is a disinterested person not having the fear of death\nbefore his eyes, shall answer this for him. Before he was condemned they\nhad often held discussions, in which they agreed that no man should either\ndo evil, or return evil for evil, or betray the right. Are these\nprinciples to be altered because the circumstances of Socrates are altered?\nCrito admits that they remain the same. Then is his escape consistent with\nthe maintenance of them? To this Crito is unable or unwilling to reply.\n\nSocrates proceeds:--Suppose the Laws of Athens to come and remonstrate with\nhim: they will ask 'Why does he seek to overturn them?' and if he replies,\n'they have injured him,' will not the Laws answer, 'Yes, but was that the\nagreement? Has he any objection to make to them which would justify him in\noverturning them? Was he not brought into the world and educated by their\nhelp, and are they not his parents? He might have left Athens and gone\nwhere he pleased, but he has lived there for seventy years more constantly\nthan any other citizen.' Thus he has clearly shown that he acknowledged\nthe agreement, which he cannot now break without dishonour to himself and\ndanger to his friends. Even in the course of the trial he might have\nproposed exile as the penalty, but then he declared that he preferred death\nto exile. And whither will he direct his footsteps? In any well-ordered\nstate the Laws will consider him as an enemy. Possibly in a land of\nmisrule like Thessaly he may be welcomed at first, and the unseemly\nnarrative of his escape will be regarded by the inhabitants as an amusing\ntale. But if he offends them he will have to learn another sort of lesson.\nWill he continue to give lectures in virtue? That would hardly be decent.\nAnd how will his children be the gainers if he takes them into Thessaly,\nand deprives them of Athenian citizenship? Or if he leaves them behind,\ndoes he expect that they will be better taken care of by his friends\nbecause he is in Thessaly? Will not true friends care for them equally\nwhether he is alive or dead?\n\nFinally, they exhort him to think of justice first, and of life and\nchildren afterwards. He may now depart in peace and innocence, a sufferer\nand not a doer of evil. But if he breaks agreements, and returns evil for\nevil, they will be angry with him while he lives; and their brethren the\nLaws of the world below will receive him as an enemy. Such is the mystic\nvoice which is always murmuring in his ears.\n\nThat Socrates was not a good citizen was a charge made against him during\nhis lifetime, which has been often repeated in later ages. The crimes of\nAlcibiades, Critias, and Charmides, who had been his pupils, were still\nrecent in the memory of the now restored democracy. The fact that he had\nbeen neutral in the death-struggle of Athens was not likely to conciliate\npopular good-will. Plato, writing probably in the next generation,\nundertakes the defence of his friend and master in this particular, not to\nthe Athenians of his day, but to posterity and the world at large.\n\nWhether such an incident ever really occurred as the visit of Crito and the\nproposal of escape is uncertain: Plato could easily have invented far more\nthan that (Phaedr.); and in the selection of Crito, the aged friend, as the\nfittest person to make the proposal to Socrates, we seem to recognize the\nhand of the artist. Whether any one who has been subjected by the laws of\nhis country to an unjust judgment is right in attempting to escape, is a\nthesis about which casuists might disagree. Shelley (Prose Works) is of\nopinion that Socrates 'did well to die,' but not for the 'sophistical'\nreasons which Plato has put into his mouth. And there would be no\ndifficulty in arguing that Socrates should have lived and preferred to a\nglorious death the good which he might still be able to perform. 'A\nrhetorician would have had much to say upon that point.' It may be\nobserved however that Plato never intended to answer the question of\ncasuistry, but only to exhibit the ideal of patient virtue which refuses to\ndo the least evil in order to avoid the greatest, and to show his master\nmaintaining in death the opinions which he had professed in his life. Not\n'the world,' but the 'one wise man,' is still the paradox of Socrates in\nhis last hours. He must be guided by reason, although her conclusions may\nbe fatal to him. The remarkable sentiment that the wicked can do neither\ngood nor evil is true, if taken in the sense, which he means, of moral\nevil; in his own words, 'they cannot make a man wise or foolish.'\n\nThis little dialogue is a perfect piece of dialectic, in which granting the\n'common principle,' there is no escaping from the conclusion. It is\nanticipated at the beginning by the dream of Socrates and the parody of\nHomer. The personification of the Laws, and of their brethren the Laws in\nthe world below, is one of the noblest and boldest figures of speech which\noccur in Plato.\n\n\nCRITO\n\nby\n\nPlato\n\nTranslated by Benjamin Jowett\n\n\nPERSONS OF THE DIALOGUE: Socrates, Crito.\n\nSCENE: The Prison of Socrates.\n\n\nSOCRATES: Why have you come at this hour, Crito? it must be quite early.\n\nCRITO: Yes, certainly.\n\nSOCRATES: What is the exact time?\n\nCRITO: The dawn is breaking.\n\nSOCRATES: I wonder that the keeper of the prison would let you in.\n\nCRITO: He knows me because I often come, Socrates; moreover. I have done\nhim a kindness.\n\nSOCRATES: And are you only just arrived?\n\nCRITO: No, I came some time ago.\n\nSOCRATES: Then why did you sit and say nothing, instead of at once\nawakening me?\n\nCRITO: I should not have liked myself, Socrates, to be in such great\ntrouble and unrest as you are--indeed I should not: I have been watching\nwith amazement your peaceful slumbers; and for that reason I did not awake\nyou, because I wished to minimize the pain. I have always thought you to\nbe of a happy disposition; but never did I see anything like the easy,\ntranquil manner in which you bear this calamity.\n\nSOCRATES: Why, Crito, when a man has reached my age he ought not to be\nrepining at the approach of death.\n\nCRITO: And yet other old men find themselves in similar misfortunes, and\nage does not prevent them from repining.\n\nSOCRATES: That is true. But you have not told me why you come at this\nearly hour.\n\nCRITO: I come to bring you a message which is sad and painful; not, as I\nbelieve, to yourself, but to all of us who are your friends, and saddest of\nall to me.\n\nSOCRATES: What? Has the ship come from Delos, on the arrival of which I\nam to die?\n\nCRITO: No, the ship has not actually arrived, but she will probably be\nhere to-day, as persons who have come from Sunium tell me that they have\nleft her there; and therefore to-morrow, Socrates, will be the last day of\nyour life.\n\nSOCRATES: Very well, Crito; if such is the will of God, I am willing; but\nmy belief is that there will be a delay of a day.\n\nCRITO: Why do you think so?\n\nSOCRATES: I will tell you. I am to die on the day after the arrival of\nthe ship?\n\nCRITO: Yes; that is what the authorities say.\n\nSOCRATES: But I do not think that the ship will be here until to-morrow;\nthis I infer from a vision which I had last night, or rather only just now,\nwhen you fortunately allowed me to sleep.\n\nCRITO: And what was the nature of the vision?\n\nSOCRATES: There appeared to me the likeness of a woman, fair and comely,\nclothed in bright raiment, who called to me and said: O Socrates,\n\n'The third day hence to fertile Phthia shalt thou go.' (Homer, Il.)\n\nCRITO: What a singular dream, Socrates!\n\nSOCRATES: There can be no doubt about the meaning, Crito, I think.\n\nCRITO: Yes; the meaning is only too clear. But, oh! my beloved Socrates,\nlet me entreat you once more to take my advice and escape. For if you die\nI shall not only lose a friend who can never be replaced, but there is\nanother evil: people who do not know you and me will believe that I might\nhave saved you if I had been willing to give money, but that I did not\ncare. Now, can there be a worse disgrace than this--that I should be\nthought to value money more than the life of a friend? For the many will\nnot be persuaded that I wanted you to escape, and that you refused.\n\nSOCRATES: But why, my dear Crito, should we care about the opinion of the\nmany? Good men, and they are the only persons who are worth considering,\nwill think of these things truly as they occurred.\n\nCRITO: But you see, Socrates, that the opinion of the many must be\nregarded, for what is now happening shows that they can do the greatest\nevil to any one who has lost their good opinion.\n\nSOCRATES: I only wish it were so, Crito; and that the many could do the\ngreatest evil; for then they would also be able to do the greatest good--\nand what a fine thing this would be! But in reality they can do neither;\nfor they cannot make a man either wise or foolish; and whatever they do is\nthe result of chance.\n\nCRITO: Well, I will not dispute with you; but please to tell me, Socrates,\nwhether you are not acting out of regard to me and your other friends: are\nyou not afraid that if you escape from prison we may get into trouble with\nthe informers for having stolen you away, and lose either the whole or a\ngreat part of our property; or that even a worse evil may happen to us?\nNow, if you fear on our account, be at ease; for in order to save you, we\nought surely to run this, or even a greater risk; be persuaded, then, and\ndo as I say.\n\nSOCRATES: Yes, Crito, that is one fear which you mention, but by no means\nthe only one.\n\nCRITO: Fear not--there are persons who are willing to get you out of\nprison at no great cost; and as for the informers they are far from being\nexorbitant in their demands--a little money will satisfy them. My means,\nwhich are certainly ample, are at your service, and if you have a scruple\nabout spending all mine, here are strangers who will give you the use of\ntheirs; and one of them, Simmias the Theban, has brought a large sum of\nmoney for this very purpose; and Cebes and many others are prepared to\nspend their money in helping you to escape. I say, therefore, do not\nhesitate on our account, and do not say, as you did in the court (compare\nApol.), that you will have a difficulty in knowing what to do with yourself\nanywhere else. For men will love you in other places to which you may go,\nand not in Athens only; there are friends of mine in Thessaly, if you like\nto go to them, who will value and protect you, and no Thessalian will give\nyou any trouble. Nor can I think that you are at all justified, Socrates,\nin betraying your own life when you might be saved; in acting thus you are\nplaying into the hands of your enemies, who are hurrying on your\ndestruction. And further I should say that you are deserting your own\nchildren; for you might bring them up and educate them; instead of which\nyou go away and leave them, and they will have to take their chance; and if\nthey do not meet with the usual fate of orphans, there will be small thanks\nto you. No man should bring children into the world who is unwilling to\npersevere to the end in their nurture and education. But you appear to be\nchoosing the easier part, not the better and manlier, which would have been\nmore becoming in one who professes to care for virtue in all his actions,\nlike yourself. And indeed, I am ashamed not only of you, but of us who are\nyour friends, when I reflect that the whole business will be attributed\nentirely to our want of courage. The trial need never have come on, or\nmight have been managed differently; and this last act, or crowning folly,\nwill seem to have occurred through our negligence and cowardice, who might\nhave saved you, if we had been good for anything; and you might have saved\nyourself, for there was no difficulty at all. See now, Socrates, how sad\nand discreditable are the consequences, both to us and you. Make up your\nmind then, or rather have your mind already made up, for the time of\ndeliberation is over, and there is only one thing to be done, which must be\ndone this very night, and if we delay at all will be no longer practicable\nor possible; I beseech you therefore, Socrates, be persuaded by me, and do\nas I say.\n\nSOCRATES: Dear Crito, your zeal is invaluable, if a right one; but if\nwrong, the greater the zeal the greater the danger; and therefore we ought\nto consider whether I shall or shall not do as you say. For I am and\nalways have been one of those natures who must be guided by reason,\nwhatever the reason may be which upon reflection appears to me to be the\nbest; and now that this chance has befallen me, I cannot repudiate my own\nwords: the principles which I have hitherto honoured and revered I still\nhonour, and unless we can at once find other and better principles, I am\ncertain not to agree with you; no, not even if the power of the multitude\ncould inflict many more imprisonments, confiscations, deaths, frightening\nus like children with hobgoblin terrors (compare Apol.). What will be the\nfairest way of considering the question? Shall I return to your old\nargument about the opinions of men?--we were saying that some of them are\nto be regarded, and others not. Now were we right in maintaining this\nbefore I was condemned? And has the argument which was once good now\nproved to be talk for the sake of talking--mere childish nonsense? That is\nwhat I want to consider with your help, Crito:--whether, under my present\ncircumstances, the argument appears to be in any way different or not; and\nis to be allowed by me or disallowed. That argument, which, as I believe,\nis maintained by many persons of authority, was to the effect, as I was\nsaying, that the opinions of some men are to be regarded, and of other men\nnot to be regarded. Now you, Crito, are not going to die to-morrow--at\nleast, there is no human probability of this, and therefore you are\ndisinterested and not liable to be deceived by the circumstances in which\nyou are placed. Tell me then, whether I am right in saying that some\nopinions, and the opinions of some men only, are to be valued, and that\nother opinions, and the opinions of other men, are not to be valued. I ask\nyou whether I was right in maintaining this?\n\nCRITO: Certainly.\n\nSOCRATES: The good are to be regarded, and not the bad?\n\nCRITO: Yes.\n\nSOCRATES: And the opinions of the wise are good, and the opinions of the\nunwise are evil?\n\nCRITO: Certainly.\n\nSOCRATES: And what was said about another matter? Is the pupil who\ndevotes himself to the practice of gymnastics supposed to attend to the\npraise and blame and opinion of every man, or of one man only--his\nphysician or trainer, whoever he may be?\n\nCRITO: Of one man only.\n\nSOCRATES: And he ought to fear the censure and welcome the praise of that\none only, and not of the many?\n\nCRITO: Clearly so.\n\nSOCRATES: And he ought to act and train, and eat and drink in the way\nwhich seems good to his single master who has understanding, rather than\naccording to the opinion of all other men put together?\n\nCRITO: True.\n\nSOCRATES: And if he disobeys and disregards the opinion and approval of\nthe one, and regards the opinion of the many who have no understanding,\nwill he not suffer evil?\n\nCRITO: Certainly he will.\n\nSOCRATES: And what will the evil be, whither tending and what affecting,\nin the disobedient person?\n\nCRITO: Clearly, affecting the body; that is what is destroyed by the evil.\n\nSOCRATES: Very good; and is not this true, Crito, of other things which we\nneed not separately enumerate? In questions of just and unjust, fair and\nfoul, good and evil, which are the subjects of our present consultation,\nought we to follow the opinion of the many and to fear them; or the opinion\nof the one man who has understanding? ought we not to fear and reverence\nhim more than all the rest of the world: and if we desert him shall we not\ndestroy and injure that principle in us which may be assumed to be improved\nby justice and deteriorated by injustice;--there is such a principle?\n\nCRITO: Certainly there is, Socrates.\n\nSOCRATES: Take a parallel instance:--if, acting under the advice of those\nwho have no understanding, we destroy that which is improved by health and\nis deteriorated by disease, would life be worth having? And that which has\nbeen destroyed is--the body?\n\nCRITO: Yes.\n\nSOCRATES: Could we live, having an evil and corrupted body?\n\nCRITO: Certainly not.\n\nSOCRATES: And will life be worth having, if that higher part of man be\ndestroyed, which is improved by justice and depraved by injustice? Do we\nsuppose that principle, whatever it may be in man, which has to do with\njustice and injustice, to be inferior to the body?\n\nCRITO: Certainly not.\n\nSOCRATES: More honourable than the body?\n\nCRITO: Far more.\n\nSOCRATES: Then, my friend, we must not regard what the many say of us:\nbut what he, the one man who has understanding of just and unjust, will\nsay, and what the truth will say. And therefore you begin in error when\nyou advise that we should regard the opinion of the many about just and\nunjust, good and evil, honorable and dishonorable.--'Well,' some one will\nsay, 'but the many can kill us.'\n\nCRITO: Yes, Socrates; that will clearly be the answer.\n\nSOCRATES: And it is true; but still I find with surprise that the old\nargument is unshaken as ever. And I should like to know whether I may say\nthe same of another proposition--that not life, but a good life, is to be\nchiefly valued?\n\nCRITO: Yes, that also remains unshaken.\n\nSOCRATES: And a good life is equivalent to a just and honorable one--that\nholds also?\n\nCRITO: Yes, it does.\n\nSOCRATES: From these premisses I proceed to argue the question whether I\nought or ought not to try and escape without the consent of the Athenians:\nand if I am clearly right in escaping, then I will make the attempt; but if\nnot, I will abstain. The other considerations which you mention, of money\nand loss of character and the duty of educating one's children, are, I\nfear, only the doctrines of the multitude, who would be as ready to restore\npeople to life, if they were able, as they are to put them to death--and\nwith as little reason. But now, since the argument has thus far prevailed,\nthe only question which remains to be considered is, whether we shall do\nrightly either in escaping or in suffering others to aid in our escape and\npaying them in money and thanks, or whether in reality we shall not do\nrightly; and if the latter, then death or any other calamity which may\nensue on my remaining here must not be allowed to enter into the\ncalculation.\n\nCRITO: I think that you are right, Socrates; how then shall we proceed?\n\nSOCRATES: Let us consider the matter together, and do you either refute me\nif you can, and I will be convinced; or else cease, my dear friend, from\nrepeating to me that I ought to escape against the wishes of the Athenians:\nfor I highly value your attempts to persuade me to do so, but I may not be\npersuaded against my own better judgment. And now please to consider my\nfirst position, and try how you can best answer me.\n\nCRITO: I will.\n\nSOCRATES: Are we to say that we are never intentionally to do wrong, or\nthat in one way we ought and in another way we ought not to do wrong, or is\ndoing wrong always evil and dishonorable, as I was just now saying, and as\nhas been already acknowledged by us? Are all our former admissions which\nwere made within a few days to be thrown away? And have we, at our age,\nbeen earnestly discoursing with one another all our life long only to\ndiscover that we are no better than children? Or, in spite of the opinion\nof the many, and in spite of consequences whether better or worse, shall we\ninsist on the truth of what was then said, that injustice is always an evil\nand dishonour to him who acts unjustly? Shall we say so or not?\n\nCRITO: Yes.\n\nSOCRATES: Then we must do no wrong?\n\nCRITO: Certainly not.\n\nSOCRATES: Nor when injured injure in return, as the many imagine; for we\nmust injure no one at all? (E.g. compare Rep.)\n\nCRITO: Clearly not.\n\nSOCRATES: Again, Crito, may we do evil?\n\nCRITO: Surely not, Socrates.\n\nSOCRATES: And what of doing evil in return for evil, which is the morality\nof the many--is that just or not?\n\nCRITO: Not just.\n\nSOCRATES: For doing evil to another is the same as injuring him?\n\nCRITO: Very true.\n\nSOCRATES: Then we ought not to retaliate or render evil for evil to any\none, whatever evil we may have suffered from him. But I would have you\nconsider, Crito, whether you really mean what you are saying. For this\nopinion has never been held, and never will be held, by any considerable\nnumber of persons; and those who are agreed and those who are not agreed\nupon this point have no common ground, and can only despise one another\nwhen they see how widely they differ. Tell me, then, whether you agree\nwith and assent to my first principle, that neither injury nor retaliation\nnor warding off evil by evil is ever right. And shall that be the premiss\nof our argument? Or do you decline and dissent from this? For so I have\never thought, and continue to think; but, if you are of another opinion,\nlet me hear what you have to say. If, however, you remain of the same mind\nas formerly, I will proceed to the next step.\n\nCRITO: You may proceed, for I have not changed my mind.\n\nSOCRATES: Then I will go on to the next point, which may be put in the\nform of a question:--Ought a man to do what he admits to be right, or ought\nhe to betray the right?\n\nCRITO: He ought to do what he thinks right.\n\nSOCRATES: But if this is true, what is the application? In leaving the\nprison against the will of the Athenians, do I wrong any? or rather do I\nnot wrong those whom I ought least to wrong? Do I not desert the\nprinciples which were acknowledged by us to be just--what do you say?\n\nCRITO: I cannot tell, Socrates, for I do not know.\n\nSOCRATES: Then consider the matter in this way:--Imagine that I am about\nto play truant (you may call the proceeding by any name which you like),\nand the laws and the government come and interrogate me: 'Tell us,\nSocrates,' they say; 'what are you about? are you not going by an act of\nyours to overturn us--the laws, and the whole state, as far as in you lies?\nDo you imagine that a state can subsist and not be overthrown, in which the\ndecisions of law have no power, but are set aside and trampled upon by\nindividuals?' What will be our answer, Crito, to these and the like words?\nAny one, and especially a rhetorician, will have a good deal to say on\nbehalf of the law which requires a sentence to be carried out. He will\nargue that this law should not be set aside; and shall we reply, 'Yes; but\nthe state has injured us and given an unjust sentence.' Suppose I say\nthat?\n\nCRITO: Very good, Socrates.\n\nSOCRATES: 'And was that our agreement with you?' the law would answer; 'or\nwere you to abide by the sentence of the state?' And if I were to express\nmy astonishment at their words, the law would probably add: 'Answer,\nSocrates, instead of opening your eyes--you are in the habit of asking and\nanswering questions. Tell us,--What complaint have you to make against us\nwhich justifies you in attempting to destroy us and the state? In the\nfirst place did we not bring you into existence? Your father married your\nmother by our aid and begat you. Say whether you have any objection to\nurge against those of us who regulate marriage?' None, I should reply.\n'Or against those of us who after birth regulate the nurture and education\nof children, in which you also were trained? Were not the laws, which have\nthe charge of education, right in commanding your father to train you in\nmusic and gymnastic?' Right, I should reply. 'Well then, since you were\nbrought into the world and nurtured and educated by us, can you deny in the\nfirst place that you are our child and slave, as your fathers were before\nyou? And if this is true you are not on equal terms with us; nor can you\nthink that you have a right to do to us what we are doing to you. Would\nyou have any right to strike or revile or do any other evil to your father\nor your master, if you had one, because you have been struck or reviled by\nhim, or received some other evil at his hands?--you would not say this?\nAnd because we think right to destroy you, do you think that you have any\nright to destroy us in return, and your country as far as in you lies?\nWill you, O professor of true virtue, pretend that you are justified in\nthis? Has a philosopher like you failed to discover that our country is\nmore to be valued and higher and holier far than mother or father or any\nancestor, and more to be regarded in the eyes of the gods and of men of\nunderstanding? also to be soothed, and gently and reverently entreated when\nangry, even more than a father, and either to be persuaded, or if not\npersuaded, to be obeyed? And when we are punished by her, whether with\nimprisonment or stripes, the punishment is to be endured in silence; and if\nshe lead us to wounds or death in battle, thither we follow as is right;\nneither may any one yield or retreat or leave his rank, but whether in\nbattle or in a court of law, or in any other place, he must do what his\ncity and his country order him; or he must change their view of what is\njust: and if he may do no violence to his father or mother, much less may\nhe do violence to his country.' What answer shall we make to this, Crito?\nDo the laws speak truly, or do they not?\n\nCRITO: I think that they do.\n\nSOCRATES: Then the laws will say: 'Consider, Socrates, if we are speaking\ntruly that in your present attempt you are going to do us an injury. For,\nhaving brought you into the world, and nurtured and educated you, and given\nyou and every other citizen a share in every good which we had to give, we\nfurther proclaim to any Athenian by the liberty which we allow him, that if\nhe does not like us when he has become of age and has seen the ways of the\ncity, and made our acquaintance, he may go where he pleases and take his\ngoods with him. None of us laws will forbid him or interfere with him.\nAny one who does not like us and the city, and who wants to emigrate to a\ncolony or to any other city, may go where he likes, retaining his property.\nBut he who has experience of the manner in which we order justice and\nadminister the state, and still remains, has entered into an implied\ncontract that he will do as we command him. And he who disobeys us is, as\nwe maintain, thrice wrong: first, because in disobeying us he is\ndisobeying his parents; secondly, because we are the authors of his\neducation; thirdly, because he has made an agreement with us that he will\nduly obey our commands; and he neither obeys them nor convinces us that our\ncommands are unjust; and we do not rudely impose them, but give him the\nalternative of obeying or convincing us;--that is what we offer, and he\ndoes neither.\n\n'These are the sort of accusations to which, as we were saying, you,\nSocrates, will be exposed if you accomplish your intentions; you, above all\nother Athenians.' Suppose now I ask, why I rather than anybody else? they\nwill justly retort upon me that I above all other men have acknowledged the\nagreement. 'There is clear proof,' they will say, 'Socrates, that we and\nthe city were not displeasing to you. Of all Athenians you have been the\nmost constant resident in the city, which, as you never leave, you may be\nsupposed to love (compare Phaedr.). For you never went out of the city\neither to see the games, except once when you went to the Isthmus, or to\nany other place unless when you were on military service; nor did you\ntravel as other men do. Nor had you any curiosity to know other states or\ntheir laws: your affections did not go beyond us and our state; we were\nyour especial favourites, and you acquiesced in our government of you; and\nhere in this city you begat your children, which is a proof of your\nsatisfaction. Moreover, you might in the course of the trial, if you had\nliked, have fixed the penalty at banishment; the state which refuses to let\nyou go now would have let you go then. But you pretended that you\npreferred death to exile (compare Apol.), and that you were not unwilling\nto die. And now you have forgotten these fine sentiments, and pay no\nrespect to us the laws, of whom you are the destroyer; and are doing what\nonly a miserable slave would do, running away and turning your back upon\nthe compacts and agreements which you made as a citizen. And first of all\nanswer this very question: Are we right in saying that you agreed to be\ngoverned according to us in deed, and not in word only? Is that true or\nnot?' How shall we answer, Crito? Must we not assent?\n\nCRITO: We cannot help it, Socrates.\n\nSOCRATES: Then will they not say: 'You, Socrates, are breaking the\ncovenants and agreements which you made with us at your leisure, not in any\nhaste or under any compulsion or deception, but after you have had seventy\nyears to think of them, during which time you were at liberty to leave the\ncity, if we were not to your mind, or if our covenants appeared to you to\nbe unfair. You had your choice, and might have gone either to Lacedaemon\nor Crete, both which states are often praised by you for their good\ngovernment, or to some other Hellenic or foreign state. Whereas you, above\nall other Athenians, seemed to be so fond of the state, or, in other words,\nof us her laws (and who would care about a state which has no laws?), that\nyou never stirred out of her; the halt, the blind, the maimed, were not\nmore stationary in her than you were. And now you run away and forsake\nyour agreements. Not so, Socrates, if you will take our advice; do not\nmake yourself ridiculous by escaping out of the city.\n\n'For just consider, if you transgress and err in this sort of way, what\ngood will you do either to yourself or to your friends? That your friends\nwill be driven into exile and deprived of citizenship, or will lose their\nproperty, is tolerably certain; and you yourself, if you fly to one of the\nneighbouring cities, as, for example, Thebes or Megara, both of which are\nwell governed, will come to them as an enemy, Socrates, and their\ngovernment will be against you, and all patriotic citizens will cast an\nevil eye upon you as a subverter of the laws, and you will confirm in the\nminds of the judges the justice of their own condemnation of you. For he\nwho is a corrupter of the laws is more than likely to be a corrupter of the\nyoung and foolish portion of mankind. Will you then flee from well-ordered\ncities and virtuous men? and is existence worth having on these terms? Or\nwill you go to them without shame, and talk to them, Socrates? And what\nwill you say to them? What you say here about virtue and justice and\ninstitutions and laws being the best things among men? Would that be\ndecent of you? Surely not. But if you go away from well-governed states\nto Crito's friends in Thessaly, where there is great disorder and licence,\nthey will be charmed to hear the tale of your escape from prison, set off\nwith ludicrous particulars of the manner in which you were wrapped in a\ngoatskin or some other disguise, and metamorphosed as the manner is of\nrunaways; but will there be no one to remind you that in your old age you\nwere not ashamed to violate the most sacred laws from a miserable desire of\na little more life? Perhaps not, if you keep them in a good temper; but if\nthey are out of temper you will hear many degrading things; you will live,\nbut how?--as the flatterer of all men, and the servant of all men; and\ndoing what?--eating and drinking in Thessaly, having gone abroad in order\nthat you may get a dinner. And where will be your fine sentiments about\njustice and virtue? Say that you wish to live for the sake of your\nchildren--you want to bring them up and educate them--will you take them\ninto Thessaly and deprive them of Athenian citizenship? Is this the\nbenefit which you will confer upon them? Or are you under the impression\nthat they will be better cared for and educated here if you are still\nalive, although absent from them; for your friends will take care of them?\nDo you fancy that if you are an inhabitant of Thessaly they will take care\nof them, and if you are an inhabitant of the other world that they will not\ntake care of them? Nay; but if they who call themselves friends are good\nfor anything, they will--to be sure they will.\n\n'Listen, then, Socrates, to us who have brought you up. Think not of life\nand children first, and of justice afterwards, but of justice first, that\nyou may be justified before the princes of the world below. For neither\nwill you nor any that belong to you be happier or holier or juster in this\nlife, or happier in another, if you do as Crito bids. Now you depart in\ninnocence, a sufferer and not a doer of evil; a victim, not of the laws,\nbut of men. But if you go forth, returning evil for evil, and injury for\ninjury, breaking the covenants and agreements which you have made with us,\nand wronging those whom you ought least of all to wrong, that is to say,\nyourself, your friends, your country, and us, we shall be angry with you\nwhile you live, and our brethren, the laws in the world below, will receive\nyou as an enemy; for they will know that you have done your best to destroy\nus. Listen, then, to us and not to Crito.'\n\nThis, dear Crito, is the voice which I seem to hear murmuring in my ears,\nlike the sound of the flute in the ears of the mystic; that voice, I say,\nis humming in my ears, and prevents me from hearing any other. And I know\nthat anything more which you may say will be vain. Yet speak, if you have\nanything to say.\n\nCRITO: I have nothing to say, Socrates.\n\nSOCRATES: Leave me then, Crito, to fulfil the will of God, and to follow\nwhither he leads."},"answers":{"kind":"list like","value":["Citizens are bound to laws the same as children are bound to parents."],"string":"[\n \"Citizens are bound to laws the same as children are bound to parents.\"\n]","isConversational":false},"length":{"kind":"number","value":6595,"string":"6,595"},"dataset":{"kind":"string","value":"narrativeqa"},"language":{"kind":"string","value":"en"},"all_classes":{"kind":"null"},"_id":{"kind":"string","value":"b3234117bf4b7f313d5f79d32cb3a7ad90abf474d9baa814"}}},{"rowIdx":1798,"cells":{"input":{"kind":"string","value":"What did the Witch throw into a ditch?"},"context":{"kind":"string","value":"Produced by Sue Asscher\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nThe Witch of Atlas\n\n\nby\n\nPercy Bysshe Shelley\n\n\n\n\n\n TO MARY\n (ON HER OBJECTING TO THE FOLLOWING POEM, UPON THE\n SCORE OF ITS CONTAINING NO HUMAN INTEREST).\n\n 1.\n How, my dear Mary,--are you critic-bitten\n (For vipers kill, though dead) by some review,\n That you condemn these verses I have written,\n Because they tell no story, false or true?\n What, though no mice are caught by a young kitten, _5\n May it not leap and play as grown cats do,\n Till its claws come? Prithee, for this one time,\n Content thee with a visionary rhyme.\n\n 2.\n What hand would crush the silken-winged fly,\n The youngest of inconstant April's minions, _10\n Because it cannot climb the purest sky,\n Where the swan sings, amid the sun's dominions?\n Not thine. Thou knowest 'tis its doom to die,\n When Day shall hide within her twilight pinions\n The lucent eyes, and the eternal smile, _15\n Serene as thine, which lent it life awhile.\n\n 3.\n To thy fair feet a winged Vision came,\n Whose date should have been longer than a day,\n And o'er thy head did beat its wings for fame,\n And in thy sight its fading plumes display; _20\n The watery bow burned in the evening flame.\n But the shower fell, the swift Sun went his way--\n And that is dead.--O, let me not believe\n That anything of mine is fit to live!\n\n 4.\n Wordsworth informs us he was nineteen years _25\n Considering and retouching Peter Bell;\n Watering his laurels with the killing tears\n Of slow, dull care, so that their roots to Hell\n Might pierce, and their wide branches blot the spheres\n Of Heaven, with dewy leaves and flowers; this well _30\n May be, for Heaven and Earth conspire to foil\n The over-busy gardener's blundering toil.\n\n 5.\n My Witch indeed is not so sweet a creature\n As Ruth or Lucy, whom his graceful praise\n Clothes for our grandsons--but she matches Peter, _35\n Though he took nineteen years, and she three days\n In dressing. Light the vest of flowing metre\n She wears; he, proud as dandy with his stays,\n Has hung upon his wiry limbs a dress\n Like King Lear's 'looped and windowed raggedness.' _40\n\n 6.\n If you strip Peter, you will see a fellow\n Scorched by Hell's hyperequatorial climate\n Into a kind of a sulphureous yellow:\n A lean mark, hardly fit to fling a rhyme at;\n In shape a Scaramouch, in hue Othello. _45\n If you unveil my Witch, no priest nor primate\n Can shrive you of that sin,--if sin there be\n In love, when it becomes idolatry.\n\n\n THE WITCH OF ATLAS.\n\n 1.\n Before those cruel Twins, whom at one birth\n Incestuous Change bore to her father Time, _50\n Error and Truth, had hunted from the Earth\n All those bright natures which adorned its prime,\n And left us nothing to believe in, worth\n The pains of putting into learned rhyme,\n A lady-witch there lived on Atlas' mountain _55\n Within a cavern, by a secret fountain.\n\n 2.\n Her mother was one of the Atlantides:\n The all-beholding Sun had ne'er beholden\n In his wide voyage o'er continents and seas\n So fair a creature, as she lay enfolden _60\n In the warm shadow of her loveliness;--\n He kissed her with his beams, and made all golden\n The chamber of gray rock in which she lay--\n She, in that dream of joy, dissolved away.\n\n 3.\n 'Tis said, she first was changed into a vapour, _65\n And then into a cloud, such clouds as flit,\n Like splendour-winged moths about a taper,\n Round the red west when the sun dies in it:\n And then into a meteor, such as caper\n On hill-tops when the moon is in a fit: _70\n Then, into one of those mysterious stars\n Which hide themselves between the Earth and Mars.\n\n 4.\n Ten times the Mother of the Months had bent\n Her bow beside the folding-star, and bidden\n With that bright sign the billows to indent _75\n The sea-deserted sand--like children chidden,\n At her command they ever came and went--\n Since in that cave a dewy splendour hidden\n Took shape and motion: with the living form\n Of this embodied Power, the cave grew warm. _80\n\n 5.\n A lovely lady garmented in light\n From her own beauty--deep her eyes, as are\n Two openings of unfathomable night\n Seen through a Temple's cloven roof--her hair\n Dark--the dim brain whirls dizzy with delight. _85\n Picturing her form; her soft smiles shone afar,\n And her low voice was heard like love, and drew\n All living things towards this wonder new.\n\n 6.\n And first the spotted cameleopard came,\n And then the wise and fearless elephant; _90\n Then the sly serpent, in the golden flame\n Of his own volumes intervolved;--all gaunt\n And sanguine beasts her gentle looks made tame.\n They drank before her at her sacred fount;\n And every beast of beating heart grew bold, _95\n Such gentleness and power even to behold.\n\n 7.\n The brinded lioness led forth her young,\n That she might teach them how they should forego\n Their inborn thirst of death; the pard unstrung\n His sinews at her feet, and sought to know _100\n With looks whose motions spoke without a tongue\n How he might be as gentle as the doe.\n The magic circle of her voice and eyes\n All savage natures did imparadise.\n\n 8.\n And old Silenus, shaking a green stick _105\n Of lilies, and the wood-gods in a crew\n Came, blithe, as in the olive copses thick\n Cicadae are, drunk with the noonday dew:\n And Dryope and Faunus followed quick,\n Teasing the God to sing them something new; _110\n Till in this cave they found the lady lone,\n Sitting upon a seat of emerald stone.\n\n 9.\n And universal Pan, 'tis said, was there,\n And though none saw him,--through the adamant\n Of the deep mountains, through the trackless air, _115\n And through those living spirits, like a want,\n He passed out of his everlasting lair\n Where the quick heart of the great world doth pant,\n And felt that wondrous lady all alone,--\n And she felt him, upon her emerald throne. _120\n\n 10.\n And every nymph of stream and spreading tree,\n And every shepherdess of Ocean's flocks,\n Who drives her white waves over the green sea,\n And Ocean with the brine on his gray locks,\n And quaint Priapus with his company, _125\n All came, much wondering how the enwombed rocks\n Could have brought forth so beautiful a birth;--\n Her love subdued their wonder and their mirth.\n\n 11.\n The herdsmen and the mountain maidens came,\n And the rude kings of pastoral Garamant-- _130\n Their spirits shook within them, as a flame\n Stirred by the air under a cavern gaunt:\n Pigmies, and Polyphemes, by many a name,\n Centaurs, and Satyrs, and such shapes as haunt\n Wet clefts,--and lumps neither alive nor dead, _135\n Dog-headed, bosom-eyed, and bird-footed.\n\n 12.\n For she was beautiful--her beauty made\n The bright world dim, and everything beside\n Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade:\n No thought of living spirit could abide, _140\n Which to her looks had ever been betrayed,\n On any object in the world so wide,\n On any hope within the circling skies,\n But on her form, and in her inmost eyes.\n\n 13.\n Which when the lady knew, she took her spindle _145\n And twined three threads of fleecy mist, and three\n Long lines of light, such as the dawn may kindle\n The clouds and waves and mountains with; and she\n As many star-beams, ere their lamps could dwindle\n In the belated moon, wound skilfully; _150\n And with these threads a subtle veil she wove--\n A shadow for the splendour of her love.\n\n 14.\n The deep recesses of her odorous dwelling\n Were stored with magic treasures--sounds of air,\n Which had the power all spirits of compelling, _155\n Folded in cells of crystal silence there;\n Such as we hear in youth, and think the feeling\n Will never die--yet ere we are aware,\n The feeling and the sound are fled and gone,\n And the regret they leave remains alone. _160\n\n 15.\n And there lay Visions swift, and sweet, and quaint,\n Each in its thin sheath, like a chrysalis,\n Some eager to burst forth, some weak and faint\n With the soft burthen of intensest bliss.\n It was its work to bear to many a saint _165\n Whose heart adores the shrine which holiest is,\n Even Love's:--and others white, green, gray, and black,\n And of all shapes--and each was at her beck.\n\n 16.\n And odours in a kind of aviary\n Of ever-blooming Eden-trees she kept, _170\n Clipped in a floating net, a love-sick Fairy\n Had woven from dew-beams while the moon yet slept;\n As bats at the wired window of a dairy,\n They beat their vans; and each was an adept,\n When loosed and missioned, making wings of winds, _175\n To stir sweet thoughts or sad, in destined minds.\n\n 17.\n And liquors clear and sweet, whose healthful might\n Could medicine the sick soul to happy sleep,\n And change eternal death into a night\n Of glorious dreams--or if eyes needs must weep, _180\n Could make their tears all wonder and delight,\n She in her crystal vials did closely keep:\n If men could drink of those clear vials, 'tis said\n The living were not envied of the dead.\n\n 18.\n Her cave was stored with scrolls of strange device, _185\n The works of some Saturnian Archimage,\n Which taught the expiations at whose price\n Men from the Gods might win that happy age\n Too lightly lost, redeeming native vice;\n And which might quench the Earth-consuming rage _190\n Of gold and blood--till men should live and move\n Harmonious as the sacred stars above;\n\n 19.\n And how all things that seem untameable,\n Not to be checked and not to be confined,\n Obey the spells of Wisdom's wizard skill; _195\n Time, earth, and fire--the ocean and the wind,\n And all their shapes--and man's imperial will;\n And other scrolls whose writings did unbind\n The inmost lore of Love--let the profane\n Tremble to ask what secrets they contain. _200\n\n 20.\n And wondrous works of substances unknown,\n To which the enchantment of her father's power\n Had changed those ragged blocks of savage stone,\n Were heaped in the recesses of her bower;\n Carved lamps and chalices, and vials which shone _205\n In their own golden beams--each like a flower,\n Out of whose depth a fire-fly shakes his light\n Under a cypress in a starless night.\n\n 21.\n At first she lived alone in this wild home,\n And her own thoughts were each a minister, _210\n Clothing themselves, or with the ocean foam,\n Or with the wind, or with the speed of fire,\n To work whatever purposes might come\n Into her mind; such power her mighty Sire\n Had girt them with, whether to fly or run, _215\n Through all the regions which he shines upon.\n\n 22.\n The Ocean-nymphs and Hamadryades,\n Oreads and Naiads, with long weedy locks,\n Offered to do her bidding through the seas,\n Under the earth, and in the hollow rocks, _220\n And far beneath the matted roots of trees,\n And in the gnarled heart of stubborn oaks,\n So they might live for ever in the light\n Of her sweet presence--each a satellite.\n\n 23.\n 'This may not be,' the wizard maid replied; _225\n 'The fountains where the Naiades bedew\n Their shining hair, at length are drained and dried;\n The solid oaks forget their strength, and strew\n Their latest leaf upon the mountains wide;\n The boundless ocean like a drop of dew _230\n Will be consumed--the stubborn centre must\n Be scattered, like a cloud of summer dust.\n\n 24.\n 'And ye with them will perish, one by one;--\n If I must sigh to think that this shall be,\n If I must weep when the surviving Sun _235\n Shall smile on your decay--oh, ask not me\n To love you till your little race is run;\n I cannot die as ye must--over me\n Your leaves shall glance--the streams in which ye dwell\n Shall be my paths henceforth, and so--farewell!'-- _240\n\n 25.\n She spoke and wept:--the dark and azure well\n Sparkled beneath the shower of her bright tears,\n And every little circlet where they fell\n Flung to the cavern-roof inconstant spheres\n And intertangled lines of light:--a knell _245\n Of sobbing voices came upon her ears\n From those departing Forms, o'er the serene\n Of the white streams and of the forest green.\n\n 26.\n All day the wizard lady sate aloof,\n Spelling out scrolls of dread antiquity, _250\n Under the cavern's fountain-lighted roof;\n Or broidering the pictured poesy\n Of some high tale upon her growing woof,\n Which the sweet splendour of her smiles could dye\n In hues outshining heaven--and ever she _255\n Added some grace to the wrought poesy.\n\n 27.\n While on her hearth lay blazing many a piece\n Of sandal wood, rare gums, and cinnamon;\n Men scarcely know how beautiful fire is--\n Each flame of it is as a precious stone _260\n Dissolved in ever-moving light, and this\n Belongs to each and all who gaze upon.\n The Witch beheld it not, for in her hand\n She held a woof that dimmed the burning brand.\n\n 28.\n This lady never slept, but lay in trance _265\n All night within the fountain--as in sleep.\n Its emerald crags glowed in her beauty's glance;\n Through the green splendour of the water deep\n She saw the constellations reel and dance\n Like fire-flies--and withal did ever keep _270\n The tenour of her contemplations calm,\n With open eyes, closed feet, and folded palm.\n\n 29.\n And when the whirlwinds and the clouds descended\n From the white pinnacles of that cold hill,\n She passed at dewfall to a space extended, _275\n Where in a lawn of flowering asphodel\n Amid a wood of pines and cedars blended,\n There yawned an inextinguishable well\n Of crimson fire--full even to the brim,\n And overflowing all the margin trim. _280\n\n 30.\n Within the which she lay when the fierce war\n Of wintry winds shook that innocuous liquor\n In many a mimic moon and bearded star\n O'er woods and lawns;--the serpent heard it flicker\n In sleep, and dreaming still, he crept afar-- _285\n And when the windless snow descended thicker\n Than autumn leaves, she watched it as it came\n Melt on the surface of the level flame.\n\n 31.\n She had a boat, which some say Vulcan wrought\n For Venus, as the chariot of her star; _290\n But it was found too feeble to be fraught\n With all the ardours in that sphere which are,\n And so she sold it, and Apollo bought\n And gave it to this daughter: from a car\n Changed to the fairest and the lightest boat _295\n Which ever upon mortal stream did float.\n\n 32.\n And others say, that, when but three hours old,\n The first-born Love out of his cradle lept,\n And clove dun Chaos with his wings of gold,\n And like a horticultural adept, _300\n Stole a strange seed, and wrapped it up in mould,\n And sowed it in his mother's star, and kept\n Watering it all the summer with sweet dew,\n And with his wings fanning it as it grew.\n\n 33.\n The plant grew strong and green, the snowy flower _305\n Fell, and the long and gourd-like fruit began\n To turn the light and dew by inward power\n To its own substance; woven tracery ran\n Of light firm texture, ribbed and branching, o'er\n The solid rind, like a leaf's veined fan-- _310\n Of which Love scooped this boat--and with soft motion\n Piloted it round the circumfluous ocean.\n\n 34.\n This boat she moored upon her fount, and lit\n A living spirit within all its frame,\n Breathing the soul of swiftness into it. _315\n Couched on the fountain like a panther tame,\n One of the twain at Evan's feet that sit--\n Or as on Vesta's sceptre a swift flame--\n Or on blind Homer's heart a winged thought,--\n In joyous expectation lay the boat. _320\n\n 35.\n Then by strange art she kneaded fire and snow\n Together, tempering the repugnant mass\n With liquid love--all things together grow\n Through which the harmony of love can pass;\n And a fair Shape out of her hands did flow-- _325\n A living Image, which did far surpass\n In beauty that bright shape of vital stone\n Which drew the heart out of Pygmalion.\n\n 36.\n A sexless thing it was, and in its growth\n It seemed to have developed no defect _330\n Of either sex, yet all the grace of both,--\n In gentleness and strength its limbs were decked;\n The bosom swelled lightly with its full youth,\n The countenance was such as might select\n Some artist that his skill should never die, _335\n Imaging forth such perfect purity.\n\n 37.\n From its smooth shoulders hung two rapid wings,\n Fit to have borne it to the seventh sphere,\n Tipped with the speed of liquid lightenings,\n Dyed in the ardours of the atmosphere: _340\n She led her creature to the boiling springs\n Where the light boat was moored, and said: 'Sit here!'\n And pointed to the prow, and took her seat\n Beside the rudder, with opposing feet.\n\n 38.\n And down the streams which clove those mountains vast, _345\n Around their inland islets, and amid\n The panther-peopled forests whose shade cast\n Darkness and odours, and a pleasure hid\n In melancholy gloom, the pinnace passed;\n By many a star-surrounded pyramid _350\n Of icy crag cleaving the purple sky,\n And caverns yawning round unfathomably.\n\n 39.\n The silver noon into that winding dell,\n With slanted gleam athwart the forest tops,\n Tempered like golden evening, feebly fell; _355\n A green and glowing light, like that which drops\n From folded lilies in which glow-worms dwell,\n When Earth over her face Night's mantle wraps;\n Between the severed mountains lay on high,\n Over the stream, a narrow rift of sky. _360\n\n 40.\n And ever as she went, the Image lay\n With folded wings and unawakened eyes;\n And o'er its gentle countenance did play\n The busy dreams, as thick as summer flies,\n Chasing the rapid smiles that would not stay, _365\n And drinking the warm tears, and the sweet sighs\n Inhaling, which, with busy murmur vain,\n They had aroused from that full heart and brain.\n\n 41.\n And ever down the prone vale, like a cloud\n Upon a stream of wind, the pinnace went: _370\n Now lingering on the pools, in which abode\n The calm and darkness of the deep content\n In which they paused; now o'er the shallow road\n Of white and dancing waters, all besprent\n With sand and polished pebbles:--mortal boat _375\n In such a shallow rapid could not float.\n\n 42.\n And down the earthquaking cataracts which shiver\n Their snow-like waters into golden air,\n Or under chasms unfathomable ever\n Sepulchre them, till in their rage they tear _380\n A subterranean portal for the river,\n It fled--the circling sunbows did upbear\n Its fall down the hoar precipice of spray,\n Lighting it far upon its lampless way.\n\n 43.\n And when the wizard lady would ascend _385\n The labyrinths of some many-winding vale,\n Which to the inmost mountain upward tend--\n She called 'Hermaphroditus!'--and the pale\n And heavy hue which slumber could extend\n Over its lips and eyes, as on the gale _390\n A rapid shadow from a slope of grass,\n Into the darkness of the stream did pass.\n\n 44.\n And it unfurled its heaven-coloured pinions,\n With stars of fire spotting the stream below;\n And from above into the Sun's dominions _395\n Flinging a glory, like the golden glow\n In which Spring clothes her emerald-winged minions,\n All interwoven with fine feathery snow\n And moonlight splendour of intensest rime,\n With which frost paints the pines in winter time. _400\n\n 45.\n And then it winnowed the Elysian air\n Which ever hung about that lady bright,\n With its aethereal vans--and speeding there,\n Like a star up the torrent of the night,\n Or a swift eagle in the morning glare _405\n Breasting the whirlwind with impetuous flight,\n The pinnace, oared by those enchanted wings,\n Clove the fierce streams towards their upper springs.\n\n 46.\n The water flashed, like sunlight by the prow\n Of a noon-wandering meteor flung to Heaven; _410\n The still air seemed as if its waves did flow\n In tempest down the mountains; loosely driven\n The lady's radiant hair streamed to and fro:\n Beneath, the billows having vainly striven\n Indignant and impetuous, roared to feel _415\n The swift and steady motion of the keel.\n\n 47.\n Or, when the weary moon was in the wane,\n Or in the noon of interlunar night,\n The lady-witch in visions could not chain\n Her spirit; but sailed forth under the light _420\n Of shooting stars, and bade extend amain\n Its storm-outspeeding wings, the Hermaphrodite;\n She to the Austral waters took her way,\n Beyond the fabulous Thamondocana,--\n\n 48.\n Where, like a meadow which no scythe has shaven, _425\n Which rain could never bend, or whirl-blast shake,\n With the Antarctic constellations paven,\n Canopus and his crew, lay the Austral lake--\n There she would build herself a windless haven\n Out of the clouds whose moving turrets make _430\n The bastions of the storm, when through the sky\n The spirits of the tempest thundered by:\n\n 49.\n A haven beneath whose translucent floor\n The tremulous stars sparkled unfathomably,\n And around which the solid vapours hoar, _435\n Based on the level waters, to the sky\n Lifted their dreadful crags, and like a shore\n Of wintry mountains, inaccessibly\n Hemmed in with rifts and precipices gray,\n And hanging crags, many a cove and bay. _440\n\n 50.\n And whilst the outer lake beneath the lash\n Of the wind's scourge, foamed like a wounded thing,\n And the incessant hail with stony clash\n Ploughed up the waters, and the flagging wing\n Of the roused cormorant in the lightning flash _445\n Looked like the wreck of some wind-wandering\n Fragment of inky thunder-smoke--this haven\n Was as a gem to copy Heaven engraven,--\n\n 51.\n On which that lady played her many pranks,\n Circling the image of a shooting star, _450\n Even as a tiger on Hydaspes' banks\n Outspeeds the antelopes which speediest are,\n In her light boat; and many quips and cranks\n She played upon the water, till the car\n Of the late moon, like a sick matron wan, _455\n To journey from the misty east began.\n\n 52.\n And then she called out of the hollow turrets\n Of those high clouds, white, golden and vermilion,\n The armies of her ministering spirits--\n In mighty legions, million after million, _460\n They came, each troop emblazoning its merits\n On meteor flags; and many a proud pavilion\n Of the intertexture of the atmosphere\n They pitched upon the plain of the calm mere.\n\n 53.\n They framed the imperial tent of their great Queen _465\n Of woven exhalations, underlaid\n With lambent lightning-fire, as may be seen\n A dome of thin and open ivory inlaid\n With crimson silk--cressets from the serene\n Hung there, and on the water for her tread _470\n A tapestry of fleece-like mist was strewn,\n Dyed in the beams of the ascending moon.\n\n 54.\n And on a throne o'erlaid with starlight, caught\n Upon those wandering isles of aery dew,\n Which highest shoals of mountain shipwreck not, _475\n She sate, and heard all that had happened new\n Between the earth and moon, since they had brought\n The last intelligence--and now she grew\n Pale as that moon, lost in the watery night--\n And now she wept, and now she laughed outright. _480\n\n 55.\n These were tame pleasures; she would often climb\n The steepest ladder of the crudded rack\n Up to some beaked cape of cloud sublime,\n And like Arion on the dolphin's back\n Ride singing through the shoreless air;--oft-time _485\n Following the serpent lightning's winding track,\n She ran upon the platforms of the wind,\n And laughed to hear the fire-balls roar behind.\n\n 56.\n And sometimes to those streams of upper air\n Which whirl the earth in its diurnal round, _490\n She would ascend, and win the spirits there\n To let her join their chorus. Mortals found\n That on those days the sky was calm and fair,\n And mystic snatches of harmonious sound\n Wandered upon the earth where'er she passed, _495\n And happy thoughts of hope, too sweet to last.\n\n 57.\n But her choice sport was, in the hours of sleep,\n To glide adown old Nilus, where he threads\n Egypt and Aethiopia, from the steep\n Of utmost Axume, until he spreads, _500\n Like a calm flock of silver-fleeced sheep,\n His waters on the plain: and crested heads\n Of cities and proud temples gleam amid,\n And many a vapour-belted pyramid.\n\n 58.\n By Moeris and the Mareotid lakes, _505\n Strewn with faint blooms like bridal chamber floors,\n Where naked boys bridling tame water-snakes,\n Or charioteering ghastly alligators,\n Had left on the sweet waters mighty wakes\n Of those huge forms--within the brazen doors _510\n Of the great Labyrinth slept both boy and beast,\n Tired with the pomp of their Osirian feast.\n\n 59.\n And where within the surface of the river\n The shadows of the massy temples lie,\n And never are erased--but tremble ever _515\n Like things which every cloud can doom to die,\n Through lotus-paven canals, and wheresoever\n The works of man pierced that serenest sky\n With tombs, and towers, and fanes, 'twas her delight\n To wander in the shadow of the night. _520\n\n 60.\n With motion like the spirit of that wind\n Whose soft step deepens slumber, her light feet\n Passed through the peopled haunts of humankind.\n Scattering sweet visions from her presence sweet,\n Through fane, and palace-court, and labyrinth mined _525\n With many a dark and subterranean street\n Under the Nile, through chambers high and deep\n She passed, observing mortals in their sleep.\n\n 61.\n A pleasure sweet doubtless it was to see\n Mortals subdued in all the shapes of sleep. _530\n Here lay two sister twins in infancy;\n There, a lone youth who in his dreams did weep;\n Within, two lovers linked innocently\n In their loose locks which over both did creep\n Like ivy from one stem;--and there lay calm _535\n Old age with snow-bright hair and folded palm.\n\n 62.\n But other troubled forms of sleep she saw,\n Not to be mirrored in a holy song--\n Distortions foul of supernatural awe,\n And pale imaginings of visioned wrong; _540\n And all the code of Custom's lawless law\n Written upon the brows of old and young:\n 'This,' said the wizard maiden, 'is the strife\n Which stirs the liquid surface of man's life.'\n\n 63.\n And little did the sight disturb her soul.-- _545\n We, the weak mariners of that wide lake\n Where'er its shores extend or billows roll,\n Our course unpiloted and starless make\n O'er its wild surface to an unknown goal:--\n But she in the calm depths her way could take, _550\n Where in bright bowers immortal forms abide\n Beneath the weltering of the restless tide.\n\n 64.\n And she saw princes couched under the glow\n Of sunlike gems; and round each temple-court\n In dormitories ranged, row after row, _555\n She saw the priests asleep--all of one sort--\n For all were educated to be so.--\n The peasants in their huts, and in the port\n The sailors she saw cradled on the waves,\n And the dead lulled within their dreamless graves. _560\n\n 65.\n And all the forms in which those spirits lay\n Were to her sight like the diaphanous\n Veils, in which those sweet ladies oft array\n Their delicate limbs, who would conceal from us\n Only their scorn of all concealment: they _565\n Move in the light of their own beauty thus.\n But these and all now lay with sleep upon them,\n And little thought a Witch was looking on them.\n\n 66.\n She, all those human figures breathing there,\n Beheld as living spirits--to her eyes _570\n The naked beauty of the soul lay bare,\n And often through a rude and worn disguise\n She saw the inner form most bright and fair--\n And then she had a charm of strange device,\n Which, murmured on mute lips with tender tone, _575\n Could make that spirit mingle with her own.\n\n 67.\n Alas! Aurora, what wouldst thou have given\n For such a charm when Tithon became gray?\n Or how much, Venus, of thy silver heaven\n Wouldst thou have yielded, ere Proserpina _580\n Had half (oh! why not all?) the debt forgiven\n Which dear Adonis had been doomed to pay,\n To any witch who would have taught you it?\n The Heliad doth not know its value yet.\n\n 68.\n 'Tis said in after times her spirit free _585\n Knew what love was, and felt itself alone--\n But holy Dian could not chaster be\n Before she stooped to kiss Endymion,\n Than now this lady--like a sexless bee\n Tasting all blossoms, and confined to none, _590\n Among those mortal forms, the wizard-maiden\n Passed with an eye serene and heart unladen.\n\n 69.\n To those she saw most beautiful, she gave\n Strange panacea in a crystal bowl:--\n They drank in their deep sleep of that sweet wave, _595\n And lived thenceforward as if some control,\n Mightier than life, were in them; and the grave\n Of such, when death oppressed the weary soul,\n Was as a green and overarching bower\n Lit by the gems of many a starry flower. _600\n\n 70.\n For on the night when they were buried, she\n Restored the embalmers' ruining, and shook\n The light out of the funeral lamps, to be\n A mimic day within that deathy nook;\n And she unwound the woven imagery _605\n Of second childhood's swaddling bands, and took\n The coffin, its last cradle, from its niche,\n And threw it with contempt into a ditch.\n\n 71.\n And there the body lay, age after age.\n Mute, breathing, beating, warm, and undecaying, _610\n Like one asleep in a green hermitage,\n With gentle smiles about its eyelids playing,\n And living in its dreams beyond the rage\n Of death or life; while they were still arraying\n In liveries ever new, the rapid, blind _615\n And fleeting generations of mankind.\n\n 72.\n And she would write strange dreams upon the brain\n Of those who were less beautiful, and make\n All harsh and crooked purposes more vain\n Than in the desert is the serpent's wake _620\n Which the sand covers--all his evil gain\n The miser in such dreams would rise and shake\n Into a beggar's lap;--the lying scribe\n Would his own lies betray without a bribe.\n\n 73.\n The priests would write an explanation full, _625\n Translating hieroglyphics into Greek,\n How the God Apis really was a bull,\n And nothing more; and bid the herald stick\n The same against the temple doors, and pull\n The old cant down; they licensed all to speak _630\n Whate'er they thought of hawks, and cats, and geese,\n By pastoral letters to each diocese.\n\n 74.\n The king would dress an ape up in his crown\n And robes, and seat him on his glorious seat,\n And on the right hand of the sunlike throne _635\n Would place a gaudy mock-bird to repeat\n The chatterings of the monkey.--Every one\n Of the prone courtiers crawled to kiss the feet\n Of their great Emperor, when the morning came,\n And kissed--alas, how many kiss the same! _640\n\n 75.\n The soldiers dreamed that they were blacksmiths, and\n Walked out of quarters in somnambulism;\n Round the red anvils you might see them stand\n Like Cyclopses in Vulcan's sooty abysm,\n Beating their swords to ploughshares;--in a band _645\n The gaolers sent those of the liberal schism\n Free through the streets of Memphis, much, I wis,\n To the annoyance of king Amasis.\n\n 76.\n And timid lovers who had been so coy,\n They hardly knew whether they loved or not, _650\n Would rise out of their rest, and take sweet joy,\n To the fulfilment of their inmost thought;\n And when next day the maiden and the boy\n Met one another, both, like sinners caught,\n Blushed at the thing which each believed was done _655\n Only in fancy--till the tenth moon shone;\n\n 77.\n And then the Witch would let them take no ill:\n Of many thousand schemes which lovers find,\n The Witch found one,--and so they took their fill\n Of happiness in marriage warm and kind. _660\n Friends who, by practice of some envious skill,\n Were torn apart--a wide wound, mind from mind!--\n She did unite again with visions clear\n Of deep affection and of truth sincere.\n\n 80.\n These were the pranks she played among the cities _665\n Of mortal men, and what she did to Sprites\n And Gods, entangling them in her sweet ditties\n To do her will, and show their subtle sleights,\n I will declare another time; for it is\n A tale more fit for the weird winter nights _670\n Than for these garish summer days, when we\n Scarcely believe much more than we can see.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's The Witch of Atlas, by Percy Bysshe Shelley"},"answers":{"kind":"list like","value":["A coffin."],"string":"[\n \"A coffin.\"\n]","isConversational":false},"length":{"kind":"number","value":5400,"string":"5,400"},"dataset":{"kind":"string","value":"narrativeqa"},"language":{"kind":"string","value":"en"},"all_classes":{"kind":"null"},"_id":{"kind":"string","value":"2f4afd346731e656a9ea321b5a004ffc71da657b2cf2bb5f"}}},{"rowIdx":1799,"cells":{"input":{"kind":"string","value":"In what year did Rogers awaken from his deep slumber?"},"context":{"kind":"string","value":"Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nARMAGEDDON--2419 A.D.\n\n_By Philip Francis Nowlan_\n\n\n _Here, once more, is a real scientifiction story plus. It is a story\n which will make the heart of many readers leap with joy._\n\n _We have rarely printed a story in this magazine that for scientific\n interest, as well as suspense, could hold its own with this\n particular story. We prophesy that this story will become more\n valuable as the years go by. It certainly holds a number of\n interesting prophecies, of which no doubt, many will come true. For\n wealth of science, it will be hard to beat for some time to come. It\n is one of those rare stories that will bear reading and re-reading\n many times._\n\n _This story has impressed us so favorably, that we hope the author\n may be induced to write a sequel to it soon._\n\n\n\n\nForeword\n\n\nElsewhere I have set down, for whatever interest they have in this, the\n25th Century, my personal recollections of the 20th Century.\n\nNow it occurs to me that my memoirs of the 25th Century may have an\nequal interest 500 years from now--particularly in view of that unique\nperspective from which I have seen the 25th Century, entering it as I\ndid, in one leap across a gap of 492 years.\n\nThis statement requires elucidation. There are still many in the world\nwho are not familiar with my unique experience. Five centuries from now\nthere may be many more, especially if civilization is fated to endure\nany worse convulsions than those which have occurred between 1975 A.D.\nand the present time.\n\nI should state therefore, that I, Anthony Rogers, am, so far as I know,\nthe only man alive whose normal span of eighty-one years of life has\nbeen spread over a period of 573 years. To be precise, I lived the first\ntwenty-nine years of my life between 1898 and 1927; the other fifty-two\nsince 2419. The gap between these two, a period of nearly five hundred\nyears, I spent in a state of suspended animation, free from the ravages\nof katabolic processes, and without any apparent effect on my physical\nor mental faculties.\n\nWhen I began my long sleep, man had just begun his real conquest of the\nair in a sudden series of transoceanic flights in airplanes driven by\ninternal combustion motors. He had barely begun to speculate on the\npossibilities of harnessing sub-atomic forces, and had made no further\npractical penetration into the field of ethereal pulsations than the\nprimitive radio and television of that day. The United States of America\nwas the most powerful nation in the world, its political, financial,\nindustrial and scientific influence being supreme; and in the arts also\nit was rapidly climbing into leadership.\n\nI awoke to find the America I knew a total wreck--to find Americans a\nhunted race in their own land, hiding in the dense forests that covered\nthe shattered and leveled ruins of their once magnificent cities,\ndesperately preserving, and struggling to develop in their secret\nretreats, the remnants of their culture and science--and the undying\nflame of their sturdy independence.\n\nWorld domination was in the hands of Mongolians and the center of world\npower lay in inland China, with Americans one of the few races of\nmankind unsubdued--and it must be admitted in fairness to the truth, not\nworth the trouble of subduing in the eyes of the Han Airlords who ruled\nNorth America as titular tributaries of the Most Magnificent.\n\nFor they needed not the forests in which the Americans lived, nor the\nresources of the vast territories these forests covered. With the\nperfection to which they had reduced the synthetic production of\nnecessities and luxuries, their remarkable development of scientific\nprocesses and mechanical accomplishment of work, they had no economic\nneed for the forests, and no economic desire for the enslaved labor of\nan unruly race.\n\nThey had all they needed for their magnificently luxurious and degraded\nscheme of civilization, within the walls of the fifteen cities of\nsparkling glass they had flung skyward on the sites of ancient American\ncenters, into the bowels of the earth underneath them, and with\nrelatively small surrounding areas of agriculture.\n\nComplete domination of the air rendered communication between these\ncenters a matter of ease and safety. Occasional destructive raids on the\nwaste lands were considered all that was necessary to keep the \"wild\"\nAmericans on the run within the shelter of their forests, and prevent\ntheir becoming a menace to the Han civilization.\n\nBut nearly three hundred years of easily maintained security, the last\ncentury of which had been nearly sterile in scientific, social and\neconomic progress, had softened and devitalized the Hans.\n\nIt had likewise developed, beneath the protecting foliage of the forest,\nthe growth of a vigorous new American civilization, remarkable in the\nmobility and flexibility of its organization, in its conquest of almost\ninsuperable obstacles, in the development and guarding of its industrial\nand scientific resources, all in anticipation of that \"Day of Hope\" to\nwhich it had been looking forward for generations, when it would be\nstrong enough to burst from the green chrysalis of the forests, soar\ninto the upper air lanes and destroy the yellow incubus.\n\nAt the time I awoke, the \"Day of Hope\" was almost at hand. I shall not\nattempt to set forth a detailed history of the Second War of\nIndependence, for that has been recorded already by better historians\nthan I am. Instead I shall confine myself largely to the part I was\nfortunate enough to play in this struggle and in the events leading up\nto it.\n\n[Illustration: Seen upon the ultroscope viewplate, the battle looked as\nthough it were being fought in daylight, perhaps on a cloudy day, while\nthe explosions of the rockets appeared as flashes of extra brilliance.]\n\nIt all resulted from my interest in radioactive gases. During the latter\npart of 1927 my company, the American Radioactive Gas Corporation, had\nbeen keeping me busy investigating reports of unusual phenomena observed\nin certain abandoned coal mines near the Wyoming Valley, in\nPennsylvania.\n\nWith two assistants and a complete equipment of scientific instruments,\nI began the exploration of a deserted working in a mountainous district,\nwhere several weeks before, a number of mining engineers had reported\ntraces of carnotite[1] and what they believed to be radioactive gases.\nTheir report was not without foundation, it was apparent from the\noutset, for in our examination of the upper levels of the mine, our\ninstruments indicated a vigorous radioactivity.\n\n [1] A hydrovanadate of uranium, and other metals; used as a source\n of radium compounds.\n\nOn the morning of December 15th, we descended to one of the lowest\nlevels. To our surprise, we found no water there. Obviously it had\ndrained off through some break in the strata. We noticed too that the\nrock in the side walls of the shaft was soft, evidently due to the\nradioactivity, and pieces crumbled under foot rather easily. We made our\nway cautiously down the shaft, when suddenly the rotted timbers above us\ngave way.\n\nI jumped ahead, barely escaping the avalanche of coal and soft rock, but\nmy companions, who were several paces behind me, were buried under it,\nand undoubtedly met instant death.\n\nI was trapped. Return was impossible. With my electric torch I explored\nthe shaft to its end, but could find no other way out. The air became\nincreasingly difficult to breathe, probably from the rapid accumulation\nof the radioactive gas. In a little while my senses reeled and I lost\nconsciousness.\n\nWhen I awoke, there was a cool and refreshing circulation of air in the\nshaft. I had no thought that I had been unconscious more than a few\nhours, although it seems that the radioactive gas had kept me in a state\nof suspended animation for something like 500 years. My awakening, I\nfigured out later, had been due to some shifting of the strata which\nreopened the shaft and cleared the atmosphere in the working. This must\nhave been the case, for I was able to struggle back up the shaft over a\npile of debris, and stagger up the long incline to the mouth of the\nmine, where an entirely different world, overgrown with a vast forest\nand no visible sign of human habitation, met my eyes.\n\nI shall pass over the days of mental agony that followed in my attempt\nto grasp the meaning of it all. There were times when I felt that I was\non the verge of insanity. I roamed the unfamiliar forest like a lost\nsoul. Had it not been for the necessity of improvising traps and crude\nclubs with which to slay my food, I believe I should have gone mad.\n\nSuffice it to say, however, that I survived this psychic crisis. I shall\nbegin my narrative proper with my first contact with Americans of the\nyear 2419 A.D.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER I\n\nFloating Men\n\n\nMy first glimpse of a human being of the 25th Century was obtained\nthrough a portion of woodland where the trees were thinly scattered,\nwith a dense forest beyond.\n\nI had been wandering along aimlessly, and hopelessly, musing over my\nstrange fate, when I noticed a figure that cautiously backed out of the\ndense growth across the glade. I was about to call out joyfully, but\nthere was something furtive about the figure that prevented me. The\nboy's attention (for it seemed to be a lad of fifteen or sixteen) was\ncentered tensely on the heavy growth of trees from which he had just\nemerged.\n\nHe was clad in rather tight-fitting garments entirely of green, and wore\na helmet-like cap of the same color. High around his waist he wore a\nbroad, thick belt, which bulked up in the back across the shoulders,\ninto something of the proportions of a knapsack.\n\nAs I was taking in these details, there came a vivid flash and heavy\ndetonation, like that of a hand grenade, not far to the left of him. He\nthrew up an arm and staggered a bit in a queer, gliding way; then he\nrecovered himself and slipped cautiously away from the place of the\nexplosion, crouching slightly, and still facing the denser part of the\nforest. Every few steps he would raise his arm, and point into the\nforest with something he held in his hand. Wherever he pointed there was\na terrific explosion, deeper in among the trees. It came to me then that\nhe was shooting with some form of pistol, though there was neither flash\nnor detonation from the muzzle of the weapon itself.\n\nAfter firing several times, he seemed to come to a sudden resolution,\nand turning in my general direction, leaped--to my amazement sailing\nthrough the air between the sparsely scattered trees in such a jump as I\nhad never in my life seen before. That leap must have carried him a full\nfifty feet, although at the height of his arc, he was not more than ten\nor twelve feet from the ground.\n\nWhen he alighted, his foot caught in a projecting root, and he sprawled\ngently forward. I say \"gently\" for he did not crash down as I expected\nhim to do. The only thing I could compare it with was a slow-motion\ncinema, although I had never seen one in which horizontal motions were\nregistered at normal speed and only the vertical movements were slowed\ndown.\n\nDue to my surprise, I suppose my brain did not function with its normal\nquickness, for I gazed at the prone figure for several seconds before I\nsaw the blood that oozed out from under the tight green cap. Regaining\nmy power of action, I dragged him out of sight back of the big tree. For\na few moments I busied myself in an attempt to staunch the flow of\nblood. The wound was not a deep one. My companion was more dazed than\nhurt. But what of the pursuers?\n\nI took the weapon from his grasp and examined it hurriedly. It was not\nunlike the automatic pistol to which I was accustomed, except that it\napparently fired with a button instead of a trigger. I inserted several\nfresh rounds of ammunition into its magazine from my companion's belt,\nas rapidly as I could, for I soon heard, near us, the suppressed\nconversation of his pursuers.\n\nThere followed a series of explosions round about us, but none very\nclose. They evidently had not spotted our hiding place, and were firing\nat random.\n\nI waited tensely, balancing the gun in my hand, to accustom myself to\nits weight and probable throw.\n\nThen I saw a movement in the green foliage of a tree not far away, and\nthe head and face of a man appeared. Like my companion, he was clad\nentirely in green, which made his figure difficult to distinguish. But\nhis face could be seen clearly. It was an evil face, and had murder in\nit.\n\nThat decided me. I raised the gun and fired. My aim was bad, for there\nwas no kick in the gun, as I had expected, and I hit the trunk of the\ntree several feet below him. It blew him from his perch like a crumpled\nbit of paper, and he _floated_ down to the ground, like some limp, dead\nthing, gently lowered by an invisible hand. The tree, its trunk blown\napart by the explosion, crashed down.\n\nThere followed another series of explosions around us. These guns we\nwere using made no sound in the firing, and my opponents were evidently\nas much at sea as to my position as I was to theirs. So I made no\nattempt to reply to their fire, contenting myself with keeping a sharp\nlookout in their general direction. And patience had its reward.\n\nVery soon I saw a cautious movement in the top of another tree. Exposing\nmyself as little as possible, I aimed carefully at the tree trunk and\nfired again. A shriek followed the explosion. I heard the tree crash\ndown; then a groan.\n\nThere was silence for a while. Then I heard a faint sound of boughs\nswishing. I shot three times in its direction, pressing the button as\nrapidly as I could. Branches crashed down where my shells had exploded,\nbut there was no body.\n\nThen I saw one of them. He was starting one of those amazing leaps from\nthe bough of one tree to another, about forty feet away.\n\nI threw up my gun impulsively and fired. By now I had gotten the feel of\nthe weapon, and my aim was good. I hit him. The \"bullet\" must have\npenetrated his body and exploded. For one moment I saw him flying\nthrough the air. Then the explosion, and he had vanished. He never\nfinished his leap. It was annihilation.\n\nHow many more of them there were I don't know. But this must have been\ntoo much for them. They used a final round of shells on us, all of which\nexploded harmlessly, and shortly after I heard them swishing and\ncrashing away from us through the tree tops. Not one of them descended\nto earth.\n\nNow I had time to give some attention to my companion. She was, I found,\na girl, and not a boy. Despite her bulky appearance, due to the peculiar\nbelt strapped around her body high up under the arms, she was very\nslender, and very pretty.\n\nThere was a stream not far away, from which I brought water and bathed\nher face and wound.\n\nApparently the mystery of these long leaps, the monkey-like ability to\njump from bough to bough, and of the bodies that floated gently down\ninstead of falling, lay in the belt. The thing was some sort of\nanti-gravity belt that almost balanced the weight of the wearer, thereby\ntremendously multiplying the propulsive power of the leg muscles, and\nthe lifting power of the arms.\n\nWhen the girl came to, she regarded me as curiously as I did her, and\npromptly began to quiz me. Her accent and intonation puzzled me a lot,\nbut nevertheless we were able to understand each other fairly well,\nexcept for certain words and phrases. I explained what had happened\nwhile she lay unconscious, and she thanked me simply for saving her\nlife.\n\n\"You are a strange exchange,\" she said, eying my clothing quizzically.\nEvidently she found it mirth provoking by contrast with her own neatly\nefficient garb. \"Don't you understand what I mean by 'exchange?' I mean\nah--let me see--a stranger, somebody from some other gang. What gang do\nyou belong to?\" (She pronounced it \"gan,\" with only a suspicion of a\nnasal sound.)\n\nI laughed. \"I'm not a gangster,\" I said. But she evidently did not\nunderstand this word. \"I don't belong to any gang,\" I explained, \"and\nnever did. Does everybody belong to a gang nowadays?\"\n\n\"Naturally,\" she said, frowning. \"If you don't belong to a gang, where\nand how do you live? Why have you not found and joined a gang? How do\nyou eat? Where do you get your clothing?\"\n\n\"I've been eating wild game for the past two weeks,\" I explained, \"and\nthis clothing I--er--ah--.\" I paused, wondering how I could explain that\nit must be many hundred years old.\n\nIn the end I saw I would have to tell my story as well as I could,\npiecing it together with my assumptions as to what had happened. She\nlistened patiently; incredulously at first, but with more confidence as\nI went on. When I had finished, she sat thinking for a long time.\n\n\"That's hard to believe,\" she said, \"but I believe it.\" She looked me\nover with frank interest.\n\n\"Were you married when you slipped into unconsciousness down in that\nmine?\" she asked me suddenly. I assured her I had never married. \"Well,\nthat simplifies matters,\" she continued. \"You see, if you were\ntechnically classed as a family man, I could take you back only as an\ninvited exchange and I, being unmarried, and no relation of yours,\ncouldn't do the inviting.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER II\n\nThe Forest Gangs\n\n\nShe gave me a brief outline of the very peculiar social and economic\nsystem under which her people lived. At least it seemed very peculiar\nfrom my 20th Century viewpoint.\n\nI learned with amazement that exactly 492 years had passed over my head\nas I lay unconscious in the mine.\n\nWilma, for that was her name, did not profess to be a historian, and so\ncould give me only a sketchy outline of the wars that had been fought,\nand the manner in which such radical changes had come about. It seemed\nthat another war had followed the First World War, in which nearly all\nthe European nations had banded together to break the financial and\nindustrial power of America. They succeeded in their purpose, though\nthey were beaten, for the war was a terrific one, and left America, like\nthemselves, gasping, bleeding and disorganized, with only the hollow\nshell of a victory.\n\nThis opportunity had been seized by the Russian Soviets, who had made a\ncoalition with the Chinese, to sweep over all Europe and reduce it to a\nstate of chaos.\n\nAmerica, industrially geared to world production and the world trade,\ncollapsed economically, and there ensued a long period of stagnation and\ndesperate attempts at economic reconstruction. But it was impossible to\nstave off war with the Mongolians, who by now had subjugated the\nRussians, and were aiming at a world empire.\n\nIn about 2109, it seems, the conflict was finally precipitated. The\nMongolians, with overwhelming fleets of great airships, and a science\nthat far outstripped that of crippled America, swept in over the Pacific\nand Atlantic Coasts, and down from Canada, annihilating American\naircraft, armies and cities with their terrific _disintegrator_ rays.\nThese rays were projected from a machine not unlike a searchlight in\nappearance, the reflector of which, however, was not material substance,\nbut a complicated balance of interacting electronic forces. This\nresulted in a terribly destructive beam. Under its influence, material\nsubstance melted into \"nothingness\"; i. e., into electronic vibrations.\nIt destroyed all then known substances, from air to the most dense\nmetals and stone.\n\nThey settled down to the establishment of what became known as the Han\ndynasty in America, as a sort of province in their World Empire.\n\nThose were terrible days for the Americans. They were hunted like wild\nbeasts. Only those survived who finally found refuge in mountains,\ncanyons and forests. Government was at an end among them. Anarchy\nprevailed for several generations. Most would have been eager to submit\nto the Hans, even if it meant slavery. But the Hans did not want them,\nfor they themselves had marvelous machinery and scientific process by\nwhich all difficult labor was accomplished.\n\nUltimately they stopped their active search for, and annihilation of,\nthe widely scattered groups of now savage Americans. So long as they\nremained hidden in their forests, and did not venture near the great\ncities the Hans had built, little attention was paid to them.\n\nThen began the building of the new American civilization. Families and\nindividuals gathered together in clans or \"gangs\" for mutual protection.\nFor nearly a century they lived a nomadic and primitive life, moving\nfrom place to place, in desperate fear of the casual and occasional Han\nair raids, and the terrible disintegrator ray. As the frequency of these\nraids decreased, they began to stay permanently in given localities,\norganizing upon lines which in many respects were similar to those of\nthe military households of the Norman feudal barons, except that instead\nof gathering together in castles, their defense tactics necessitated a\ncertain scattering of living quarters for families and individuals. They\nlived virtually in the open air, in the forests, in green tents,\nresorting to camouflage tactics that would conceal their presence from\nair observers. They dug underground factories and laboratories, that\nthey might better be shielded from the electrical detectors of the\nHans. They tapped the radio communication lines of the Hans, with crude\ninstruments at first; better ones later on. They bent every effort\ntoward the redevelopment of science. For many generations they labored\nas unseen, unknown scholars of the Hans, picking up their knowledge\npiecemeal, as fast as they were able to.\n\nDuring the earlier part of this period, there were many deadly wars\nfought between the various gangs, and occasional courageous but\nchildishly futile attacks upon the Hans, followed by terribly punitive\nraids.\n\nBut as knowledge progressed, the sense of American brotherhood\nredeveloped. Reciprocal arrangements were made among the gangs over\nconstantly increasing areas. Trade developed to a certain extent, as\nbetween one gang and another. But the interchange of knowledge became\nmore important than that of goods, as skill in the handling of synthetic\nprocesses developed.\n\nWithin the gang, an economy was developed that was a compromise between\nindividual liberty and a military socialism. The right of private\nproperty was limited practically to personal possessions, but private\nprivileges were many, and sacredly regarded. Stimulation to achievement\nlay chiefly in the winning of various kinds of leadership and\nprerogatives, and only in a very limited degree in the hope of owning\nanything that might be classified as \"wealth,\" and nothing that might be\nclassified as \"resources.\" Resources of every description, for military\nsafety and efficiency, belonged as a matter of public interest to the\ncommunity as a whole.\n\nIn the meantime, through these many generations, the Hans had developed\na luxury economy, and with it the perfection of gilded vice and\ndegradation. The Americans were regarded as \"wild men of the woods.\" And\nsince they neither needed nor wanted the woods or the wild men, they\ntreated them as beasts, and were conscious of no human brotherhood with\nthem. As time went on, and synthetic processes of producing foods and\nmaterials were further developed, less and less ground was needed by the\nHans for the purposes of agriculture, and finally, even the working of\nmines was abandoned when it became cheaper to build up metal from\nelectronic vibrations than to dig them out of the ground.\n\nThe Han race, devitalized by its vices and luxuries, with machinery and\nscientific processes to satisfy its every want, with virtually no\nnecessity of labor, began to assume a defensive attitude toward the\nAmericans.\n\nAnd quite naturally, the Americans regarded the Hans with a deep, grim\nhatred. Conscious of individual superiority as men, knowing that\nlatterly they were outstripping the Hans in science and civilization,\nthey longed desperately for the day when they should be powerful enough\nto rise and annihilate the Yellow Blight that lay over the continent.\n\nAt the time of my awakening, the gangs were rather loosely organized,\nbut were considering the establishment of a special military force,\nwhose special business it would be to harry the Hans and bring down\ntheir air ships whenever possible without causing general alarm among\nthe Mongolians. This force was destined to become the nucleus of the\nnational force, when the Day of Retribution arrived. But that, however,\ndid not happen for ten years, and is another story.\n\n[Illustration: On the left of the illustration is a Han girl, and on the\nright is an American girl, who, like all of her race, is equipped with\nan inertron belt and a rocket gun.]\n\nWilma told me she was a member of the Wyoming Gang, which claimed the\nentire Wyoming Valley as its territory, under the leadership of Boss\nHart. Her mother and father were dead, and she was unmarried, so she was\nnot a \"family member.\" She lived in a little group of tents known as\nCamp 17, under a woman Camp Boss, with seven other girls.\n\nHer duties alternated between military or police scouting and factory\nwork. For the two-week period which would end the next day, she had been\non \"air patrol.\" This did not mean, as I first imagined, that she was\nflying, but rather that she was on the lookout for Han ships over this\noutlying section of the Wyoming territory, and had spent most of her\ntime perched in the tree tops scanning the skies. Had she seen one she\nwould have fired a \"drop flare\" several miles off to one side, which\nwould ignite when it was floating vertically toward the earth, so that\nthe direction or point from which it had been fired might not be guessed\nby the airship and bring a blasting play of the disintegrator ray in her\nvicinity. Other members of the air patrol would send up rockets on\nseeing hers, until finally a scout equipped with an ultrophone, which,\nunlike the ancient radio, operated on the ultronic ethereal vibrations,\nwould pass the warning simultaneously to the headquarters of the Wyoming\nGang and other communities within a radius of several hundred miles, not\nto mention the few American rocket ships that might be in the air, and\nwhich instantly would duck to cover either through forest clearings or\nby flattening down to earth in green fields where their coloring would\nprobably protect them from observation. The favorite American method of\npropulsion was known as \"_rocketing_.\" The _rocket_ is what I would\ndescribe, from my 20th Century comprehension of the matter, as an\nextremely powerful gas blast, atomically produced through the\nstimulation of chemical action. Scientists of today regard it as a\nchildishly simple reaction, but by that very virtue, most economical and\nefficient.\n\nBut tomorrow, she explained, she would go back to work in the cloth\nplant, where she would take charge of one of the synthetic processes by\nwhich those wonderful substitutes for woven fabrics of wool, cotton and\nsilk are produced. At the end of another two weeks, she would be back on\nmilitary duty again, perhaps at the same work, or maybe as a \"contact\nguard,\" on duty where the territory of the Wyomings merged with that of\nthe Delawares, or the \"Susquannas\" (Susquehannas) or one of the half\ndozen other \"gangs\" in that section of the country which I knew as\nPennsylvania and New York States.\n\nWilma cleared up for me the mystery of those flying leaps which she and\nher assailants had made, and explained in the following manner, how the\ninertron belt balances weight:\n\n\"_Jumpers_\" were in common use at the time I \"awoke,\" though they were\ncostly, for at that time _inertron_ had not been produced in very great\nquantity. They were very useful in the forest. They were belts,\nstrapped high under the arms, containing an amount of inertron adjusted\nto the wearer's weight and purposes. In effect they made a man weigh as\nlittle as he desired; two pounds if he liked.\n\n\"_Floaters_\" are a later development of \"_jumpers_\"--rocket motors\nencased in _inertron_ blocks and strapped to the back in such a way that\nthe wearer floats, when drifting, facing slightly downward. With his\nmotor in operation, he moves like a diver, headforemost, controlling his\ndirection by twisting his body and by movements of his outstretched arms\nand hands. Ballast weights locked in the front of the belt adjust weight\nand lift. Some men prefer a few ounces of weight in floating, using a\nslight motor thrust to overcome this. Others prefer a buoyance balance\nof a few ounces. The inadvertent dropping of weight is not a serious\nmatter. The motor thrust always can be used to descend. But as an extra\nprecaution, in case the motor should fail, for any reason, there are\nbuilt into every belt a number of detachable sections, one or more of\nwhich can be discarded to balance off any loss in weight.\n\n\"But who were your assailants,\" I asked, \"and why were you attacked?\"\n\nHer assailants, she told me, were members of an outlaw gang, referred to\nas \"Bad Bloods,\" a group which for several generations had been under\nthe domination of conscienceless leaders who tried to advance the\ninterests of their clan by tactics which their neighbors had come to\nregard as unfair, and who in consequence had been virtually boycotted.\nTheir purpose had been to slay her near the Delaware frontier, making it\nappear that the crime had been committed by Delaware scouts and thus\nembroil the Delawares and Wyomings in acts of reprisal against each\nother, or at least cause suspicions.\n\nFortunately they had not succeeded in surprising her, and she had been\nsuccessful in dodging them for some two hours before the shooting began,\nat the moment when I arrived on the scene.\n\n\"But we must not stay here talking,\" Wilma concluded. \"I have to take\nyou in, and besides I must report this attack right away. I think we had\nbetter slip over to the other side of the mountain. Whoever is on that\npost will have a phone, and I can make a direct report. But you'll have\nto have a belt. Mine alone won't help much against our combined weights,\nand there's little to be gained by jumping heavy. It's almost as bad as\nwalking.\"\n\nAfter a little search, we found one of the men I had killed, who had\nfloated down among the trees some distance away and whose belt was not\nbadly damaged. In detaching it from his body, it nearly got away from me\nand shot up in the air. Wilma caught it, however, and though it\nreinforced the lift of her own belt so that she had to hook her knee\naround a branch to hold herself down, she saved it. I climbed the tree\nand, with my weight added to hers, we floated down easily.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER III\n\nLife in the 25th Century\n\n\nWe were delayed in starting for quite a while since I had to acquire a\nfew crude ideas about the technique of using these belts. I had been\nsitting down, for instance, with the belt strapped about me, enjoying an\nease similar to that of a comfortable armchair; when I stood up with a\nnatural exertion of muscular effort, I shot ten feet into the air, with\na wild instinctive thrashing of arms and legs that amused Wilma greatly.\n\nBut after some practice, I began to get the trick of gauging muscular\neffort to a minimum of vertical and a maximum of horizontal. The correct\nform, I found, was in a measure comparable to that of skating. I found,\nalso, that in forest work particularly the arms and hands could be used\nto great advantage in swinging along from branch to branch, so\nprolonging leaps almost indefinitely at times.\n\nIn going up the side of the mountain, I found that my 20th Century\nmuscles did have an advantage, in spite of lack of skill with the belt,\nand since the slopes were very sharp, and most of our leaps were upward,\nI could have distanced Wilma easily. But when we crossed the ridge and\ndescended, she outstripped me with her superior technique. Choosing the\nsteepest slopes, she would crouch in the top of a tree, and propel\nherself outward, literally diving until, with the loss of horizontal\nmomentum, she would assume a more upright position and float downward.\nIn this manner she would sometimes cover as much as a quarter of a mile\nin a single leap, while I leaped and scrambled clumsily behind,\nthoroughly enjoying the novel sensation.\n\nHalf way down the mountain, we saw another green-clad figure leap out\nabove the tree tops toward us. The three of us perched on an outcropping\nof rock from which a view for many miles around could be had, while\nWilma hastily explained her adventure and my presence to her fellow\nguard; whose name was Alan. I learned later that this was the modern\nform of Helen.\n\n\"You want to report by phone then, don't you?\" Alan took a compact\npacket about six inches square from a holster attached to her belt and\nhanded it to Wilma.\n\nSo far as I could see, it had no special receiver for the ear. Wilma\nmerely threw back a lid, as though she were opening a book, and began to\ntalk. The voice that came back from the machine was as audible as her\nown.\n\nShe was queried closely as to the attack upon her, and at considerable\nlength as to myself, and I could tell from the tone of that voice that\nits owner was not prepared to take me at my face value as readily as\nWilma had. For that matter, neither was the other girl. I could realize\nit from the suspicious glances she threw my way, when she thought my\nattention was elsewhere, and the manner in which her hand hovered\nconstantly near her gun holster.\n\nWilma was ordered to bring me in at once, and informed that another\nscout would take her place on the other side of the mountain. So she\nclosed down the lid of the phone and handed it back to Alan, who seemed\nrelieved to see us departing over the tree tops in the direction of the\ncamps.\n\nWe had covered perhaps ten miles, in what still seemed to me a\nsurprisingly easy fashion, when Wilma explained, that from here on we\nwould have to keep to the ground. We were nearing the camps, she said,\nand there was always the possibility that some small Han scoutship,\ninvisible high in the sky, might catch sight of us through a\nprojectoscope and thus find the general location of the camps.\n\nWilma took me to the Scout office, which proved to be a small building\nof irregular shape, conforming to the trees around it, and substantially\nconstructed of green sheet-like material.\n\nI was received by the assistant Scout Boss, who reported my arrival at\nonce to the historical office, and to officials he called the Psycho\nBoss and the History Boss, who came in a few minutes later. The attitude\nof all three men was at first polite but skeptical, and Wilma's ardent\nadvocacy seemed to amuse them secretly.\n\nFor the next two hours I talked, explained and answered questions. I had\nto explain, in detail, the manner of my life in the 20th Century and my\nunderstanding of customs, habits, business, science and the history of\nthat period, and about developments in the centuries that had elapsed.\nHad I been in a classroom, I would have come through the examination\nwith a very poor mark, for I was unable to give any answer to fully half\nof their questions. But before long I realized that the majority of\nthese questions were designed as traps. Objects, of whose purpose I knew\nnothing, were casually handed to me, and I was watched keenly as I\nhandled them.\n\nIn the end I could see both amazement and belief begin to show in the\nfaces of my inquisitors, and at last the Historical and Psycho Bosses\nagreed openly that they could find no flaw in my story or reactions, and\nthat unbelievable as it seemed, my story must be accepted as genuine.\n\nThey took me at once to Big Boss Hart. He was a portly man with a \"poker\nface.\" He would probably have been the successful politician even in the\n20th Century.\n\nThey gave him a brief outline of my story and a report of their\nexamination of me. He made no comment other than to nod his acceptance\nof it. Then he turned to me.\n\n\"How does it feel?\" he asked. \"Do we look funny to you?\"\n\n\"A bit strange,\" I admitted. \"But I'm beginning to lose that dazed\nfeeling, though I can see I have an awful lot to learn.\"\n\n\"Maybe we can learn some things from you, too,\" he said. \"So you fought\nin the First World War. Do you know, we have very little left in the way\nof records of the details of that war, that is, the precise conditions\nunder which it was fought, and the tactics employed. We forgot many\nthings during the Han terror, and--well, I think you might have a lot of\nideas worth thinking over for our raid masters. By the way, now that\nyou're here, and can't go back to your own century, so to speak, what do\nyou want to do? You're welcome to become one of us. Or perhaps you'd\njust like to visit with us for a while, and then look around among the\nother gangs. Maybe you'd like some of the others better. Don't make up\nyour mind now. We'll put you down as an exchange for a while. Let's see.\nYou and Bill Hearn ought to get along well together. He's Camp Boss of\nNumber 34 when he isn't acting as Raid Boss or Scout Boss. There's a\nvacancy in his camp. Stay with him and think things over as long as you\nwant to. As soon as you make up your mind to anything, let me know.\"\n\nWe all shook hands, for that was one custom that had not died out in\nfive hundred years, and I set out with Bill Hearn.\n\nBill, like all the others, was clad in green. He was a big man. That is,\nhe was about my own height, five feet eleven. This was considerably\nabove the average now, for the race had lost something in stature, it\nseemed, through the vicissitudes of five centuries. Most of the women\nwere a bit below five feet, and the men only a trifle above this height.\n\nFor a period of two weeks Bill was to confine himself to camp duties, so\nI had a good chance to familiarize myself with the community life. It\nwas not easy. There were so many marvels to absorb. I never ceased to\nwonder at the strange combination of rustic social life and feverish\nindustrial activity. At least, it was strange to me. For in my\nexperience, industrial development meant crowded cities, tenements,\npaved streets, profusion of vehicles, noise, hurrying men and women with\nstrained or dull faces, vast structures and ornate public works.\n\nHere, however, was rustic simplicity, apparently isolated families and\ngroups, living in the heart of the forest, with a quarter of a mile or\nmore between households, a total absence of crowds, no means of\nconveyance other than the belts called jumpers, almost constantly worn\nby everybody, and an occasional rocket ship, used only for longer\njourneys, and underground plants or factories that were to my mind more\nlike laboratories and engine rooms; many of them were excavations as\ndeep as mines, with well finished, lighted and comfortable interiors.\nThese people were adepts at camouflage against air observation. Not only\nwould their activity have been unsuspected by an airship passing over\nthe center of the community, but even by an enemy who might happen to\ndrop through the screen of the upper branches to the floor of the\nforest. The camps, or household structures, were all irregular in shape\nand of colors that blended with the great trees among which they were\nhidden.\n\nThere were 724 dwellings or \"camps\" among the Wyomings, located within\nan area of about fifteen square miles. The total population was 8,688,\nevery man, woman and child, whether member or \"exchange,\" being listed.\n\nThe plants were widely scattered through the territory also. Nowhere was\nanything like congestion permitted. So far as possible, families and\nindividuals were assigned to living quarters, not too far from the\nplants or offices in which their work lay.\n\nAll able-bodied men and women alternated in two-week periods between\nmilitary and industrial service, except those who were needed for\nhousehold work. Since working conditions in the plants and offices were\nideal, and everybody thus had plenty of healthy outdoor activity in\naddition, the population was sturdy and active. Laziness was regarded as\nnearly the greatest of social offenses. Hard work and general merit were\nvariously rewarded with extra privileges, advancement to positions of\nauthority, and with various items of personal equipment for convenience\nand luxury.\n\nIn leisure moments, I got great enjoyment from sitting outside the\ndwelling in which I was quartered with Bill Hearn and ten other men,\nwatching the occasional passers-by, as with leisurely, but swift\nmovements, they swung up and down the forest trail, rising from the\nground in long almost-horizontal leaps, occasionally swinging from one\nconvenient branch overhead to another before \"sliding\" back to the\nground farther on. Normal traveling pace, where these trails were\nstraight enough, was about twenty miles an hour. Such things as\nautomobiles and railroad trains (the memory of them not more than a\nmonth old in my mind) seemed inexpressibly silly and futile compared\nwith such convenience as these belts or jumpers offered.\n\nBill suggested that I wander around for several days, from plant to\nplant, to observe and study what I could. The entire community had been\napprised of my coming, my rating as an \"exchange\" reaching every\nbuilding and post in the community, by means of ultronic broadcast.\nEverywhere I was welcomed in an interested and helpful spirit.\n\nI visited the plants where ultronic vibrations were isolated from the\nether and through slow processes built up into sub-electronic,\nelectronic and atomic forms into the two great synthetic elements,\nultron and inertron. I learned something, superficially at least, of the\nprocesses of combined chemical and mechanical action through which were\nproduced the various forms of synthetic cloth. I watched the manufacture\nof the machines which were used at locations of construction to produce\nthe various forms of building materials. But I was particularly\ninterested in the munitions plants and the rocket-ship shops.\n\nUltron is a solid of great molecular density and moderate elasticity,\nwhich has the property of being 100 percent conductive to those\npulsations known as light, electricity and heat. Since it is completely\npermeable to light vibrations, it is therefore _absolutely invisible and\nnon-reflective_. Its magnetic response is almost, but not quite, 100\npercent also. It is therefore very heavy under normal conditions but\nextremely responsive to the _repellor_ or anti-gravity rays, such as the\nHans use as \"_legs_\" for their airships.\n\nInertron is the second great triumph of American research and\nexperimentation with ultronic forces. It was developed just a few years\nbefore my awakening in the abandoned mine. It is a synthetic element,\nbuilt up, through a complicated heterodyning of ultronic pulsations,\nfrom \"infra-balanced\" sub-ionic forms. It is completely inert to both\nelectric and magnetic forces in all the orders above the _ultronic_;\nthat is to say, the _sub-electronic_, the _electronic_, the _atomic_ and\nthe _molecular_. In consequence it has a number of amazing and\nvaluable properties. One of these is _the total lack of weight_. Another\nis a total lack of heat. It has no molecular vibration whatever. It\nreflects 100 percent of the heat and light impinging upon it. It does\nnot feel cold to the touch, of course, since it will not absorb the heat\nof the hand. It is a solid, very dense in molecular structure despite\nits lack of weight, of great strength and considerable elasticity. It is\na perfect shield against the disintegrator rays.\n\n[Illustration: Setting his rocket gun for a long-distance shot.]\n\nRocket guns are very simple contrivances so far as the mechanism of\nlaunching the bullet is concerned. They are simple light tubes, closed\nat the rear end, with a trigger-actuated pin for piercing the thin skin\nat the base of the cartridge. This piercing of the skin starts the\nchemical and atomic reaction. The entire cartridge leaves the tube under\nits own power, at a very easy initial velocity, just enough to insure\naccuracy of aim; so the tube does not have to be of heavy construction.\nThe bullet increases in velocity as it goes. It may be solid or\nexplosive. It may explode on contact or on time, or a combination of\nthese two.\n\nBill and I talked mostly of weapons, military tactics and strategy.\nStrangely enough he had no idea whatever of the possibilities of the\nbarrage, though the tremendous effect of a \"curtain of fire\" with such\nhigh-explosive projectiles as these modern rocket guns used was obvious\nto me. But the barrage idea, it seemed, has been lost track of\ncompletely in the air wars that followed the First World War, and in the\npeculiar guerilla tactics developed by Americans in the later period of\noperations from the ground against Han airships, and in the gang wars\nwhich, until a few generations ago I learned, had been almost\ncontinuous.\n\n\"I wonder,\" said Bill one day, \"if we couldn't work up some form of\nbarrage to spring on the Bad Bloods. The Big Boss told me today that\nhe's been in communication with the other gangs, and all are agreed that\nthe Bad Bloods might as well be wiped out for good. That attempt on\nWilma Deering's life and their evident desire to make trouble among the\ngangs, has stirred up every community east of the Alleghenies. The Boss\nsays that none of the others will object if we go after them. So I\nimagine that before long we will. Now show me again how you worked that\nbusiness in the Argonne forest. The conditions ought to be pretty much\nthe same.\"\n\nI went over it with him in detail, and gradually we worked out a\nmodified plan that would be better adapted to our more powerful weapons,\nand the use of jumpers.\n\n\"It will be easy,\" Bill exulted. \"I'll slide down and talk it over with\nthe Boss tomorrow.\"\n\nDuring the first two weeks of my stay with the Wyomings, Wilma Deering\nand I saw a great deal of each other. I naturally felt a little closer\nfriendship for her, in view of the fact that she was the first human\nbeing I saw after waking from my long sleep; her appreciation of my\nsaving her life, though I could not have done otherwise than I did in\nthat matter, and most of all my own appreciation of the fact that she\nhad not found it as difficult as the others to believe my story,\noperated in the same direction. I could easily imagine my story must\nhave sounded incredible.\n\nIt was natural enough too, that she should feel an unusual interest in\nme. In the first place, I was her personal discovery. In the second, she\nwas a girl of studious and reflective turn of mind. She never got tired\nof my stories and descriptions of the 20th Century.\n\nThe others of the community, however, seemed to find our friendship a\nbit amusing. It seemed that Wilma had a reputation for being cold toward\nthe opposite sex, and so others, not being able to appreciate some of\nher fine qualities as I did, misinterpreted her attitude, much to their\nown delight. Wilma and I, however, ignored this as much as we could.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IV\n\nA Han Air Raid\n\n\nThere was a girl in Wilma's camp named Gerdi Mann, with whom Bill Hearn\nwas desperately in love, and the four of us used to go around a lot\ntogether. Gerdi was a distinct type. Whereas Wilma had the usual dark\nbrown hair and hazel eyes that marked nearly every member of the\ncommunity, Gerdi had red hair, blue eyes and very fair skin. She has\nbeen dead many years now, but I remember her vividly because she was a\nthrowback in physical appearance to a certain 20th Century type which I\nhave found very rare among modern Americans; also because the four of us\nwere engaged one day in a discussion of this very point, when I obtained\nmy first experience of a Han air raid.\n\nWe were sitting high on the side of a hill overlooking the valley that\nteemed with human activity, invisible beneath its blanket of foliage.\n\nThe other three, who knew of the Irish but vaguely and indefinitely, as\na race on the other side of the globe, which, like ourselves, had\nsucceeded in maintaining a precarious and fugitive existence in\nrebellion against the Mongolian domination of the earth, were listening\nwith interest to my theory that Gerdi's ancestors of several hundred\nyears ago must have been Irish. I explained that Gerdi was an Irish\ntype, evidently a throwback, and that her surname might well have been\nMcMann, or McMahan, and still more anciently \"mac Mathghamhain.\" They\nwere interested too in my surmise that \"Gerdi\" was the same name as that\nwhich had been \"Gerty\" or \"Gertrude\" in the 20th Century.\n\nIn the middle of our discussion, we were startled by an alarm rocket\nthat burst high in the air, far to the north, spreading a pall of red\nsmoke that drifted like a cloud. It was followed by others at scattered\npoints in the northern sky.\n\n\"A Han raid!\" Bill exclaimed in amazement. \"The first in seven years!\"\n\n\"Maybe it's just one of their ships off its course,\" I ventured.\n\n\"No,\" said Wilma in some agitation. \"That would be green rockets. Red\nmeans only one thing, Tony. They're sweeping the countryside with their\ndis beams. Can you see anything, Bill?\"\n\n\"We had better get under cover,\" Gerdi said nervously. \"The four of us\nare bunched here in the open. For all we know they may be twelve miles\nup, out of sight, yet looking at us with a projecto'.\"\n\nBill had been sweeping the horizon hastily with his glass, but\napparently saw nothing.\n\n\"We had better scatter, at that,\" he said finally. \"It's orders, you\nknow. See!\" He pointed to the valley.\n\nHere and there a tiny human figure shot for a moment above the foliage\nof the treetops.\n\n\"That's bad,\" Wilma commented, as she counted the jumpers. \"No less than\nfifteen people visible, and all clearly radiating from a central point.\nDo they want to give away our location?\"\n\nThe standard orders covering air raids were that the population was to\nscatter individually. There should be no grouping, or even pairing, in\nview of the destructiveness of the disintegrator rays. Experience of\ngenerations had proved that if this were done, and everybody remained\nhidden beneath the tree screens, the Hans would have to sweep mile after\nmile of territory, foot by foot, to catch more than a small percentage\nof the community.\n\nGerdi, however, refused to leave Bill, and Wilma developed an equal\nobstinacy against quitting my side. I was inexperienced at this sort of\nthing, she explained, quite ignoring the fact that she was too; she was\nonly thirteen or fourteen years old at the time of the last air raid.\n\nHowever, since I could not argue her out of it, we leaped together about\na quarter of a mile to the right, while Bill and Gerdi disappeared down\nthe hillside among the trees.\n\nWilma and I both wanted a point of vantage from which we might overlook\nthe valley and the sky to the north, and we found it near the top of the\nridge, where, protected from visibility by thick branches, we could look\nout between the tree trunks, and get a good view of the valley.\n\nNo more rockets went up. Except for a few of those warning red clouds,\ndrifting lazily in a blue sky, there was no visible indication of man's\npast or present existence anywhere in the sky or on the ground.\n\nThen Wilma gripped my arm and pointed. I saw it; away off in the\ndistance; looking like a phantom dirigible airship, in its coat of\nlow-visibility paint, a bare spectre.\n\n\"Seven thousand feet up,\" Wilma whispered, crouching close to me.\n\"Watch.\"\n\nThe ship was about the same shape as the great dirigibles of the 20th\nCentury that I had seen, but without the suspended control car, engines,\npropellors, rudders or elevating planes. As it loomed rapidly nearer, I\nsaw that it was wider and somewhat flatter than I had supposed.\n\nNow I could see the repellor rays that held the ship aloft, like\nsearchlight beams faintly visible in the bright daylight (and still\nfaintly visible to the human eye at night). Actually, I had been\ninformed by my instructors, there were two rays; the visible one\ngenerated by the ship's apparatus, and directed toward the ground as a\nbeam of \"carrier\" impulses; and the true repellor ray, the complement of\nthe other in one sense, induced by the action of the \"carrier\" and\nreacting in a concentrating upward direction from the mass of the earth,\nbecoming successively electronic, atomic and finally molecular, in its\nnature, according to various ratios of distance between earth mass and\n\"carrier\" source, until, in the last analysis, the ship itself actually\nis supported on an upward rushing column of air, much like a ball\ncontinuously supported on a fountain jet.\n\nThe raider neared with incredible speed. Its rays were both slanted\nastern at a sharp angle, so that it slid forward with tremendous\nmomentum.\n\nThe ship was operating two disintegrator rays, though only in a casual,\nintermittent fashion. But whenever they flashed downward with blinding\nbrilliancy, forest, rocks and ground melted instantaneously into\nnothing, where they played upon them.\n\nWhen later I inspected the scars left by these rays I found them some\nfive feet deep and thirty feet wide, the exposed surfaces being\nlava-like in texture, but of a pale, iridescent, greenish hue.\n\nNo systematic use of the rays was made by the ship, however, until it\nreached a point over the center of the valley--the center of the\ncommunity's activities. There it came to a sudden stop by shooting its\nrepellor beams sharply forward and easing them back gradually to the\nvertical, holding the ship floating and motionless. Then the work of\ndestruction began systematically.\n\nBack and forth traveled the destroying rays, ploughing parallel furrows\nfrom hillside to hillside. We gasped in dismay, Wilma and I, as time\nafter time we saw it plough through sections where we knew camps or\nplants were located.\n\n\"This is awful,\" she moaned, a terrified question in her eyes. \"How\ncould they know the location so exactly, Tony? Did you see? They were\nnever in doubt. They stalled at a predetermined spot--and--and it was\nexactly the right spot.\"\n\nWe did not talk of what might happen if the rays were turned in our\ndirection. We both knew. We would simply disintegrate in a split second\ninto mere scattered electronic vibrations. Strangely enough, it was this\nself-reliant girl of the 25th Century, who clung to me, a relatively\nprimitive man of the 20th, less familiar than she with the thought of\nthis terrifying possibility, for moral support.\n\nWe knew that many of our companions must have been whisked into absolute\nnon-existence before our eyes in these few moments. The whole thing\nparalyzed us into mental and physical immobility for I do not know how\nlong.\n\nIt couldn't have been long, however, for the rays had not ploughed more\nthan thirty of their twenty-foot furrows or so across the valley, when I\nregained control of myself, and brought Wilma to herself by shaking her\nroughly.\n\n\"How far will this rocket gun shoot, Wilma?\" I demanded, drawing my\npistol.\n\n\"It depends on your rocket, Tony. It will take even the longest range\nrocket, but you could shoot more accurately from a longer tube. But why?\nYou couldn't penetrate the shell of that ship with rocket force, even if\nyou could reach it.\"\n\nI fumbled clumsily with my rocket pouch, for I was excited. I had an\nidea I wanted to try; a \"hunch\" I called it, forgetting that Wilma could\nnot understand my ancient slang. But finally, with her help, I selected\nthe longest range explosive rocket in my pouch, and fitted it to my\npistol.\n\n\"It won't carry seven thousand feet, Tony,\" Wilma objected. But I took\naim carefully. It was another thought that I had in my mind. The\nsupporting repellor ray, I had been told, became molecular in character\nat what was called a logarithmic level of five (below that it was a\npurely electronic \"flow\" or pulsation between the source of the\n\"carrier\" and the average mass of the earth). Below that level if I\ncould project my explosive bullet into this stream where it began to\ncarry material substance upward, might it not rise with the air column,\ngathering speed and hitting the ship with enough impact to carry it\nthrough the shell? It was worth trying anyhow. Wilma became greatly\nexcited, too, when she grasped the nature of my inspiration.\n\nFeverishly I looked around for some formation of branches against which\nI could rest the pistol, for I had to aim most carefully. At last I\nfound one. Patiently I sighted on the hulk of the ship far above us,\naiming at the far side of it, at such an angle as would, so far as I\ncould estimate, bring my bullet path through the forward repellor beam.\nAt last the sights wavered across the point I sought and I pressed the\nbutton gently.\n\nFor a moment we gazed breathlessly.\n\nSuddenly the ship swung bow down, as on a pivot, and swayed like a\npendulum. Wilma screamed in her excitement.\n\n\"Oh, Tony, you hit it! You hit it! Do it again; bring it down!\"\n\nWe had only one more rocket of extreme range between us, and we dropped\nit three times in our excitement in inserting it in my gun. Then,\nforcing myself to be calm by sheer will power, while Wilma stuffed her\nlittle fist into her mouth to keep from shrieking, I sighted carefully\nagain and fired. In a flash, Wilma had grasped the hope that this\ndiscovery of mine might lead to the end of the Han domination.\n\nThe elapsed time of the rocket's invisible flight seemed an age.\n\nThen we saw the ship falling. It seemed to plunge lazily, but actually\nit fell with terrific acceleration, turning end over end, its\ndisintegrator rays, out of control, describing vast, wild arcs, and once\ncutting a gash through the forest less than two hundred feet from where\nwe stood.\n\nThe crash with which the heavy craft hit the ground reverberated from\nthe hills--the momentum of eighteen or twenty thousand tons, in a sheer\ndrop of seven thousand feet. A mangled mass of metal, it buried itself\nin the ground, with poetic justice, in the middle of the smoking,\nsemi-molten field of destruction it had been so deliberately ploughing.\n\nThe silence, the vacuity of the landscape, was oppressive, as the last\nechoes died away.\n\nThen far down the hillside, a single figure leaped exultantly above the\nfoliage screen. And in the distance another, and another.\n\nIn a moment the sky was punctured by signal rockets. One after another\nthe little red puffs became drifting clouds.\n\n\"Scatter! Scatter!\" Wilma exclaimed. \"In half an hour there'll be an\nentire Han fleet here from Nu-yok, and another from Bah-flo. They'll get\nthis instantly on their recordographs and location finders. They'll\nblast the whole valley and the country for miles beyond. Come, Tony.\nThere's no time for the gang to rally. See the signals. We've got to\njump. Oh, I'm so proud of you!\"\n\nOver the ridge we went, in long leaps toward the east, the country of\nthe Delawares.\n\nFrom time to time signal rockets puffed in the sky. Most of them were\nthe \"red warnings,\" the \"scatter\" signals. But from certain of the\nothers, which Wilma identified as Wyoming rockets, she gathered that\nwhoever was in command (we did not know whether the Boss was alive or\nnot) was ordering an ultimate rally toward the south, and so we changed\nour course.\n\nIt was a great pity, I thought, that the clan had not been equipped\nthroughout its membership with ultrophones, but Wilma explained to me,\nthat not enough of these had been built for distribution as yet,\nalthough general distribution had been contemplated within a couple of\nmonths.\n\nWe traveled far before nightfall overtook us, trying only to put as much\ndistance as possible between ourselves and the valley.\n\nWhen gathering dusk made jumping too dangerous, we sought a comfortable\nspot beneath the trees, and consumed part of our emergency rations. It\nwas the first time I had tasted the stuff--a highly nutritive synthetic\nsubstance called \"concentro,\" which was, however, a bit bitter and\nunpalatable. But as only a mouthful or so was needed, it did not matter.\n\nNeither of us had a cloak, but we were both thoroughly tired and happy,\nso we curled up together for warmth. I remember Wilma making some sleepy\nremark about our mating, as she cuddled up, as though the matter were\nall settled, and my surprise at my own instant acceptance of the idea,\nfor I had not consciously thought of her that way before. But we both\nfell asleep at once.\n\nIn the morning we found little time for love making. The practical\nproblem facing us was too great. Wilma felt that the Wyoming plan must\nbe to rally in the Susquanna territory, but she had her doubts about the\nwisdom of this plan. In my elation at my success in bringing down the\nHan ship, and my newly found interest in my charming companion, who was,\nfrom my viewpoint of another century, at once more highly civilized and\nyet more primitive than myself, I had forgotten the ominous fact that\nthe Han ship I had destroyed must have known the exact location of the\nWyoming Works.\n\nThis meant, to Wilma's logical mind, either that the Hans had perfected\nnew instruments as yet unknown to us, or that somewhere, among the\nWyomings or some other nearby gang, there were traitors so degraded as\nto commit that unthinkable act of trafficking in information with the\nHans. In either contingency, she argued, other Han raids would follow,\nand since the Susquannas had a highly developed organization and more\nthan usually productive plants, the next raid might be expected to\nstrike them.\n\nBut at any rate it was clearly our business to get in touch with the\nother fugitives as quickly as possible, so in spite of muscles that were\nsore from the excessive leaping of the day before, we continued on our\nway.\n\nWe traveled for only a couple of hours when we saw a multi-colored\nrocket in the sky, some ten miles ahead of us.\n\n\"Bear to the left, Tony,\" Wilma said, \"and listen for the whistle.\"\n\n\"Why?\" I asked.\n\n\"Haven't they given you the rocket code yet?\" she replied. \"That's what\nthe green, followed by yellow and purple means; to concentrate five\nmiles east of the rocket position. You know the rocket position itself\nmight draw a play of disintegrator beams.\"\n\nIt did not take us long to reach the neighborhood of the indicated\nrallying, though we were now traveling beneath the trees, with but an\noccasional leap to a top branch to see if any more rocket smoke was\nfloating above. And soon we heard a distant whistle.\n\nWe found about half the Gang already there, in a spot where the trees\nmet high above a little stream. The Big Boss and Raid Bosses were busy\nreorganizing the remnants.\n\nWe reported to Boss Hart at once. He was silent, but interested, when he\nheard our story.\n\n\"You two stick close to me,\" he said, adding grimly, \"I'm going back to\nthe valley at once with a hundred picked men, and I'll need you.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER V\n\nSetting the Trap\n\n\nInside of fifteen minutes we were on our way. A certain amount of\ncaution was sacrificed for the sake of speed, and the men leaped away\neither across the forest top, or over open spaces of ground, but\nconcentration was forbidden. The Big Boss named the spot on the hillside\nas the rallying point.\n\n\"We'll have to take a chance on being seen, so long as we don't group,\"\nhe declared, \"at least until within five miles of the rallying spot.\nFrom then on I want every man to disappear from sight and to travel\nunder cover. And keep your ultrophones open, and tuned on\nten-four-seven-six.\"\n\nWilma and I had received our battle equipment from the Gear boss. It\nconsisted of a long-gun, a hand-gun, with a special case of ammunition\nconstructed of inertron, which made the load weigh but a few ounces, and\na short sword. This gear we strapped over each other's shoulders, on top\nof our jumping belts. In addition, we each received an ultrophone, and a\nlight inertron blanket rolled into a cylinder about six inches long by\ntwo or three in diameter. This fabric was exceedingly thin and light,\nbut it had considerable warmth, because of the mixture of inertron in\nits composition.\n\n[Illustration: The Han raider neared with incredible speed. Its rays\nwere both slanted astern at a sharp angle, so that it slid forward with\ntremendous momentum.... Whenever the disintegrator rays flashed downward\nwith blinding brilliancy, forest, rocks and ground melted\ninstantaneously into nothing, where they played upon them.]\n\n\"This looks like business,\" Wilma remarked to me with sparkling eyes.\n(And I might mention a curious thing here. The word \"business\" had\nsurvived from the 20th Century American vocabulary, but not with any\nmeaning of \"industry\" or \"trade,\" for such things being purely community\nactivities were spoken of as \"work\" and \"clearing.\" Business simply\nmeant fighting, and that was all.)\n\n\"Did you bring all this equipment from the valley?\" I asked the Gear\nBoss.\n\n\"No,\" he said. \"There was no time to gather anything. All this stuff we\ncleared from the Susquannas a few hours ago. I was with the Boss on the\nway down, and he had me jump on ahead and arrange it. But you two had\nbetter be moving. He's beckoning you now.\"\n\nHart was about to call us on our phones when we looked up. As soon as we\ndid so, he leaped away, waving us to follow closely.\n\nHe was a powerful man, and he darted ahead in long, swift, low leaps up\nthe banks of the stream, which followed a fairly straight course at this\npoint. By extending ourselves, however, Wilma and I were able to catch\nup to him.\n\nAs we gradually synchronized our leaps with his, he outlined to us,\nbetween the grunts that accompanied each leap, his plan of action.\n\n\"We have to start the big business--unh--sooner or later,\" he said.\n\"And if--unh--the Hans have found any way of locating our\npositions--unh--it's time to start now, although the Council of\nBosses--unh--had intended waiting a few years until enough rocket ships\nhave been--unh--built. But no matter what the sacrifice--unh--we can't\nafford to let them get us on the run--unh--. We'll set a trap for the\nyellow devils in the--unh--valley if they come back for their\nwreckage--unh--and if they don't, we'll go rocketing for some of their\nliners--unh--on the Nu-yok, Clee-lan, Si-ka-ga course. We can\nuse--unh--that idea of yours of shooting up the repellor--unh--beams.\nWant you to give us a demonstration.\"\n\nWith further admonition to follow him closely, he increased his pace,\nand Wilma and I were taxed to our utmost to keep up with him. It was\nonly in ascending the slopes that my tougher muscles overbalanced his\ngreater skill, and I was able to set the pace for him, as I had for\nWilma.\n\nWe slept in greater comfort that night, under our inertron blankets, and\nwere off with the dawn, leaping cautiously to the top of the ridge\noverlooking the valley which Wilma and I had left.\n\nThe Boss scanned the sky with his ultroscope, patiently taking some\nfifteen minutes to the task, and then swung his phone into use, calling\nthe roll and giving the men their instructions.\n\nHis first order was for us all to slip our ear and chest discs into\npermanent position.\n\nThese ultrophones were quite different from the one used by Wilma's\ncompanion scout the day I saved her from the vicious attack of the\nbandit Gang. That one was contained entirely in a small pocket case.\nThese, with which we were now equipped, consisted of a pair of ear\ndiscs, each a separate and self-contained receiving set. They slipped\ninto little pockets over our ears in the fabric helmets we wore, and\nshut out virtually all extraneous sounds. The chest discs were likewise\nself-contained sending sets, strapped to the chest a few inches below\nthe neck and actuated by the vibrations from the vocal cords through the\nbody tissues. The total range of these sets was about eighteen miles.\nReception was remarkably clear, quite free from the static that so\nmarked the 20th Century radios, and of a strength in direct proportion\nto the distance of the speaker.\n\nThe Boss' set was triple powered, so that his orders would cut in on any\nlocal conversations, which were indulged in, however, with great\nrestraint, and only for the purpose of maintaining contacts.\n\nI marveled at the efficiency of this modern method of battle\ncommunication in contrast to the clumsy signaling devices of more\nancient times; and also at other military contrasts in which the 20th\nand 25th Century methods were the reverse of each other in efficiency.\nThese modern Americans, for instance, knew little of hand to hand\nfighting, and nothing, naturally, of trench warfare. Of barrages they\nwere quite ignorant, although they possessed weapons of terrific power.\nAnd until my recent flash of inspiration, no one among them, apparently,\nhad ever thought of the scheme of shooting a rocket into a repellor beam\nand letting the beam itself hurl it upward into the most vital part of\nthe Han ship.\n\nHart patiently placed his men, first giving his instructions to the\ncampmasters, and then remaining silent, while they placed the\nindividuals.\n\nIn the end, the hundred men were ringed about the valley, on the\nhillsides and tops, each in a position from which he had a good view of\nthe wreckage of the Han ship. But not a man had come in view, so far as\nI could see, in the whole process.\n\nThe Boss explained to me that it was his idea that he, Wilma and I\nshould investigate the wreck. If Han ships should appear in the sky, we\nwould leap for the hillsides.\n\nI suggested to him to have the men set up their long-guns trained on an\nimaginary circle surrounding the wreck. He busied himself with this\nafter the three of us leaped down to the Han ship, serving as a target\nhimself, while he called on the men individually to aim their pieces and\nlock them in position.\n\nIn the meantime Wilma and I climbed into the wreckage, but did not find\nmuch. Practically all of the instruments and machinery had been twisted\nout of all recognizable shape, or utterly destroyed by the ship's\ndisintegrator rays which apparently had continued to operate in the\nmidst of its warped remains for some moments after the crash.\n\nIt was unpleasant work searching the mangled bodies of the crew. But it\nhad to be done. The Han clothing, I observed, was quite different from\nthat of the Americans, and in many respects more like the garb to which\nI had been accustomed in the earlier part of my life. It was made of\nsynthetic fabrics like silks, loose and comfortable trousers of knee\nlength, and sleeveless shirts.\n\nNo protection, except that against drafts, was needed, Wilma explained\nto me, for the Han cities were entirely enclosed, with splendid\narrangements for ventilation and heating. These arrangements of course\nwere equally adequate in their airships. The Hans, indeed, had quite a\ndistaste for unshaded daylight, since their lighting apparatus diffused\na controlled amount of violet rays, making the unmodified sunlight\nunnecessary for health, and undesirable for comfort. Since the Hans did\nnot have the secret of inertron, none of them wore anti-gravity belts.\nYet in spite of the fact that they had to bear their own full weights at\nall times, they were physically far inferior to the Americans, for they\nlived lives of degenerative physical inertia, having machinery of every\ndescription for the performance of all labor, and convenient conveyances\nfor any movement of more than a few steps.\n\nEven from the twisted wreckage of this ship I could see that seats,\nchairs and couches played an extremely important part in their scheme of\nexistence.\n\nBut none of the bodies were overweight. They seemed to have been the\nbodies of men in good health, but muscularly much underdeveloped. Wilma\nexplained to me that they had mastered the science of gland control, and\nof course dietetics, to the point where men and women among them not\nuncommonly reached the age of a hundred years with arteries and general\nhealth in splendid condition.\n\nI did not have time to study the ship and its contents as carefully as I\nwould have liked, however. Time pressed, and it was our business to\ndiscover some clue to the deadly accuracy with which the ship had\nspotted the Wyoming Works.\n\nThe Boss had hardly finished his arrangements for the ring barrage, when\none of the scouts on an eminence to the north, announced the approach of\nseven Han ships, spread out in a great semi-circle.\n\nHart leaped for the hillside, calling to us to do likewise, but Wilma\nand I had raised the flaps of our helmets and switched off our\n\"speakers\" for conversation between ourselves, and by the time we\ndiscovered what had happened, the ships were clearly visible, so fast\nwere they approaching.\n\n\"Jump!\" we heard the Boss order, \"Deering to the north. Rogers to the\neast.\"\n\nBut Wilma looked at me meaningly and pointed to where the twisted plates\nof the ship, projecting from the ground, offered a shelter.\n\n\"Too late, Boss,\" she said. \"They'd see us. Besides I think there's\nsomething here we ought to look at. It's probably their magnetic graph.\"\n\n\"You're signing your death warrant,\" Hart warned.\n\n\"We'll risk it,\" said Wilma and I together.\n\n\"Good for you,\" replied the Boss. \"Take command then, Rogers, for the\npresent. Do you all know his voice, boys?\"\n\nA chorus of assent rang in our ears, and I began to do some fast\nthinking as the girl and I ducked into the twisted mass of metal.\n\n\"Wilma, hunt for that record,\" I said, knowing that by the simple\nprocess of talking I could keep the entire command continuously informed\nas to the situation. \"On the hillsides, keep your guns trained on the\ncircles and stand by. On the hilltops, how many of you are there? Speak\nin rotation from Bald Knob around to the east, north, west.\"\n\nIn turn the men called their names. There were twenty of them.\n\nI assigned them by name to cover the various Han ships, numbering the\nlatter from left to right.\n\n\"Train your rockets on their repellor rays about three-quarters of the\nway up, between ships and ground. Aim is more important than elevation.\nFollow those rays with your aim continuously. Shoot when I tell you, not\nbefore. Deering has the record. The Hans probably have not seen us, or\nat least think there are but two of us in the valley, since they're\nsettling without opening up disintegrators. Any opinions?\"\n\nMy ear discs remained silent.\n\n\"Deering and I remain here until they land and debark. Stand by and keep\nalert.\"\n\nRapidly and easily the largest of the Han ships settled to the earth.\nThree scouted sharply to the south, rising to a higher level. The others\nfloated motionless about a thousand feet above.\n\nPeeping through a small fissure between two plates, I saw the vast hulk\nof the ship come to rest full on the line of our prospective ring\nbarrage. A door clanged open a couple of feet from the ground, and one\nby one the crew emerged.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VI\n\nThe \"Wyoming Massacre\"\n\n\n\"They're coming out of the ship.\" I spoke quietly, with my hand over\nmy mouth, for fear they might hear me. \"One--two--three--four,\nfive--six--seven--eight--nine. That seems to be all. Who knows how\nmany men a ship like that is likely to carry?\"\n\n\"About ten, if there are no passengers,\" replied one of my men, probably\none of those on the hillside.\n\n\"How are they armed?\" I asked.\n\n\"Just knives,\" came the reply. \"They never permit hand-rays on the\nships. Afraid of accidents. Have a ruling against it.\"\n\n\"Leave them to us then,\" I said, for I had a hastily formed plan in my\nmind. \"You, on the hillsides, take the ships above. Abandon the ring\ntarget. Divide up in training on those repellor rays. You, on the\nhilltops, all train on the repellors of the ships to the south. Shoot at\nthe word, but not before.\n\n\"Wilma, crawl over to your left where you can make a straight leap for\nthe door in that ship. These men are all walking around the wreck in a\nbunch. When they're on the far side, I'll give the word and you leap\nthrough that door in one bound. I'll follow. Maybe we won't be seen.\nWe'll overpower the guard inside, but don't shoot. We may escape being\nseen by both this crew and ships above. They can't see over this wreck.\"\n\nIt was so easy that it seemed too good to be true. The Hans who had\nemerged from the ship walked round the wreckage lazily, talking in\nguttural tones, keenly interested in the wreck, but quite unsuspicious.\n\nAt last they were on the far side. In a moment they would be picking\ntheir way into the wreck.\n\n\"Wilma, leap!\" I almost whispered the order.\n\nThe distance between Wilma's hiding place and the door in the side of\nthe Han ship was not more than fifteen feet. She was already crouched\nwith her feet braced against a metal beam. Taking the lift of that\nwonderful inertron belt into her calculation, she dove headforemost,\nlike a green projectile, through the door. I followed in a split second,\nmore clumsily, but no less speedily, bruising my shoulder painfully, as\nI ricocheted from the edge of the opening and brought up sliding against\nthe unconscious girl; for she evidently had hit her head against the\npartition within the ship into which she had crashed.\n\nWe had made some noise within the ship. Shuffling footsteps were\napproaching down a well lit gangway.\n\n\"Any signs we have been observed?\" I asked my men on the hillsides.\n\n\"Not yet,\" I heard the Boss reply. \"Ships overhead still standing. No\nbeams have been broken out. Men on ground absorbed in wreck. Most of\nthem have crawled into it out of sight.\"\n\n\"Good,\" I said quickly. \"Deering hit her head. Knocked out. One or more\nmembers of the crew approaching. We're not discovered yet. I'll take\ncare of them. Stand a bit longer, but be ready.\"\n\nI think my last words must have been heard by the man who was\napproaching, for he stopped suddenly.\n\nI crouched at the far side of the compartment, motionless. I would not\ndraw my sword if there were only one of them. He would be a weakling, I\nfigured, and I should easily overcome him with my bare hands.\n\nApparently reassured at the absence of any further sound, a man came\naround a sort of bulkhead--and I leaped.\n\nI swung my legs up in front of me as I did so, catching him full in the\nstomach and knocked him cold.\n\nI ran forward along the keel gangway, searching for the control room. I\nfound it well up in the nose of the ship. And it was deserted. What\ncould I do to jam the controls of the ships that would not register on\nthe recording instruments of the other ships? I gazed at the mass of\ncontrols. Levers and wheels galore. In the center of the compartment, on\na massively braced universal joint mounting, was what I took for the\nrepellor generator. A dial on it glowed and a faint hum came from within\nits shielding metallic case. But I had no time to study it.\n\nAbove all else, I was afraid that some automatic telephone apparatus\nexisted in the room, through which I might be heard on the other ships.\nThe risk of trying to jam the controls was too great. I abandoned the\nidea and withdrew softly. I would have to take a chance that there was\nno other member of the crew aboard.\n\nI ran back to the entrance compartment. Wilma still lay where she had\nslumped down. I heard the voices of the Hans approaching. It was time to\nact. The next few seconds would tell whether the ships in the air would\ntry or be able to melt us into nothingness. I spoke.\n\n\"Are you boys all ready?\" I asked, creeping to a position opposite the\ndoor and drawing my hand-gun.\n\nAgain there was a chorus of assent.\n\n\"Then on the count of three, shoot up those repellor rays--all of\nthem--and for God's sake, don't miss.\" And I counted.\n\nI think my \"three\" was a bit weak. I know it took all the courage I had\nto utter it.\n\nFor an agonizing instant nothing happened, except that the landing party\nfrom the ship strolled into my range of vision.\n\nThen startled, they turned their eyes upward. For an instant they stood\nfrozen with horror at whatever they saw.\n\nOne hurled his knife at me. It grazed my cheek. Then a couple of them\nmade a break for the doorway. The rest followed. But I fired pointblank\nwith my hand-gun, pressing the button as fast as I could and aiming at\ntheir feet to make sure my explosive rockets would make contact and do\ntheir work.\n\nThe detonations of my rockets were deafening. The spot on which the Hans\nstood flashed into a blinding glare. Then there was nothing there except\ntheir torn and mutilated corpses. They had been fairly bunched, and I\ngot them all.\n\nI ran to the door, expecting any instant to be hurled into infinity by\nthe sweep of a disintegrator ray.\n\nSome eighth of a mile away I saw one of the ships crash to earth. A\ndisintegrator ray came into my line of vision, wavered uncertainly for a\nmoment and then began to sweep directly toward the ship in which I\nstood. But it never reached it. Suddenly, like a light switched off, it\nshot to one side, and a moment later another vast hulk crashed to earth.\nI looked out, then stepped out on the ground.\n\nThe only Han ships in the sky were two of the scouts to the south which\nwere hanging perpendicularly, and sagging slowly down. The others must\nhave crashed down while I was deafened by the sound of the explosion of\nmy own rockets.\n\nSomebody hit the other repellor ray of one of the two remaining ships\nand it fell out of sight beyond a hilltop. The other, farther away,\ndrifted down diagonally, its disintegrator ray playing viciously over\nthe ground below it.\n\nI shouted with exultation and relief.\n\n\"Take back the command, Boss!\" I yelled.\n\nHis commands, sending out jumpers in pursuit of the descending ship,\nrang in my ears, but I paid no attention to them. I leaped back into the\ncompartment of the Han ship and knelt beside my Wilma. Her padded helmet\nhad absorbed much of the blow, I thought; otherwise, her skull might\nhave been fractured.\n\n\"Oh, my head!\" she groaned, coming to as I lifted her gently in my arms\nand strode out in the open with her. \"We must have won, dearest, did\nwe?\"\n\n\"We most certainly did,\" I reassured her. \"All but one crashed and that\none is drifting down toward the south; we've captured this one we're in\nintact. There was only one member of the crew aboard when we dove in.\"\n\n[Illustration: As the American leaped, he swung his legs up in front of\nhim, catching the Han full in the stomach.]\n\nLess than an hour afterward the Big Boss ordered the outfit to tune in\nultrophones on three-twenty-three to pick up a translated broadcast of\nthe Han intelligence office in Nu-yok from the Susquanna station. It\nwas in the form of a public warning and news item, and read as follows:\n\n\"This is Public Intelligence Office, Nu-yok, broadcasting warning to\nnavigators of private ships, and news of public interest. The squadron\nof seven ships, which left Nu-yok this morning to investigate the recent\ndestruction of the GK-984 in the Wyoming Valley, has been destroyed by a\nseries of mysterious explosions similar to those which wrecked the\nGK-984.\n\n\"The phones, viewplates, and all other signaling devices of five of the\nseven ships ceased operating suddenly at approximately the same moment,\nabout seven-four-nine.\" (According to the Han system of reckoning time,\nseven and forty-nine one hundredths after midnight.) \"After violent\ndisturbances the location finders went out of operation. Electroactivity\nregisters applied to the territory of the Wyoming Valley remain dead.\n\n\"The Intelligence Office has no indication of the kind of disaster which\novertook the squadron except certain evidences of explosive phenomena\nsimilar to those in the case of the GK-984, which recently went dead\nwhile beaming the valley in a systematic effort to wipe out the works\nand camps of the tribesmen. The Office considers, as obvious, the\ndeduction that the tribesmen have developed a new, and as yet\nundetermined, technique of attack on airships, and has recommended to\nthe Heaven-Born that immediate and unlimited authority be given the\nNavigation Intelligence Division to make an investigation of this\ntechnique and develop a defense against it.\n\n\"In the meantime it urges that private navigators avoid this territory\nin particular, and in general hold as closely as possible to the\nofficial inter-city routes, which now are being patrolled by the entire\nforce of the Military Office, which is beaming the routes generously to\na width of ten miles. The Military Office reports that it is at present\nconsidering no retaliatory raids against the tribesmen. With the\nNavigation Intelligence Division, it holds that unless further evidence\nof the nature of the disaster is developed in the near future, the\npublic interest will be better served, and at smaller cost of life, by a\nscientific research than by attempts at retaliation, which may bring\ndestruction on all ships engaging therein. So unless further evidence\nactually is developed, or the Heaven-Born orders to the contrary, the\nMilitary will hold to a defensive policy.\n\n\"Unofficial intimations from Lo-Tan are to the effect that the\nHeaven-Council has the matter under consideration.\n\n\"The Navigation Intelligence Office permits the broadcast of the\nfollowing condensation of its detailed observations:\n\n\"The squadron proceeded to a position above the Wyoming Valley where\nthe wreck of the GK-984 was known to be, from the record of its location\nfinder before it went dead recently. There the bottom projectoscope\nrelays of all ships registered the wreck of the GK-984. Teleprojectoscope\nviews of the wreck and the bowl of the valley showed no evidence of the\npresence of tribesmen. Neither ship registers nor base registers showed\nany indication of electroactivity except from the squadron itself. On\norders from the Base Squadron Commander, the LD-248, LK-745 and LG-25\nscouted southward at 3,000 feet. The GK-43, GK-981 and GK-220 stood\nabove at 2,500 feet, and the GK-18 landed to permit personal inspection\nof the wreck by the science committee. The party debarked, leaving one\nman on board in the control cabin. He set all projectoscopes at\nuniversal focus except RB-3,\" (this meant the third projectoscope from\nthe bow of the ship, on the right-hand side of the lower deck) \"with\nwhich he followed the landing group as it walked around the wreck.\n\n\"The first abnormal phenomenon recorded by any of the instruments at\nBase was that relayed automatically from projectoscope RB-4 of the\nGK-18, which as the party disappeared from view in back of the wreck,\nrecorded two green missiles of roughly cylindrical shape, projected from\nthe wreckage into the landing compartment of the ship. At such close\nrange these were not clearly defined, owing to the universal focus at\nwhich the projectoscope was set. The Base Captain of GK-18 at once\nordered the man in the control room to investigate, and saw him leave\nthe control room in compliance with this order. An instant later\nconfused sounds reached the control-room electrophone, such as might be\nmade by a man falling heavily, and footsteps reapproached the control\nroom, a figure entering and leaving the control room hurriedly. The Base\nCaptain now believes, and the stills of the photorecord support his\nbelief, that this was not the crew member who had been left in the\ncontrol room. Before the Base Captain could speak to him he left the\nroom, nor was any response given to the attention signal the Captain\nflashed throughout the ship.\n\n\"At this point projectoscope RB-3 of the ship now out of focus control,\ndimly showed the landing party walking back toward the ship. RB-4 showed\nit more clearly. Then on both these instruments, a number of blinding\nexplosives in rapid succession were seen and the electrophone relays\nregistered terrific concussions; the ship's electronic apparatus and\nprojectoscopes apparatus went dead.\n\n\"Reports of the other ships' Base Observers and Executives, backed by\nthe photorecords, show the explosions as taking place in the midst of\nthe landing party as it returned, evidently unsuspicious, to the ship.\nThen in rapid succession they indicate that terrific explosions occurred\ninside and outside the three ships standing above close to their rep-ray\ngenerators, and all signals from these ships thereupon went dead.\n\n\"Of the three ships scouting to the south, the LD-248 suffered an\nidentical fate, at the same moment. Its records add little to the\nknowledge of the disaster. But with the LK-745 and the LG-25 it was\ndifferent.\n\n\"The relay instruments of the LK-745 indicated the destruction by an\nexplosion of the rear rep-ray generator, and that the ship hung stern\ndown for a short space, swinging like a pendulum. The forward viewplates\nand indicators did not cease functioning, but their records are chaotic,\nexcept for one projectoscope still, which shows the bowl of the valley,\nand the GK-981 falling, but no visible evidence of tribesmen. The\ncontrol-room viewplate is also a chaotic record of the ship's crew\ntumbling and falling to the rear wall. Then the forward rep-ray\ngenerator exploded, and all signals went dead.\n\n\"The fate of the LG-25 was somewhat similar, except that this ship hung\nnose down, and drifted on the wind southward as it slowly descended out\nof control.\n\n\"As its control room was shattered, verbal report from its Action\nCaptain was precluded. The record of the interior rear viewplate shows\nmembers of the crew climbing toward the rear rep-ray generator in an\nattempt to establish manual control of it, and increase the lift. The\nprojectoscope relays, swinging in wide arcs, recorded little of value\nexcept at the ends of their swings. One of these, from a machine which\nhappened to be set in telescopic focus, shows several views of great\nvalue in picturing the falls of the other ships, and all of the rear\nprojectoscope records enable the reconstruction in detail of the\npendulum and torsional movements of the ship, and its sag toward the\nearth. But none of the views showing the forest below contain any\nindication of tribesmen's presence. A final explosion put this ship out\nof commission at a height of 1,000 feet, and at a point four miles S. by\nE. of the center of the valley.\"\n\nThe message ended with a repetition of the warning to other airmen to\navoid the valley.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VII\n\nIncredible Treason\n\n\nAfter receiving this report, and reassurances of support from the Big\nBosses of the neighboring Gangs, Hart determined to reestablish the\nWyoming Valley community.\n\nA careful survey of the territory showed that it was only the northern\nsections and slopes that had been \"beamed\" by the first Han ship.\n\nThe synthetic-fabrics plant had been partially wiped out, though the\nlower levels underground had not been reached by the dis ray. The forest\nscreen above it, however, had been annihilated, and it was determined to\nabandon it, after removing all usable machinery and evidences of the\nprocesses that might be of interest to the Han scientists, should they\nreturn to the valley in the future.\n\nThe ammunition plant, and the rocket-ship plant, which had just been\nabout to start operation at the time of the raid, were intact, as were\nthe other important plants.\n\nHart brought the Camboss up from the Susquanna Works, and laid out new\ncamp locations, scattering them farther to the south, and avoiding\nground which had been seared by the Han beams and the immediate\nlocations of the Han wrecks.\n\nDuring this period, a sharp check was kept upon Han messages, for the\nphone plant had been one of the first to be put in operation, and when\nit became evident that the Hans did not intend any immediate reprisals,\nthe entire membership of the community was summoned back, and normal\nlife was resumed.\n\nWilma and I had been married the day after the destruction of the ships,\nand spent this intervening period in a delightful honeymoon, camping\nhigh in the mountains. On our return, we had a camp of our own, of\ncourse. We were assigned to location 1017. And as might be expected, we\nhad a great deal of banter over which one of us was Camp Boss. The title\nstood after my name on the Big Boss' records, and those of the Big\nCamboss, of course, but Wilma airily held that this meant nothing at\nall--and generally succeeded in making me admit it whenever she chose.\n\nI found myself a full-fledged member of the Gang now, for I had elected\nto search no farther for a permanent alliance, much as I would have\nliked to familiarize myself with this 25th Century life in other\nsections of the country. The Wyomings had a high morale, and had\nprospered under the rule of Big Boss Hart for many years. But many of\nthe gangs, I found, were badly organized, lacked strong hands in\nauthority, and were rife with intrigue. On the whole, I thought I would\nbe wise to stay with a group which had already proved its friendliness,\nand in which I seemed to have prospects of advancement. Under these\nmodern social and economic conditions, the kind of individual freedom to\nwhich I had been accustomed in the 20th Century was impossible. I would\nhave been as much of a nonentity in every phase of human relationship by\nattempting to avoid alliances, as any man of the 20th Century would have\nbeen politically, who aligned himself with no political party.\n\nThis entire modern life, it appeared to me, judging from my ancient\nviewpoint, was organized along what I called \"political\" lines. And in\nthis connection, it amused me to notice how universal had become the use\nof the word \"boss.\" The leader, the person in charge or authority over\nanything, was a \"boss.\" There was as little formality in his relations\nwith his followers as there was in the case of the 20th Century\npolitical boss, and the same high respect paid him by his followers as\nwell as the same high consideration by him of their interests. He was\njust as much of an autocrat, and just as much dependent upon the general\npopularity of his actions for the ability to maintain his autocracy.\n\nThe sub-boss who could not command the loyalty of his followers was as\nquickly deposed, either by them or by his superiors, as the ancient ward\nleader of the 20th Century who lost control of his votes.\n\nAs society was organized in the 20th Century, I do not believe the\nsystem could have worked in anything but politics. I tremble to think\nwhat would have happened, had the attempt been made to handle the A. E.\nF. this way during the First World War, instead of by that rigid\nmilitary discipline and complete assumption of the individual as a mere\nstandardized cog in the machine.\n\nBut owing to the centuries of desperate suffering the people had endured\nat the hands of the Hans, there developed a spirit of self-sacrifice and\nconsideration for the common good that made the scheme applicable and\nefficient in all forms of human co-operation.\n\nI have a little heresy about all this, however. My associates regard the\nthought with as much horror as many worthy people of the 20th Century\nfelt in regard to any heretical suggestion that the original outline of\ngovernment as laid down in the First Constitution did not apply as well\nto 20th Century conditions as to those of the early 19th.\n\nIn later years, I felt that there was a certain softening of moral fiber\namong the people, since the Hans had been finally destroyed with all\ntheir works; and Americans have developed a new luxury economy. I have\nseen signs of the reawakening of greed, of selfishness. The eternal\ncycle seems to be at work. I fear that slowly, though surely, private\nwealth is reappearing, codes of inflexibility are developing; they will\nbe followed by corruption, degradation; and in the end some cataclysmic\nevent will end this era and usher in a new one.\n\nAll this, however, is wandering afar from my story, which concerns our\nearly battles against the Hans, and not our more modern problems of\nself-control.\n\nOur victory over the seven Han ships had set the country ablaze. The\nsecret had been carefully communicated to the other gangs, and the\ncountry was agog from one end to the other. There was feverish activity\nin the ammunition plants, and the hunting of stray Han ships became an\nenthusiastic sport. The results were disastrous to our hereditary\nenemies.\n\nFrom the Pacific Coast came the report of a great transpacific liner of\n75,000 tons \"lift\" being brought to earth from a position of\ninvisibility above the clouds. A dozen Sacramentos had caught the hazy\noutlines of its rep rays approaching them, head-on, in the twilight,\nlike ghostly pillars reaching into the sky. They had fired rockets into\nit with ease, whereas they would have had difficulty in hitting it if it\nhad been moving at right angles to their position. They got one rep ray.\nThe other was not strong enough to hold it up. It floated to earth, nose\ndown, and since it was unarmed and unarmored, they had no difficulty in\nshooting it to pieces and massacring its crew and passengers. It seemed\nbarbarous to me. But then I did not have centuries of bitter persecution\nin my blood.\n\nFrom the Jersey Beaches we received news of the destruction of a\nNu-yok-A-lan-a liner. The Sand-snipers, practically invisible in their\nsand-colored clothing, and half buried along the beaches, lay in wait\nfor days, risking the play of dis beams along the route, and finally\nregistering four hits within a week. The Hans discontinued their service\nalong this route, and as evidence that they were badly shaken by our\nsuccess, sent no raiders down the Beaches.\n\nIt was a few weeks later that Big Boss Hart sent for me.\n\n\"Tony,\" he said, \"There are two things I want to talk to you about. One\nof them will become public property in a few days, I think. We aren't\ngoing to get any more Han ships by shooting up their repellor rays\nunless we use much larger rockets. They are wise to us now. They're\nputting armor of great thickness in the hulls of their ships below the\nrep-ray machines. Near Bah-flo this morning a party of Eries shot one\nwithout success. The explosions staggered her, but did not penetrate. As\nnear as we can gather from their reports, their laboratories have\ndeveloped a new alloy of great tensile strength and elasticity which\nnevertheless lets the rep rays through like a sieve. Our reports\nindicate that the Eries' rockets bounced off harmlessly. Most of the\nparty was wiped out as the dis rays went into action on them.\n\n\"This is going to mean real business for all of the gangs before long.\nThe Big Bosses have just held a national ultrophone council. It was\ndecided that America must organize on a national basis. The first move\nis to develop sectional organization by Zones. I have been made\nSuperboss of the Mid-Atlantic Zone.\n\n\"We're in for it now. The Hans are sure to launch reprisal expeditions.\nIf we're to save the race we must keep them away from our camps and\nplants. I'm thinking of developing a permanent field force, along the\nlines of the regular armies of the 20th Century you told me about. Its\nbusiness will be twofold: to carry the warfare as much as possible to\nthe Hans, and to serve as a decoy, to keep their attention from our\nplants. I'm going to need your help in this.\n\n\"The other thing I wanted to talk to you about is this: Amazing and\nimpossible as it seems, there is a group, or perhaps an entire gang,\nsomewhere among us, that is betraying us to the Hans. It may be the Bad\nBloods, or it may be one of those gangs who live near one of the Han\ncities. You know, a hundred and fifteen or twenty years ago there were\ncertain of these people's ancestors who actually degraded themselves by\nmating with the Hans, sometimes even serving them as slaves, in the days\nbefore they brought all their service machinery to perfection.\n\n\"There is such a gang, called the Nagras, up near Bah-flo, and another\nin Mid-Jersey that men call the Pineys. But I hardly suspect the Pineys.\nThere is little intelligence among them. They wouldn't have the\ninformation to give the Hans, nor would they be capable of imparting it.\nThey're absolute savages.\"\n\n\"Just what evidence is there that anybody has been clearing information\nto the Hans?\" I asked.\n\n\"Well,\" he replied, \"first of all there was that raid upon us. That\nfirst Han ship knew the location of our plants exactly. You remember it\nfloated directly into position above the valley and began a systematic\nbeaming. Then, the Hans quite obviously have learned that we are picking\nup their electrophone waves, for they've gone back to their old, but\nextremely accurate, system of directional control. But we've been\ngetting them for the past week by installing automatic re-broadcast\nunits along the scar paths. This is what the Americans called those\nstrips of country directly under the regular ship routes of the Hans,\nwho as a matter of precaution frequently blasted them with their dis\nbeams to prevent the growth of foliage which might give shelter to the\nAmericans. But they've been beaming those paths so hard, it looks as\nthough they even had information of this strategy. And in addition,\nthey've been using code. Finally, we've picked up three of their\nmessages in which they discuss, with some nervousness, the existence of\nour 'mysterious' ultrophone.\"\n\n\"But they still have no knowledge of the nature and control of ultronic\nactivity?\" I asked.\n\n\"No,\" said the Big Boss thoughtfully, \"they don't seem to have a bit of\ninformation about it.\"\n\n\"Then it's quite clear,\" I ventured, \"that whoever is 'clearing' us to\nthem is doing it piecemeal. It sounds like a bit of occasional barter,\nrather than an out-and-out alliance. They're holding back as much\ninformation as possible for future bartering, perhaps.\"\n\n\"Yes,\" Hart said, \"and it isn't information the Hans are giving in\nreturn, but some form of goods, or privilege. The trick would be to\nlocate the goods. I guess I'll have to make a personal trip around among\nthe Big Bosses.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER VIII\n\nThe Han City\n\n\nThis conversation set me thinking. All of the Han electrophone\ninter-communication had been an open record to the Americans for a good\nmany years, and the Hans were just finding it out. For centuries they\nhad not regarded us as any sort of a menace. Unquestionably it had never\noccurred to them to secrete their own records. Somewhere in Nu-yok or\nBah-flo, or possibly in Lo-Tan itself, the record of this traitorous\ntransaction would be more or less openly filed. If we could only get at\nit! I wondered if a raid might not be possible.\n\nBill Hearn and I talked it over with our Han-affairs Boss and his\nexperts. There ensued several days of research, in which the Han records\nof the entire decade were scanned and analyzed. In the end they picked\nout a mass of detail, and fitted it together into a very definite\npicture of the great central filing office of the Hans in Nu-yok, where\nthe entire mass of official records was kept, constantly available for\ninstant projectoscoping to any of the city's offices, and of the system\nby which the information was filed.\n\nThe attempt began to look feasible, though Hart instantly turned the\nidea down when I first presented it to him. It was unthinkable, he said.\nSheer suicide. But in the end I persuaded him.\n\n\"I will need,\" I said, \"Blash, who is thoroughly familiar with the Han\nlibrary system; Bert Gaunt, who for years has specialized on their\nmilitary offices; Bill Barker, the ray specialist, and the best swooper\npilot we have.\" _Swoopers_ are one-man and two-man ships, developed by\nthe Americans, with skeleton backbones of inertron (during the war\npainted green for invisibility against the green forests below) and\n\"bellies\" of clear ultron.\n\n\"That will be Mort Gibbons,\" said Hart. \"We've only got three swoopers\nleft, Tony, but I'll risk one of them if you and the others will\nvoluntarily risk your existences. But mind, I won't urge or order one of\nyou to go. I'll spread the word to every Plant Boss at once to give you\nanything and everything you need in the way of equipment.\"\n\nWhen I told Wilma of the plan, I expected her to raise violent and\ntearful objections, but she didn't. She was made of far sterner stuff\nthan the women of the 20th Century. Not that she couldn't weep as\ncopiously or be just as whimsical on occasion; but she wouldn't weep for\nthe same reasons.\n\nShe just gave me an unfathomable look, in which there seemed to be a bit\nof pride, and asked eagerly for the details. I confess I was somewhat\ndisappointed that she could so courageously risk my loss, even though I\nwas amazed at her fortitude. But later I was to learn how little I knew\nher then.\n\nWe were ready to slide off at dawn the next morning. I had kissed Wilma\ngood-bye at our camp, and after a final conference over our plans, we\nboarded our craft and gently glided away over the tree tops on a course,\nwhich, after crossing three routes of the Han ships, would take us out\nover the Atlantic, off the Jersey coast, whence we would come up on\nNu-yok from the ocean.\n\nTwice we had to nose down and lie motionless on the ground near a route\nwhile Han ships passed. Those were tense moments. Had the green back of\nour ship been observed, we would have been disintegrated in a second.\nBut it wasn't.\n\nOnce over the water, however, we climbed in a great spiral, ten miles in\ndiameter, until our altimeter registered ten miles. Here Gibbons shut\noff his rocket motor, and we floated, far above the level of the\nAtlantic liners, whose course was well to the north of us anyhow, and\nwaited for nightfall.\n\nThen Gibbons turned from his control long enough to grin at me.\n\n\"I have a surprise for you, Tony,\" he said, throwing back the lid of\nwhat I had supposed was a big supply case. And with a sigh of relief,\nWilma stepped out of the case.\n\n\"If you 'go into zero' (a common expression of the day for being\nannihilated by the disintegrator ray), you don't think I'm going to let\nyou go alone, do you, Tony? I couldn't believe my ears last night when\nyou spoke of going without me, until I realized that you are still five\nhundred years behind the times in lots of ways. Don't you know, dear\nheart, that you offered me the greatest insult a husband could give a\nwife? You didn't, of course.\"\n\nThe others, it seemed, had all been in on the secret, and now they would\nhave kidded me unmercifully, except that Wilma's eyes blazed\ndangerously.\n\nAt nightfall, we maneuvered to a position directly above the city. This\ntook some time and calculation on the part of Bill Barker, who explained\nto me that he had to determine our point by ultronic bearings. The\nslightest resort to an electronic instrument, he feared, might be\ndetected by our enemies' locators. In fact, we did not dare bring our\nswooper any lower than five miles for fear that its capacity might be\nreflected in their instruments.\n\nFinally, however, he succeeded in locating above the central tower of\nthe city.\n\n\"If my calculations are as much as ten feet off,\" he remarked with\nconfidence, \"I'll eat the tower. Now the rest is up to you, Mort. See\nwhat you can do to hold her steady. No--here, watch this indicator--the\nred beam, not the green one. See--if you keep it exactly centered on the\nneedle, you're O.K. The width of the beam represents seventeen feet. The\ntower platform is fifty feet square, so we've got a good margin to work\non.\"\n\nFor several moments we watched as Gibbons bent over his levers,\nconstantly adjusting them with deft touches of his fingers. After a bit\nof wavering, the beam remained centered on the needle.\n\n\"Now,\" I said, \"let's drop.\"\n\nI opened the trap and looked down, but quickly shut it again when I felt\nthe air rushing out of the ship into the rarefied atmosphere in a\ntorrent. Gibbons literally yelled a protest from his instrument board.\n\n\"I forgot,\" I mumbled. \"Silly of me. Of course, we'll have to drop out\nof compartment.\"\n\nThe compartment, to which I referred, was similar to those in some of\nthe 20th Century submarines. We all entered it. There was barely room\nfor us to stand, shoulder to shoulder. With some struggles, we got into\nour special air helmets and adjusted the pressure. At our signal,\nGibbons exhausted the air in the compartment, pumping it into the body\nof the ship, and as the little signal light flashed, Wilma threw open\nthe hatch.\n\nSetting the ultron-wire reel, I climbed through, and began to slide down\ngently.\n\nWe all had our belts on, of course, adjusted to a weight balance of but\na few ounces. And the five-mile reel of ultron wire that was to be our\nguide, was of gossamer fineness, though, anyway, I believe it would have\nlifted the full weight of the five of us, so strong and tough was this\ninvisible metal. As an extra precaution, since the wire was of the\npurest metal, and therefore totally invisible, even in daylight, we all\nhad our belts hooked on small rings that slid down the wire.\n\nI went down with the end of the wire. Wilma followed a few feet above\nme, then Barker, Gaunt and Blash. Gibbons, of course, stayed behind to\nhold the ship in position and control the paying out of the line. We all\nhad our ultrophones in place inside our air helmets, and so could\nconverse with one another and with Gibbons. But at Wilma's suggestion,\nalthough we would have liked to let the Big Boss listen in, we kept them\nadjusted to short-range work, for fear that those who had been clearing\nwith the Hans, and against whom we were on a raid for evidence, might\nalso pick up our conversation. We had no fear that the Hans would hear\nus. In fact, we had the added advantage that, even after we landed, we\ncould converse freely without danger of their hearing our voices through\nour air helmets.\n\nFor a while I could see nothing below but utter darkness. Then I\nrealized, from the feel of the air as much as from anything, that we\nwere sinking through a cloud layer. We passed through two more cloud\nlayers before anything was visible to us.\n\nThen there came under my gaze, about two miles below, one of the most\nbeautiful sights I have ever seen; the soft, yet brilliant, radiance of\nthe great Han city of Nu-yok. Every foot of its structural members\nseemed to glow with a wonderful incandescence, tower piled up on tower,\nand all built on the vast base-mass of the city, which, so I had been\ntold, sheered upward from the surface of the rivers to a height of 728\nlevels.\n\nThe city, I noticed with some surprise, did not cover anything like the\nsame area as the New York of the 20th Century. It occupied, as a matter\nof fact, only the lower half of Manhattan Island, with one section\nstraddling the East River, and spreading out sufficiently over what once\nhad been Brooklyn, to provide berths for the great liners and other air\ncraft.\n\nStraight beneath my feet was a tiny dark patch. It seemed the only spot\nin the entire city that was not aflame with radiance. This was the\ncentral tower, in the top floors of which were housed the vast library\nof record files and the main projectoscope plant.\n\n\"You can shoot the wire now,\" I ultrophoned Gibbons, and let go the\nlittle weighted knob. It dropped like a plummet, and we followed with\nconsiderable speed, but braking our descent with gloved hands\nsufficiently to see whether the knob, on which a faint light glowed as a\nsignal for ourselves, might be observed by any Han guard or night\nprowler. Apparently it was not, and we again shot down with accelerated\nspeed.\n\nWe landed on the roof of the tower without any mishap, and fortunately\nfor our plan, in darkness. Since there was nothing above it on which it\nwould have been worth while to shed illumination, or from which there\nwas any need to observe it, the Hans had neglected to light the tower\nroof, or indeed to occupy it at all. This was the reason we had selected\nit as our landing place.\n\nAs soon as Gibbons had our word, he extinguished the knob light, and the\nknob, as well as the wire, became totally invisible. At our ultrophoned\nword, he would light it again.\n\n\"No gun play now,\" I warned. \"Swords only, and then only if absolutely\nnecessary.\"\n\nClosely bunched, and treading as lightly as only inertron-belted people\ncould, we made our way cautiously through a door and down an inclined\nplane to the floor below, where Gaunt and Blash assured us the military\noffices were located.\n\nTwice Barker cautioned us to stop as we were about to pass in front of\nmirror-like \"windows\" in the passage wall, and flattening ourselves to\nthe floor, we crawled past them.\n\n\"Projectoscopes,\" he said. \"Probably on automatic record only, at this\ntime of night. Still, we don't want to leave any records for them to\nstudy after we're gone.\"\n\n\"Were you ever here before?\" I asked.\n\n\"No,\" he replied, \"but I haven't been studying their electrophone\ncommunications for seven years without being able to recognize these\nmachines when I run across them.\"\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER IX\n\nThe Fight in the Tower\n\n\nSo far we had not laid eyes on a Han. The tower seemed deserted. Blash\nand Gaunt, however, assured me that there would be at least one man on\n\"duty\" in the military offices, though he would probably be asleep, and\ntwo or three in the library proper and the projectoscope plant.\n\n\"We've got to put them out of commission,\" I said. \"Did you bring the\n'dope' cans, Wilma?\"\n\n\"Yes,\" she said, \"two for each. Here,\" and she distributed them.\n\nWe were now two levels below the roof, and at the point where we were to\nseparate.\n\nI did not want to let Wilma out of my sight, but it was necessary.\n\nAccording to our plan, Barker was to make his way to the projectoscope\nplant, Blash and I to the library, and Wilma and Gaunt to the military\noffice.\n\nBlash and I traversed a long corridor, and paused at the great arched\ndoorway of the library. Cautiously we peered in. Seated at three great\nswitchboards were library operatives. Occasionally one of them would\nreach lazily for a lever, or sleepily push a button, as little numbered\nlights winked on and off. They were answering calls for electrograph and\nviewplate records on all sorts of subjects from all sections of the\ncity.\n\nI apprised my companions of the situation.\n\n\"Better wait a bit,\" Blash added. \"The calls will lessen shortly.\"\n\nWilma reported an officer in the military office sound asleep.\n\n\"Give him the can, then,\" I said.\n\nBarker was to do nothing more than keep watch in the projectoscope\nplant, and a few moments later he reported himself well concealed, with\na splendid view of the floor.\n\n\"I think we can take a chance now,\" Blash said to me, and at my nod, he\nopened the lid of his dope can. Of course, the fumes did not affect us,\nthrough our helmets. They were absolutely without odor or visibility,\nand in a few seconds the librarians were unconscious. We stepped into\nthe room.\n\nThere ensued considerable cautious observation and experiment on the\npart of Gaunt, working from the military office, and Blash in the\nlibrary; while Wilma and I, with drawn swords and sharply attuned\nmicrophones, stood guard, and occasionally patrolled nearby corridors.\n\n\"I hear something approaching,\" Wilma said after a bit, with excitement\nin her voice. \"It's a soft, gliding sound.\"\n\n\"That's an elevator somewhere,\" Barker cut in from the projectoscope\nfloor. \"Can you locate it? I can't hear it.\"\n\n\"It's to the east of me,\" she replied.\n\n\"And to my west,\" said I, faintly catching it. \"It's between us, Wilma,\nand nearer you than me. Be careful. Have you got any information yet,\nBlash and Gaunt?\"\n\n\"Getting it now,\" one of them replied. \"Give us two minutes more.\"\n\n\"Keep at it then,\" I said. \"We'll guard.\"\n\nThe soft, gliding sound ceased.\n\n\"I think it's very close to me,\" Wilma almost whispered. \"Come closer,\nTony. I have a feeling something is going to happen. I've never known my\nnerves to get taut like this without reason.\"\n\nIn some alarm, I launched myself down the corridor in a great leap\ntoward the intersection whence I knew I could see her.\n\nIn the middle of my leap my ultrophone registered her gasp of alarm. The\nnext instant I glided to a stop at the intersection to see Wilma backing\ntoward the door of the military office, her sword red with blood, and an\ninert form on the corridor floor. Two other Hans were circling to either\nside of her with wicked-looking knives, while a third evidently a high\nofficer, judging by the resplendence of his garb tugged desperately to\nget an electrophone instrument out of a bulky pocket. If he ever gave\nthe alarm, there was no telling what might happen to us.\n\nI was at least seventy feet away, but I crouched low and sprang with\nevery bit of strength in my legs. It would be more correct to say that I\ndived, for I reached the fellow head on, with no attempt to draw my legs\nbeneath me.\n\nSome instinct must have warned him, for he turned suddenly as I hurtled\nclose to him. But by this time I had sunk close to the floor, and had\nstiffened myself rigidly, lest a dragging knee or foot might just\nprevent my reaching him. I brought my blade upward and over. It was a\nvicious slash that laid him open, bisecting him from groin to chin, and\nhis dead body toppled down on me, as I slid to a tangled stop.\n\nThe other two startled, turned. Wilma leaped at one and struck him down\nwith a side slash. I looked up at this instant, and the dazed fear on\nhis face at the length of her leap registered vividly. The Hans knew\nnothing of our inertron belts, it seemed, and these leaps and dives of\nours filled them with terror.\n\nAs I rose to my feet, a gory mess, Wilma, with a poise and speed which I\nfound time to admire even in this crisis, again leaped. This time she\ndove head first as I had done and, with a beautifully executed thrust,\nran the last Han through the throat.\n\nUncertainly, she scrambled to her feet, staggered queerly, and then sank\ngently prone on the corridor. She had fainted.\n\nAt this juncture, Blash and Gaunt reported with elation that they had\nthe record we wanted.\n\n\"Back to the roof, everybody!\" I ordered, as I picked Wilma up in my\narms. With her inertron belt, she felt as light as a feather.\n\nGaunt joined me at once from the military office, and at the\nintersection of the corridor, we came upon Blash waiting for us. Barker,\nhowever, was not in evidence.\n\n\"Where are you, Barker?\" I called.\n\n\"Go ahead,\" he replied. \"I'll be with you on the roof at once.\"\n\nWe came out in the open without any further mishap, and I instructed\nGibbons in the ship to light the knob on the end of the ultron wire. It\nflashed dully a few feet away from us. Just how he had maneuvered the\nship to keep our end of the line in position, without its swinging in a\ntremendous arc, I have never been able to understand. Had not the night\nbeen an unusually still one, he could not have checked the initial\npendulum-like movements. As it was, there was considerable air current\nat certain of the levels, and in different directions too. But Gibbons\nwas an expert of rare ability and sensitivity in the handling of a\nrocket ship, and he managed, with the aid of his delicate instruments,\nto sense the drifts almost before they affected the fine ultron wire,\nand to neutralize them with little shifts in the position of the ship.\n\nBlash and Gaunt fastened their rings to the wire, and I hooked my own\nand Wilma's on, too. But on looking around, I found Barker was still\nmissing.\n\n\"Barker, come!\" I called. \"We're waiting.\"\n\n\"Coming!\" he replied, and indeed, at that instant, his figure appeared\nup the ramp. He chuckled as he fastened his ring to the wire, and said\nsomething about a little surprise he had left for the Hans.\n\n\"Don't reel in the wire more than a few hundred feet,\" I instructed\nGibbons. \"It will take too long to wind it in. We'll float up, and when\nwe're aboard, we can drop it.\"\n\nIn order to float up, we had to dispense with a pound or two of weight\napiece. We hurled our swords from us, and kicked off our shoes as\nGibbons reeled up the line a bit, and then letting go of the wire, began\nto hum upward on our rings with increasing velocity.\n\nThe rush of air brought Wilma to, and I hastily explained to her that we\nhad been successful. Receding far below us now, I could see our dully\nshining knob swinging to and fro in an ever widening arc, as it crossed\nand recrossed the black square of the tower roof. As an extra\nprecaution, I ordered Gibbons to shut off the light, and to show one\nfrom the belly of the ship, for so great was our speed now, that I began\nto fear we would have difficulty in checking ourselves. We were\nliterally falling upward, and with terrific acceleration.\n\nFortunately, we had several minutes in which to solve this difficulty,\nwhich none of us, strangely enough, had foreseen. It was Gibbons who\nfound the answer.\n\n\"You'll be all right if all of you grab the wire tight when I give the\nword,\" he said. \"First I'll start reeling it in at full speed. You won't\nget much of a jar, and then I'll decrease its speed again gradually, and\nits weight will hold you back. Are you ready? One--two--three!\"\n\nWe all grabbed tightly with our gloved hands as he gave the word. We\nmust have been rising a good bit faster than he figured, however, for it\nwrenched our arms considerably, and the maneuver set up a sickening\npendulum motion.\n\nFor a while all we could do was swing there in an arc that may have been\na quarter of a mile across, about three and a half miles above the city,\nand still more than a mile from our ship.\n\nGibbons skilfully took up the slack as our momentum pulled up the line.\nThen at last we had ourselves under control again, and continued our\nupward journey, checking our speed somewhat with our gloves.\n\nThere was not one of us who did not breathe a big sigh of relief when we\nscrambled through the hatch safely into the ship again, cast off the\nultron line and slammed the trap shut.\n\nLittle realizing that we had a still more terrible experience to go\nthrough, we discussed the information Blash and Gaunt had between them\nextracted from the Han records, and the advisability of ultrophoning\nHart at once.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER X\n\nThe Walls of Hell\n\n\nThe traitors were, it seemed, a degenerate gang of Americans, located a\nfew miles north of Nu-yok on the wooded banks of the Hudson, the\nSinsings. They had exchanged scraps of information to the Hans in return\nfor several old repellor-ray machines, and the privilege of tuning in on\nthe Han electronic power broadcast for their operation, provided their\nships agreed to subject themselves to the orders of the Han traffic\noffice, while aloft.\n\nThe rest wanted to ultrophone their news at once, since there was always\ndanger that we might never get back to the gang with it.\n\nI objected, however. The Sinsings would be likely to pick up our\nmessage. Even if we used the directional projector, they might have\nscouts out to the west and south in the big inter-gang stretches of\ncountry. They would flee to Nu-yok and escape the punishment they\nmerited. It seemed to be vitally important that they should not, for the\nsake of example to other weak groups among the American gangs, as well\nas to prevent a crisis in which they might clear more vital information\nto the enemy.\n\n\"Out to sea again,\" I ordered Gibbons. \"They'll be less likely to look\nfor us in that direction.\"\n\n\"Easy, Boss, easy,\" he replied. \"Wait until we get up a mile or two\nmore. They must have discovered evidences of our raid by now, and their\ndis-ray wall may go in operation any moment.\"\n\nEven as he spoke, the ship lurched downward and to one side.\n\n\"There it is!\" he shouted. \"Hang on, everybody. We're going to nose\nstraight up!\" And he flipped the rocket-motor control wide open.\n\nLooking through one of the rear ports, I could see a nebulous, luminous\nring, and on all sides the atmosphere took on a faint iridescence.\n\nWe were almost over the destructive range of the disintegrator-ray wall,\na hollow cylinder of annihilation shooting upward from a solid ring of\ngenerators surrounding the city. It was the main defense system of the\nHans, which had never been used except in periodic tests. They may or\nmay not have suspected that an American rocket ship was within the\ncylinder; probably they had turned on their generators more as a\nprecaution to prevent any reaching a position above the city.\n\nBut even at our present great height, we were in great danger. It was a\nquestion how much we might have been harmed by the rays themselves, for\ntheir effective range was not much more than seven or eight miles. The\ngreater danger lay in the terrific downward rush of air within the\ncylinder to replace that which was being burned into nothingness by the\ncontinual play of the disintegrators. The air fell into the cylinder\nwith the force of a gale. It would be rushing toward the wall from the\noutside with terrific force also, but, naturally, the effect was\nintensified on the interior.\n\nOur ship vibrated and trembled. We had only one chance of escape--to\nfight our way well above the current. To drift down with it meant\nultimately, and inevitably, to be sucked into the destruction wall at\nsome lower level.\n\nBut very gradually and jerkily our upward movement, as shown on the\nindicators, began to increase, and after an hour of desperate struggle\nwe were free of the maelstrom and into the rarefied upper levels. The\nterror beneath us was now invisible through several layers of cloud\nformations.\n\nGibbons brought the ship back to an even keel, and drove her eastward\ninto one of the most brilliantly gorgeous sunrises I have ever seen.\n\nWe described a great circle to the south and west, in a long easy dive,\nfor he had cut out his rocket motors to save them as much as possible.\nWe had drawn terrifically on their fuel reserves in our battle with the\nelements. For the moment, the atmosphere below cleared, and we could see\nthe Jersey coast far beneath, like a great map.\n\n\"We're not through yet,\" remarked Gibbons suddenly, pointing at his\nperiscope, and adjusting it to telescopic focus. \"A Han ship, and a\n'drop ship' at that--and he's seen us. If he whips that beam of his on\nus, we're done.\"\n\nI gazed, fascinated, at the viewplate. What I saw was a cigar-shaped\nship not dissimilar to our own in design, and from the proportional size\nof its ports, of about the same size as our swoopers. We learned later\nthat they carried crews, for the most part of not more than three or\nfour men. They had streamline hulls and tails that embodied\nuniversal-jointed double fish-tail rudders. In operation they rose to\ngreat heights on their powerful repellor rays, then gathered speed\neither by a straight nose dive, or an inclined dive in which they\nsometimes used the repellor ray slanted at a sharp angle. He was already\nabove us, though several miles to the north. He could, of course, try to\nget on our tail and \"spear\" us with his beam as he dropped at us from a\ngreat height.\n\nSuddenly his beam blazed forth in a blinding flash, whipping downward\nslowly to our right. He went through a peculiar corkscrew-like\nevolution, evidently maneuvering to bring his beam to bear on us with a\nspiral motion.\n\nGibbons instantly sent our ship into a series of evolutions that must\nhave looked like those of a frightened hen. Alternately, he used the\nforward and the reverse rocket blasts, and in varying degree. We\nfluttered, we shot suddenly to right and left, and dropped like a\nplummet in uncertain movements. But all the time the Han scout dropped\ntoward us, determinedly whipping the air around us with his beam. Once\nit sliced across beneath us, not more than a hundred feet, and we\ndropped with a jar into the pocket formed by the destruction of the air.\n\nHe had dropped to within a mile of us, and was coming with the speed of\na projectile, when the end came. Gibbons always swore it was sheer luck.\nMaybe it was, but I like pilots who are lucky that way.\n\nIn the midst of a dizzy, fluttering maneuver of our own, with the Han\nship enlarging to our gaze with terrifying rapidity, and its beam slowly\nslicing toward us in what looked like certain destruction within the\nsecond, I saw Gibbons' fingers flick at the lever of his rocket gun and\na split second later the Han ship flew apart like a clay pigeon.\n\nWe staggered, and fluttered crazily for several moments while Gibbons\nstruggled to bring our ship into balance, and a section of about four\nsquare feet in the side of the ship near the stern slowly crumbled like\nrusted metal. His beam actually had touched us, but our explosive rocket\nhad got him a thousandth of a second sooner.\n\nPart of our rudder had been annihilated, and our motor damaged. But we\nwere able to swoop gently back across Jersey, fortunately crossing the\nship lanes without sighting any more Han craft, and finally settling to\nrest in the little glade beneath the trees, near Hart's camp.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XI\n\nThe New Boss\n\n\nWe had ultrophoned our arrival and the Big Boss himself, surrounded by\nthe Council, was on hand to welcome us and learn our news. In turn we\nwere informed that during the night a band of raiding Bad Bloods,\ndisguised under the insignia of the Altoonas, a gang some distance to\nthe west of us, had destroyed several of our camps before our people had\nrallied and driven them off. Their purpose, evidently, had been to\nembroil us with the Altoonas, but fortunately, one of our exchanges\nrecognized the Bad Blood leader, who had been slain.\n\nThe Big Boss had mobilized the full raiding force of the Gang, and was\non the point of heading an expedition for the extermination of the Bad\nBloods.\n\nI looked around the grim circle of the sub-bosses, and realized the fate\nof America, at this moment, lay in their hands. Their temper demanded\nthe immediate expenditure of our full effort in revenging ourselves for\nthis raid. But the strategic exigencies, to my mind, quite clearly\ndemanded the instant and absolute extermination of the Sinsings. It\nmight be only a matter of hours, for all we knew, before these degraded\npeople would barter clues to the American ultronic secrets to the Hans.\n\n\"How large a force have we?\" I asked Hart.\n\n\"Every man and maid who can be spared,\" he replied. \"That gives us seven\nhundred married and unmarried men, and three hundred girls, more than\nthe entire Bad Blood Gang. Every one is equipped with belts,\nultrophones, rocket guns and swords, and all fighting mad.\"\n\nI meditated how I might put the matter to these determined men, and was\nvaguely conscious that they were awaiting my words.\n\nFinally I began to speak. I do not remember to this day just what I\nsaid. I talked calmly, with due regard for their passion, but with deep\nconviction. I went over the information we had collected, point by\npoint, building my case logically, and painting a lurid picture of the\ndanger impending in that half-alliance between the Sinsings and the Hans\nof Nu-yok. I became impassioned, culminating, I believe, with a vow to\nproceed single-handed against the hereditary enemies of our race, \"if\nthe Wyomings were blindly set on placing a gang feud ahead of honor and\nduty and the hopes of all America.\"\n\nAs I concluded, a great calm came over me, as of one detached. I had\nfelt much the same way during several crises in the First World War. I\ngazed from face to face, striving to read their expressions, and in a\nmood to make good my threat without any further heroics, if the decision\nwas against me.\n\nBut it was Hart who sensed the temper of the Council more quickly than I\ndid, and looked beyond it into the future.\n\nHe arose from the tree trunk on which he had been sitting.\n\n\"That settles it,\" he said, looking around the ring. \"I have felt this\nthing coming on for some time now. I'm sure the Council agrees with me\nthat there is among us a man more capable than I, to boss the Wyoming\nGang, despite his handicap of having had all too short a time in which\nto familiarize himself with our modern ways and facilities. Whatever I\ncan do to support his effective leadership, at any cost, I pledge myself\nto do.\"\n\nAs he concluded, he advanced to where I stood, and taking from his head\nthe green-crested helmet that constituted his badge of office, to my\nsurprise he placed it in my mechanically extended hand.\n\nThe roar of approval that went up from the Council members left me\ndazed. Somebody ultrophoned the news to the rest of the Gang, and even\nthough the earflaps of my helmet were turned up, I could hear the cheers\nwith which my invisible followers greeted me, from near and distant\nhillsides, camps and plants.\n\nMy first move was to make sure that the Phone Boss, in communicating\nthis news to the members of the Gang, had not re-broadcast my talk nor\nmentioned my plan of shifting the attack from the Bad Bloods to the\nSinsings. I was relieved by his assurance that he had not, for it would\nhave wrecked the whole plan. Everything depended upon our ability to\nsurprise the Sinsings.\n\nSo I pledged the Council and my companions to secrecy, and allowed it to\nbe believed that we were about to take to the air and the trees against\nthe Bad Bloods.\n\nThat outfit must have been badly scared, the way they were \"burning\" the\nether with ultrophone alibis and propaganda for the benefit of the more\ndistant gangs. It was their old game, and the only method by which they\nhad avoided extermination long ago from their immediate neighbors--these\nappeals to the spirit of American brotherhood, addressed to gangs too\nfar away to have had the sort of experience with them that had fallen to\nour lot.\n\nI chuckled. Here was another good reason for the shift in my plans. Were\nwe actually to undertake the exterminations of the Bad Bloods at once,\nit would have been a hard job to convince some of the gangs that we had\nnot been precipitate and unjustified. Jealousies and prejudices existed.\nThere were gangs which would give the benefit of the doubt to the Bad\nBloods, rather than to ourselves, and the issue was now hopelessly\nbeclouded with the clever lies that were being broadcast in an unceasing\nstream.\n\nBut the extermination of the Sinsings would be another thing. In the\nfirst place, there would be no warning of our action until it was all\nover, I hoped. In the second place, we would have indisputable proof, in\nthe form of their rep-ray ships and other paraphernalia, of their\ntraffic with the Hans; and the state of American prejudice, at the time\nof which I write held trafficking with the Hans a far more heinous thing\nthan even a vicious gang feud.\n\nI called an executive session of the Council at once. I wanted to\ninventory our military resources.\n\nI created a new office on the spot, that of \"Control Boss,\" and\nappointed Ned Garlin to the post, turning over his former responsibility\nas Plants Boss to his assistant. I needed someone, I felt, to tie in the\nrecords of the various functional activities of the campaign, and take\nover from me the task of keeping the records of them up to the minute.\n\nI received reports from the bosses of the ultrophone unit, and those of\nfood, transportation, fighting gear, chemistry, electronic activity and\nelectrophone intelligence, ultroscopes, air patrol and contact guard.\n\nMy ideas for the campaign, of course, were somewhat tinged with my 20th\nCentury experience, and I found myself faced with the task of working\nout a staff organization that was a composite of the best and most\neasily applied principles of business and military efficiency, as I knew\nthem from the viewpoint of immediate practicality.\n\nWhat I wanted was an organization that would be specialized,\nfunctionally, not as that indicated above, but from the angles of:\nintelligence as to the Sinsings' activities; intelligence as to Han\nactivities; perfection of communication with my own units; co-operation\nof field command; and perfect mobilization of emergency supplies and\nresources.\n\nIt took several hours of hard work with the Council to map out the plan.\nFirst we assigned functional experts and equipment to each \"Division\" in\naccordance with its needs. Then these in turn were reassigned by the new\nDivision Bosses to the Field Commands as needed, or as Independent or\nHeadquarters Units. The two intelligence divisions were named the White\nand the Yellow, indicating that one specialized on the American enemy\nand the other on the Mongolians.\n\nThe division in charge of our own communications, the assignment of\nultrophone frequencies and strengths, and the maintenance of operators\nand equipment, I called \"Communications.\"\n\nI named Bill Hearn to the post of Field Boss, in charge of the main or\nundetached fighting units, and to the Resources Division, I assigned all\nresponsibility for what few aircraft we had; and all transportation and\nsupply problems, I assigned to \"Resources.\" The functional bosses stayed\nwith this division.\n\nWe finally completed our organization with the assignment of liaison\nrepresentatives among the various divisions as needed.\n\nThus I had a \"Headquarters Staff\" composed of the Division Bosses who\nreported directly to Ned Garlin as Control Boss, or to Wilma as my\npersonal assistant. And each of the Division Bosses had a small staff of\nhis own.\n\nIn the final summing up of our personnel and resources, I found we had\nroughly a thousand \"troops,\" of whom some three hundred and fifty were,\nin what I called the Service Divisions, the rest being in Bill Hearn's\nField Division. This latter number, however, was cut down somewhat by\nthe assignment of numerous small units to detached service. Altogether,\nthe actual available fighting force, I figured, would number about five\nhundred, by the time we actually went into action.\n\nWe had only six small swoopers, but I had an ingenious plan in my mind,\nas the result of our little raid on Nu-yok, that would make this\nsufficient, since the reserves of inertron blocks were larger than I\nexpected to find them. The Resources Division, by packing its supply\ncases a bit tight, or by slipping in extra blocks of inertron, was able\nto reduce each to a weight of a few ounces. These easily could be\nfloated and towed by the swoopers in any quantity. Hitched to ultron\nlines, it would be a virtual impossibility for them to break loose.\n\nThe entire personnel, of course, was supplied with jumpers, and if each\nman and girl was careful to adjust balances properly, the entire number\ncould also be towed along through the air, grasping wires of ultron,\nswinging below the swoopers, or stringing out behind them.\n\nThere would be nothing tiring about this, because the strain would be no\ngreater than that of carrying a one or two pound weight in the hand,\nexcept for air friction at high speeds. But to make doubly sure that we\nshould lose none of our personnel, I gave strict orders that the belts\nand tow lines should be equipped with rings and hooks.\n\nSo great was the efficiency of the fundamental organization and\ndiscipline of the Gang, that we got under way at nightfall.\n\nOne by one the swoopers eased into the air, each followed by its long\ntrain or \"kite-tail\" of humanity and supply cases hanging lightly from\nits tow line. For convenience, the tow lines were made of an alloy of\nultron which, unlike the metal itself, is visible.\n\nAt first these \"tails\" hung downward, but as the ships swung into\nformation and headed eastward toward the Bad Blood territory, gathering\nspeed, they began to string out behind. And swinging low from each ship\non heavily weighted lines, ultroscope, ultrophone, and straight-vision\nobservers keenly scanned the countryside, while intelligence men in the\nswoopers above bent over their instrument boards and viewplates.\n\nLeaving Control Boss Ned Garlin temporarily in charge of affairs, Wilma\nand I dropped a weighted line from our ship, and slid down about half\nway to the under lookouts, that is to say, about a thousand feet. The\nsensation of floating swiftly through the air like this, in the absolute\nsecurity of one's confidence in the inertron belt, was one of\nnever-ending delight to me.\n\nWe reascended into the swooper as the expedition approached the\nterritory of the Bad Bloods, and directed the preparations for the\nbombardment. It was part of my plan to appear to carry out the attack as\noriginally planned.\n\nAbout fifteen miles from their camps our ships came to a halt and\nmaintained their positions for a while with the idling blasts of their\nrocket motors, to give the ultroscope operators a chance to make a\nthorough examination of the territory below us, for it was very\nimportant that this next step in our program should be carried out with\nall secrecy.\n\nAt length they reported the ground below us entirely clear of any\nappearance of human occupation, and a gun unit of long-range specialists\nwas lowered with a dozen rocket guns, equipped with special automatic\ndevices that the Resources Division had developed at my request, a few\nhours before our departure. These were aiming and timing devices. After\ncalculating the range, elevation and rocket charges carefully, the guns\nwere left, concealed in a ravine, and the men were hauled up into the\nship again. At the predetermined hour, those unmanned rocket guns would\nbegin automatically to bombard the Bad Bloods' hillsides, shifting their\naim and elevation slightly with each shot, as did many of our artillery\npieces in the First World War.\n\nIn the meantime, we turned south about twenty miles, and grounded,\nwaiting for the bombardment to begin before we attempted to sneak across\nthe Han ship lane. I was relying for security on the distraction that\nthe bombardment might furnish the Han observers.\n\nIt was tense work waiting, but the affair went through as planned, our\nsquadron drifting across the route high enough to enable the ships'\ntails of troops and supply cases to clear the ground.\n\nIn crossing the second ship route, out along the Beaches of Jersey, we\nwere not so successful in escaping observation. A Han ship came speeding\nalong at a very low elevation. We caught it on our electronic location\nand direction finders, and also located it with our ultroscopes, but it\ncame so fast and so low that I thought it best to remain where we had\ngrounded the second time, and lie quiet, rather than get under way and\ncross in front of it.\n\nThe point was this. While the Hans had no such devices as our\nultroscopes, with which we could see in the dark (within certain\nlimitations of course), and their electronic instruments would be\nvirtually useless in uncovering our presence, since all but natural\nelectronic activities were carefully eliminated from our apparatus,\nexcept electrophone receivers (which are not easily spotted), the Hans\ndid have some very highly sensitive sound devices which operated with\ngreat efficiency in calm weather, so far as sounds emanating from the\nair were concerned. But the \"ground roar\" greatly confused their use of\nthese instruments in the location of specific sounds floating up from\nthe surface of the earth.\n\nThis ship must have caught some slight noise of ours, however, in its\nsensitive instruments, for we heard its electronic devices go into play,\nand picked up the routine report of the noise to its Base Ship\nCommander. But from the nature of the conversation, I judged they had\nnot identified it, and were, in fact, more curious about the detonations\nthey were picking up now from the Bad Blood lands some sixty miles or so\nto the west.\n\nImmediately after this ship had shot by, we took the air again, and\nfollowing much the same route that I had taken the previous night,\nclimbed in a long semi-circle out over the ocean, swung toward the north\nand finally the west. We set our course, however, for the Sinsings' land\nnorth of Nu-yok, instead of for the city itself.\n\n\n\n\nCHAPTER XII\n\nThe Finger of Doom\n\n\nAs we crossed the Hudson River, a few miles north of the city, we\ndropped several units of the Yellow Intelligence Division, with full\ninstrumental equipment. Their apparatus cases were nicely balanced at\nonly a few ounces weight each, and the men used their chute capes to\nease their drops.\n\nWe recrossed the river a little distance above and began dropping White\nIntelligence units and a few long and short range gun units. Then we\nheld our position until we began to get reports. Gradually we ringed the\nterritory of the Sinsings, our observation units working busily and\npatiently at their locators and scopes, both aloft and aground, until\nGarlin finally turned to me with the remark:\n\n\"The map circle is complete now, Boss. We've got clear locations all the\nway around them.\"\n\n\"Let me see it,\" I replied, and studied the illuminated viewplate map,\nwith its little overlapping circles of light that indicated spots proved\nclear of the enemy by ultroscopic observation.\n\nI nodded to Bill Hearn. \"Go ahead now, Hearn,\" I said, \"and place your\nbarrage men.\"\n\nHe spoke into his ultrophone, and three of the ships began to glide in a\nwide ring around the enemy territory. Every few seconds, at the word\nfrom his Unit Boss, a gunner would drop off the wire, and slipping the\nclasp of his chute cape, drift down into the darkness below.\n\nBill formed two lines, parallel to and facing the river, and enclosing\nthe entire territory of the enemy between them. Above and below,\nstraddling the river, were two defensive lines. These latter were merely\nto hold their positions. The others were to close in toward each other,\npushing a high-explosive barrage five miles ahead of them. When the two\nbarrages met, both lines were to switch to short-vision-range barrage\nand continue to close in on any of the enemy who might have drifted\nthrough the previous curtain of fire.\n\nIn the meantime Bill kept his reserves, a picked corps of a hundred men\n(the same that had accompanied Hart and myself in our fight with the Han\nsquadron) in the air, divided about equally among the \"kite-tails\" of\nfour ships.\n\nA final roll call, by units, companies, divisions and functions,\nestablished the fact that all our forces were in position. No Han\nactivity was reported, and no Han broadcasts indicated any suspicion of\nour expedition. Nor was there any indication that the Sinsings had any\nknowledge of the fate in store for them. The idling of rep-ray\ngenerators was reported from the center of their camp, obviously those\nof the ships the Hans had given them--the price of their treason to\ntheir race.\n\nAgain I gave the word, and Hearn passed on the order to his\nsubordinates.\n\nFar below us, and several miles to the right and left, the two barrage\nlines made their appearance. From the great height to which we had\nrisen, they appeared like lines of brilliant, winking lights, and the\ndetonations were muffled by the distances into a sort of rumbling,\ndistant thunder. Hearn and his assistants were very busy: measuring,\ncalculating, and snapping out ultrophone orders to unit commanders that\nresulted in the straightening of lines and the closing of gaps in the\nbarrage.\n\nThe White Division Boss reported the utmost confusion in the Sinsing\norganization. They were, as might be expected, an inefficient, loosely\ndisciplined gang, and repeated broadcasts for help to neighboring gangs.\nIgnoring the fact that the Mongolians had not used explosives for many\ngenerations, they nevertheless jumped at the conclusion that they were\nbeing raided by the Hans. Their frantic broadcasts persisted in this\nthought, despite the nervous electrophonic inquiries of the Hans\nthemselves, to whom the sound of the battle was evidently audible, and\nwho were trying to locate the trouble.\n\nAt this point, the swooper I had sent south toward the city went into\naction as a diversion, to keep the Hans at home. Its \"kite-tail\" loaded\nwith long-range gunners, using the most highly explosive rockets we had,\nhung invisible in the darkness of the sky and bombarded the city from a\ndistance of about five miles. With an entire city to shoot at, and the\nobject of creating as much commotion therein as possible, regardless of\nactual damage, the gunners had no difficulty in hitting the mark. I\ncould see the glow of the city and the stabbing flashes of exploding\nrockets. In the end, the Hans, uncertain as to what was going on, fell\nback on a defensive policy, and shot their \"hell cylinder,\" or wall of\nupturned disintegrator rays into operation. That, of course, ended our\nbombardment of them. The rays were a perfect defense, disintegrating our\nrockets as they were reached.\n\nIf they had not sent out ships before turning on the rays, and if they\nhad none within sufficient radius already in the air, all would be well.\n\nI queried Garlin on this, but he assured me Yellow Intelligence reported\nno indications of Han ships nearer than 800 miles. This would probably\ngive us a free hand for a while, since most of their instruments\nrecorded only imperfectly or not at all, through the death wall.\n\nRequisitioning one of the viewplates of the headquarters ship, and the\nservices of an expert operator, I instructed him to focus on our lines\nbelow. I wanted a close-up of the men in action.\n\nHe began to manipulate his controls and chaotic shadows moved rapidly\nacross the plate, fading in and out of focus, until he reached an\nadjustment that gave me a picture of the forest floor, apparently 100\nfeet wide, with the intervening branches and foliage of the trees\nappearing like shadows that melted into reality a few feet above the\nground.\n\nI watched one man setting up his long-gun with skillful speed. His lips\npursed slightly as though he were whistling, as he adjusted the tall\ntripod on which the long tube was balanced. Swiftly he twirled the knobs\ncontrolling the aim and elevation of his piece. Then, lifting a belt of\nammunition from the big box, which itself looked heavy enough to break\ndown the spindly tripod, he inserted the end of it in the lock of his\ntube and touched the proper combination of buttons.\n\nThen he stepped aside, and occupied himself with peering carefully\nthrough the trees ahead. Not even a tremor shook the tube, but I knew\nthat at intervals of something less than a second, it was discharging\nsmall projectiles which, traveling under their own continuously reduced\npower, were arching into the air, to fall precisely five miles ahead and\nexplode with the force of eight-inch shells, such as we used in the\nFirst World War.\n\nAnother gunner, fifty feet to the right of him, waved a hand and called\nout something to him. Then, picking up his own tube and tripod, he\ngauged the distance between the trees ahead of him, and the height of\ntheir lowest branches, and bending forward a bit, flexed his muscles and\nleaped lightly, some twenty-five feet. Another leap took him another\ntwenty feet or so, where he began to set up his piece.\n\nI ordered my observer then to switch to the barrage itself. He got a\nclose focus on it, but this showed little except a continuous series of\nblinding flashes, which, from the viewplate, lit up the entire interior\nof the ship. An eight-hundred-foot focus proved better. I had thought\nthat some of our French and American artillery of the 20th Century had\nachieved the ultimate in mathematical precision of fire, but I had never\nseen anything to equal the accuracy of that line of terrific explosions\nas it moved steadily forward, mowing down trees as a scythe cuts grass\n(or used to 500 years ago), literally churning up the earth and the\nsplintered, blasted remains of the forest giants, to a depth of from ten\nto twenty feet.\n\nBy now the two curtains of fire were nearing each other, lines of\nvibrant, shimmering, continuous, brilliant destruction, inevitably\nsqueezing the panic-stricken Sinsings between them.\n\nEven as I watched, a group of them, who had been making a futile effort\nto get their three rep-ray machines into the air, abandoned their\nefforts, and rushed forth into the milling mob.\n\nI queried the Control Boss sharply on the futility of this attempt of\ntheirs, and learned that the Hans, apparently in doubt as to what was\ngoing on, had continued to \"play safe,\" and broken off their power\nbroadcast, after ordering all their own ships east of the Alleghenies to\nthe ground, for fear these ships they had traded to the Sinsings might\nbe used against them.\n\nAgain I turned to my viewplate, which was still focussed on the central\nsection of the Sinsing works. The confusion of the traitors was entirely\nthat of fear, for our barrage had not yet reached them.\n\nSome of them set up their long-guns and fired at random over the barrage\nline, then gave it up. They realized that they had no target to shoot\nat, no way of knowing whether our gunners were a few hundred feet or\nseveral miles beyond it.\n\nTheir ultrophone men, of whom they did not have many, stood around in\ntense attitudes, their helmet phones strapped around their ears,\nnervously fingering the tuning controls at their belts. Unquestionably\nthey must have located some of our frequencies, and overheard many of\nour reports and orders. But they were confused and disorganized. If they\nhad an Ultrophone Boss they evidently were not reporting to him in an\norganized way.\n\nThey were beginning to draw back now before our advancing fire. With\nintermittent desperation, they began to shoot over our barrage again,\nand the explosions of their rockets flashed at widely scattered points\nbeyond. A few took distance \"pot shots.\"\n\nOddly enough it was our own forces that suffered the first casualties in\nthe battle. Some of these distance shots by chance registered hits,\nwhile our men were under strict orders not to exceed their barrage\ndistances.\n\nSeen upon the ultroscope viewplate, the battle looked as though it were\nbeing fought in daylight, perhaps on a cloudy day, while the explosions\nof the rockets appeared as flashes of extra brilliance.\n\nThe two barrage lines were not more than five hundred feet apart when\nthe Sinsings resorted to tactics we had not foreseen. We noticed first\nthat they began to lighten themselves by throwing away extra equipment.\nA few of them in their excitement threw away too much, and shot suddenly\ninto the air. Then a scattering few floated up gently, followed by\nincreasing numbers, while still others, preserving a weight balance,\njumped toward the closing barrages and leaped high, hoping to clear\nthem. Some succeeded. We saw others blown about like leaves in a\nwindstorm, to crumple and drift slowly down, or else to fall into the\nbarrage, their belts blown from their bodies.\n\nHowever, it was not part of our plan to allow a single one of them to\nescape and find his way to the Hans. I quickly passed the word to Bill\nHearn to have the alternate men in his line raise their barrages and\nheard him bark out a mathematical formula to the Unit Bosses.\n\nWe backed off our ships as the explosions climbed into the air in\nstagger formation until they reached a height of three miles. I don't\nbelieve any of the Sinsings who tried to float away to freedom\nsucceeded.\n\nBut we did know later, that a few who leaped the barrage got away and\nultimately reached Nu-yok.\n\nIt was those who managed to jump the barrage who gave us the most\ntrouble. With half of our long-guns turned aloft, I foresaw we would not\nhave enough to establish successive ground barrages and so ordered the\nbarrage back two miles, from which positions our \"curtains\" began to\nclose in again, this time, however, gauged to explode, not on contact,\nbut thirty feet in the air. This left little chance for the Sinsings to\nleap either over or under it.\n\nGradually, the two barrages approached each other until they finally\nmet, and in the grey dawn the battle ended.\n\nOur own casualties amounted to forty-seven men in the ground forces,\neighteen of whom had been slain in hand to hand fighting with the few of\nthe enemy who managed to reach our lines, and sixty-two in the crew and\n\"kite-tail\" force of swooper No. 4, which had been located by one of\nthe enemy's ultroscopes and brought down with long-gun fire.\n\nSince nearly every member of the Sinsing Gang had, so far as we knew,\nbeen killed, we considered the raid a great success.\n\nIt had, however, a far greater significance than this. To all of us who\ntook part in the expedition, the effectiveness of our barrage tactics\ndefinitely established a confidence in our ability to overcome the Hans.\n\nAs I pointed out to Wilma:\n\n\"It has been my belief all along, dear, that the American explosive\nrocket is a far more efficient weapon than the disintegrator ray of the\nHans, once we can train all our gangs to use it systematically and in\nco-ordinated fashion. As a weapon in the hands of a single individual,\nshooting at a mark in direct line of vision, the rocket-gun is inferior\nin destructive power to the dis ray, except as its range may be a little\ngreater. The trouble is that to date it has been used only as we used\nour rifles and shot guns in the 20th Century. The possibilities of its\nuse as artillery, in laying barrages that advance along the ground, or\nclimb into the air, are tremendous.\n\n\"The dis ray inevitably reveals its source of emanation. The rocket gun\ndoes not. The dis ray can reach its target only in a straight line. The\nrocket may be made to travel in an arc, over intervening obstacles, to\nan unseen target.\n\n\"Nor must we forget that our ultronists now are promising us a perfect\nshield against the dis ray in inertron.\"\n\n\"I tremble though, Tony dear, when I think of the horrors that are ahead\nof us. The Hans are clever. They will develop defenses against our new\ntactics. And they are sure to mass against us not only the full force of\ntheir power in America, but the united forces of the World Empire. They\nare a cowardly race in one sense, but clever as the very Devils in Hell,\nand inheritors of a calm, ruthless, vicious persistency.\"\n\n\"Nevertheless,\" I prophesied, \"the Finger of Doom points squarely at\nthem today, and unless you and I are killed in the struggle, we shall\nlive to see America blast the Yellow Blight from the face of the Earth.\"\n\n\nTHE END.\n\n\n\n\nTranscriber's Note:\n\n This etext was produced from _Amazing Stories_ August 1928.\n Extensive research did not uncover any evidence that the U.S.\n copyright on this publication was renewed. Minor spelling and\n typographical errors have been corrected without note.\n\n\n\n\n\nEnd of Project Gutenberg's Armageddon--2419 A.D., by Philip Francis Nowlan"},"answers":{"kind":"list like","value":["2419"],"string":"[\n \"2419\"\n]","isConversational":false},"length":{"kind":"number","value":27511,"string":"27,511"},"dataset":{"kind":"string","value":"narrativeqa"},"language":{"kind":"string","value":"en"},"all_classes":{"kind":"null"},"_id":{"kind":"string","value":"d99cd0d28d5737d137c97f32cd4f4938884b389d7a382687"}}}],"truncated":false,"partial":false},"paginationData":{"pageIndex":17,"numItemsPerPage":100,"numTotalItems":2250,"offset":1700,"length":100}},"jwt":"eyJhbGciOiJFZERTQSIsImtpZCI6IjVHZDBvd0g5MTM2eDZjc1FvbE1zcktNWUZoRVFoUm5PVVVybEpjOUhaUEEifQ.eyJyZWFkIjp0cnVlLCJwZXJtaXNzaW9ucyI6eyJyZXBvLmNvbnRlbnQucmVhZCI6dHJ1ZX0sImlhdCI6MTc4NTAzMTk2NCwianRpIjoiOTE0MTc3NTgtZmI5Zi00MGMwLTliOGQtNTE4YzJmOWQ0ZTQ3Iiwic3ViIjoiL2RhdGFzZXRzL3NldmVydXMxMDY1L0xvbmdCZW5jaCIsImV4cCI6MTc4NTAzNTU2NCwiaXNzIjoiaHR0cHM6Ly9odWdnaW5nZmFjZS5jbyJ9.manFA0F7ghaIB1DrBbuZA6-NwQsNe6VLHfsfQO3FZDMmAPgH3iLbp5exqrKaGuyZ_0rEObg32tp0v_nHD3PwBA","displayUrls":true,"splitSizeSummaries":[{"config":"default","split":"test","numRows":2250,"numBytesParquet":43463456}]},"discussionsStats":{"closed":0,"open":1,"total":1},"fullWidth":true,"hasGatedAccess":true,"hasFullAccess":true,"isEmbedded":false,"savedQueries":{"community":[],"user":[]}}">
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What are some important themes mentioned in this story? | Produced by Angus Christian
OTTO OF THE SILVER HAND
By Howard Pyle
CONTENTS
I. The Dragon's House,
II. How the Baron Went Forth to Shear,
III. How the Baron Came Home Shorn,
IV. The White Cross on the Hill,
V. How Otto Dwelt at St. Michaelsburg,
VI. How Otto Lived ... | [
"Be responsible,keep your word and be wise and peaceful."
] | 27,741 | narrativeqa | en | null | 787d7fce3ea3a5afc996204942227e91ad057b882c3d3633 |
What happens to Tomoko? | <b> THE RING
</b>
Original screenplay by Takahashi Hiroshi
Based upon the novel by Suzuki Kouji
This manuscript is intended for informational
purposes only, and is a fair usage of copyrighted
material.
Ring (c) 1995 Suzuki Kouji
Ring feature film (c) 1998 Ring/Rasen Committee
Distributed by PONY CA... | [
"Tomoko reveals that they watched a video tape with several friends a week ago and received a strange call after watching it. Tomoko is killed while Masami watches."
] | 17,490 | narrativeqa | en | null | 040a455faa539cf124460b1b37165be70269fc8b8a9a0c60 |
What was the description of the teens faces when they died? | <b> THE RING
</b>
Original screenplay by Takahashi Hiroshi
Based upon the novel by Suzuki Kouji
This manuscript is intended for informational
purposes only, and is a fair usage of copyrighted
material.
Ring (c) 1995 Suzuki Kouji
Ring feature film (c) 1998 Ring/Rasen Committee
Distributed by PONY CA... | [
"Their faces twisted in fear."
] | 17,497 | narrativeqa | en | null | 19ec182d75e69f6f85cc7a4fa8f9ca22b124800bc8736b1d |
Who was the final raid in the story on? | Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
ARMAGEDDON--2419 A.D.
_By Philip Francis Nowlan_
_Here, once more, is a real scientifiction story plus. It is a story
which will make the heart of many readers leap with joy._
_We have r... | [
"The Sinsings"
] | 27,510 | narrativeqa | en | null | 86d2cd2994feadad471854df8ce765545fe6bab1cee02259 |
Who leaves Chicago with him? | <html>
<head>
<LINK rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="style.css"
title="style1">
<b>
</b><META http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1">
<script>
<b><!--
</b>if (window!= top)
top.location.href=location.href
<b>// -->
</b></script> </HEAD>
<title>DAYS OF HEAVEN by Terry Malick REVISED: 6/... | [
"His girlfriend Abby and her sister Linda."
] | 31,691 | narrativeqa | en | null | b03244c8cc2681df1008d27c974d81415336396dff81f06d |
What do the Ghostbusters do to stop an argument between Ray and Winston? | Ghostbusters II
by
Harold Ramis
and
Dan Aykroyd
September 29, 1988
Last revised Feburary 27, 1989
<b>EXT. MANHATTAN ISLAND - DAY
</b>
A high AERIAL SHOT of the island features the Statue of Liberty
prominently in the foreground then TRAVELS ACROSS the harbor, OVER the
Batt... | [
"Take their clothes off"
] | 25,093 | narrativeqa | en | null | 973ac7fc4eb400348ec30dae56ba4d177d0ade45a3529d3e |
What does Frank Saltram do for work? | Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
[Picture: Book cover]
THE
COXON FUND
BY HENRY JAMES
[Picture: Decorative graphi... | [
"He does not work."
] | 22,694 | narrativeqa | en | null | 3ab2add236bd7cba3c5f398e53ab0b6581fa82dae827c871 |
Who did Ruth Honeywill plan to escape with? | Produced by David Widger
GALSWORTHY PLAYS
SECOND SERIES--NO. 1
JUSTICE
By John Galsworthy
PERSONS OF THE PLAY
JAMES HOW, solicitor
WALTER HOW, solicitor
ROBERT COKESON, their managing clerk
WILLIAM FALDER, their junior clerk
SWEEDLE, their office-boy
WISTER, a detective
COWLEY, a cashier
MR. JUSTI... | [
"Falder"
] | 22,764 | narrativeqa | en | null | 9420daeb72715dee209b0b33539597d033d14ca5fa6b2365 |
What Medical school does Laura attend? | Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
DOCTOR
BY MURRAY LEINSTER
Illustrated by FINLAY
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
... | [
"Laura attends Harvard Medical school."
] | 8,722 | narrativeqa | en | null | e726a44d5d159de71612e7733d453f36d881d6f19f484fe4 |
What gift did the mayor give to the Ghostbusters? | Ghostbusters II
by
Harold Ramis
and
Dan Aykroyd
September 29, 1988
Last revised Feburary 27, 1989
<b>EXT. MANHATTAN ISLAND - DAY
</b>
A high AERIAL SHOT of the island features the Statue of Liberty
prominently in the foreground then TRAVELS ACROSS the harbor, OVER the
Batt... | [
"key to the city"
] | 25,089 | narrativeqa | en | null | 1e06ea4077ecabcd5cc72281c2a3e843f0c17dccd8af3183 |
Who does the Witch create? | Produced by Sue Asscher
The Witch of Atlas
by
Percy Bysshe Shelley
TO MARY
(ON HER OBJECTING TO THE FOLLOWING POEM, UPON THE
SCORE OF ITS CONTAINING NO HUMAN INTEREST).
1.
How, my dear Mary,--are you critic-bitten
(For vipers kill, though dead) by some review,
That you condemn these verses I ha... | [
"Hermaphroditus."
] | 5,397 | narrativeqa | en | null | cffc706d1ed5ecaa2b18b058e30ec11b1f8fc8a42f455048 |
Where did the lover hide? | Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
LA GRANDE BRETECHE
(Sequel to "Another Study of Woman.")
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Ellen Marriage and Clara Bell
LA GRANDE BRETECHE
"Ah! madame," replied the doctor, "I have some appalling stories in my
collection. But each one has its proper hour in a conver... | [
"In a closet."
] | 8,139 | narrativeqa | en | null | deaf226b06424a0b0603f5aba885cb4420774c9df944bbf1 |
Who greeted Jacob in his apartment after Jacob finally came to terms with his military ordeal? | <b>"JACOB'S LADDER"
</b>
by
Bruce Joel Rubin
<b>EXT. VIETNAM - DUSK
</b>
A swarm of helicopters swoops out of a yellow sky and deposits an army
of men over a Vietnamese hillside.
The SOLDIERS scramble over the terraced rice paddies for the protection
of the jungle. Falling into coulmns, like strands of soldi... | [
"His son Gabe"
] | 36,418 | narrativeqa | en | null | acc4bde34060bc451a73e0e1e0d0bc7e1ca93695bc8112a1 |
Where were Jim and Dave from? | Produced by Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by the
Library of Congress)
[Transcriber's Note: A few obvious typo's in stage directions have
been fixed, though nothing in the dialogue has been changed.... | [
"Eatonville"
] | 14,761 | narrativeqa | en | null | 15ff32c8af396eaac6495b631f649886830d897c008bdc84 |
Who discovered the Tregennis siblings the morning after the tragedy? | Produced by David Brannan. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Adventure of the Devil's Foot
By
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
In recording from time to time some of the curious experiences and
interesting recollections which I associate with my long and intimate
friendship with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have continua... | [
"The housekeeper"
] | 10,016 | narrativeqa | en | null | 077293776804b7d32e78db5ef172d5c960716006e8b446da |
Who killed Jacob? | <b>"JACOB'S LADDER"
</b>
by
Bruce Joel Rubin
<b>EXT. VIETNAM - DUSK
</b>
A swarm of helicopters swoops out of a yellow sky and deposits an army
of men over a Vietnamese hillside.
The SOLDIERS scramble over the terraced rice paddies for the protection
of the jungle. Falling into coulmns, like strands of soldi... | [
"One of his fellow soldiers."
] | 36,405 | narrativeqa | en | null | f4e1da583a42af305bdf0bca385229d260cc7b93af90a426 |
What is Landsmann's ultimate profession? | Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
DOCTOR
BY MURRAY LEINSTER
Illustrated by FINLAY
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
... | [
"A lawyer"
] | 8,721 | narrativeqa | en | null | 90cd90dd2b5ecaa57b899f172cabca1baa2db41646acedd2 |
What does Gravener want Ruth to do with the money? | Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
[Picture: Book cover]
THE
COXON FUND
BY HENRY JAMES
[Picture: Decorative graphi... | [
"Keep it to buy a house "
] | 22,697 | narrativeqa | en | null | 8ac0d86e207a81bc5c11e419220042c59535dc8f50204439 |
To whom does Miranda write her letters? | Transcribed from the 1887 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email
ccx074@coventry.ac.uk. Proofing by Andy McLauchan and David Stapleton.
A BUNDLE OF LETTERS
by Henry James
CHAPTER I
FROM MISS MIRANDA MOPE, IN PARIS, TO MRS. ABRAHAM C. MOPE, AT BANGOR,
MAINE.
September 5th, 1879.
My dear mother--I ha... | [
"Her mother."
] | 13,953 | narrativeqa | en | null | 89fa29fe98311bcd10f72a7d965065e2527f282e89594c37 |
How many days do viewers of the tape have to live after they watch it? | <b> THE RING
</b>
Original screenplay by Takahashi Hiroshi
Based upon the novel by Suzuki Kouji
This manuscript is intended for informational
purposes only, and is a fair usage of copyrighted
material.
Ring (c) 1995 Suzuki Kouji
Ring feature film (c) 1998 Ring/Rasen Committee
Distributed by PONY CA... | [
"7 days"
] | 17,501 | narrativeqa | en | null | aab61294906308c2c4f4410552bfe47885450370839736ad |
What was Grassou's wife's name? | Produced by John Bickers and Dagny
PIERRE GRASSOU
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
Dedication
To The Lieutenant-Colonel of Artillery, Periollas, As a Testimony of the
Affectionate Esteem of the Author,
De Balzac
PIERRE GRASSOU
Whenever you have gone to take a serious l... | [
"Virginie."
] | 7,896 | narrativeqa | en | null | c549a937e1ff08308e3afe359c4db27ba066adcabb4b2425 |
What does Reiko do differently that causes her not to die like the others? | <b> THE RING
</b>
Original screenplay by Takahashi Hiroshi
Based upon the novel by Suzuki Kouji
This manuscript is intended for informational
purposes only, and is a fair usage of copyrighted
material.
Ring (c) 1995 Suzuki Kouji
Ring feature film (c) 1998 Ring/Rasen Committee
Distributed by PONY CA... | [
"She made a copy of the tape and gives it to her husband to study."
] | 17,500 | narrativeqa | en | null | 91c715bd83e23bb735511450936df79969d1871bd0dda0cc |
What is death disguised as? | The Seventh Seal
<b>
</b>The night had brought little relief from the heat, and at dawn a hot gust of
wind blows across the colorless sea. The KNIGHT, Antonius Block, lies
prostrate on some spruce branches spread over the fine sand. His eyes are
wide-open and bloodshot from lack of sleep.
Nearby his squire JONS is ... | [
"A monk."
] | 18,050 | narrativeqa | en | null | 5eaa334fa7a1d55b36d65745662a6d44a0b13c32a8a773a8 |
What does a citizen willingly do if they agree to live in Athens? | This etext was prepared by Sue Asscher <asschers@aia.net.au>
CRITO
by Plato
Translated by Benjamin Jowett
INTRODUCTION.
The Crito seems intended to exhibit the character of Socrates in one light
only, not as the philosopher, fulfilling a divine mission and trusting in
the will of heaven, but simply as th... | [
"Comply with the laws"
] | 6,598 | narrativeqa | en | null | 5e4a40a8b41c5d30f46458198614c34f7f789a67796d050d |
How does Falder break his neck? | Produced by David Widger
GALSWORTHY PLAYS
SECOND SERIES--NO. 1
JUSTICE
By John Galsworthy
PERSONS OF THE PLAY
JAMES HOW, solicitor
WALTER HOW, solicitor
ROBERT COKESON, their managing clerk
WILLIAM FALDER, their junior clerk
SWEEDLE, their office-boy
WISTER, a detective
COWLEY, a cashier
MR. JUSTI... | [
"He throws himself down the stairs"
] | 22,762 | narrativeqa | en | null | f8c64a0b7b14d8547ec79d736d74a5be64f611f65bd96988 |
What does Reiko discover saves viewers of the tape from their imminent death? | <b> THE RING
</b>
Original screenplay by Takahashi Hiroshi
Based upon the novel by Suzuki Kouji
This manuscript is intended for informational
purposes only, and is a fair usage of copyrighted
material.
Ring (c) 1995 Suzuki Kouji
Ring feature film (c) 1998 Ring/Rasen Committee
Distributed by PONY CA... | [
"Making a copy and showing it to someone else"
] | 17,499 | narrativeqa | en | null | 26c58dd3a2eb5eb56503bf26f523dd9017bc802edc1d4223 |
What is the name of Mortimer Treginnis' sister? | Produced by David Brannan. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Adventure of the Devil's Foot
By
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
In recording from time to time some of the curious experiences and
interesting recollections which I associate with my long and intimate
friendship with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have continua... | [
"Brenda."
] | 10,014 | narrativeqa | en | null | e4763b2d20ad1b86e79d853759b3c68636b69b8fc58c9a5e |
What did Madam de Merret and her husband do after walling off the closet? | Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
LA GRANDE BRETECHE
(Sequel to "Another Study of Woman.")
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Ellen Marriage and Clara Bell
LA GRANDE BRETECHE
"Ah! madame," replied the doctor, "I have some appalling stories in my
collection. But each one has its proper hour in a conver... | [
"They stayed in the bedroom for a few days with the sounds of her lover trapped. "
] | 8,148 | narrativeqa | en | null | 8341f7a6590de673c41b1847546ba9a2b7bef46906443a29 |
Prior to her brother's death, how did Mary spend most of her time outside of the home? | E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Janet Blenkinship, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/)
Transcriber's note: The author is Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797).
MARY,
A Fiction
L'exercice des plus sublimes vertus éleve et nourrit le génie.
... | [
"With her charity"
] | 23,324 | narrativeqa | en | null | 1f4e0b8679c63575a052299e5d266741fe47c6eb672ece9e |
What is Clifford's profession? | <b><HTML> <HEAD> <TITLE>TRUE ROMANCE</TITLE>
</b><LINK rel="stylesheet" type="text/css">
<META http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1">
<style type="text/css">
BODY { background-color: "#FFFFFF"; font-family: Courier New, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:10.0pt }
DIV { position:absolu... | [
"A security guard."
] | 29,630 | narrativeqa | en | null | 7570a52d69ab93c5f54eba4c45d44a3411650c1e4694760a |
What was Rodgers exposed to while investigating? | Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
ARMAGEDDON--2419 A.D.
_By Philip Francis Nowlan_
_Here, once more, is a real scientifiction story plus. It is a story
which will make the heart of many readers leap with joy._
_We have r... | [
"Radioactive gas"
] | 27,508 | narrativeqa | en | null | d660c82758a6d8d265d8214e779593755f968c1f75acfb87 |
Where is the rental cabin located that Reiko found the tape? | <b> THE RING
</b>
Original screenplay by Takahashi Hiroshi
Based upon the novel by Suzuki Kouji
This manuscript is intended for informational
purposes only, and is a fair usage of copyrighted
material.
Ring (c) 1995 Suzuki Kouji
Ring feature film (c) 1998 Ring/Rasen Committee
Distributed by PONY CA... | [
"Izu Oshima Island"
] | 17,497 | narrativeqa | en | null | 141a3f0713e008f2b19cb78757c28d61c8f71427d4613c44 |
What does Clarence take from the apartment? | <b><HTML> <HEAD> <TITLE>TRUE ROMANCE</TITLE>
</b><LINK rel="stylesheet" type="text/css">
<META http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1">
<style type="text/css">
BODY { background-color: "#FFFFFF"; font-family: Courier New, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:10.0pt }
DIV { position:absolu... | [
"A bag that contains cocaine"
] | 29,633 | narrativeqa | en | null | 3b93fd7360b75c5207a3de730296a6a1a968289c27ea1d6c |
How many years into the future was Soames sent? | Produced by Judith Boss.
Enoch Soames
A Memory of the Eighteen-nineties
By
MAX BEERBOHM
When a book about the literature of the eighteen-nineties was given by
Mr. Holbrook Jackson to the world, I looked eagerly in the index for
Soames, Enoch. It was as I feared: he was not there. But everybody
else was... | [
"100."
] | 11,198 | narrativeqa | en | null | ef34f858c45b105916d82027347c397ca58151b0a6bd37aa |
How did the housekeeper's feet get wet during Holmes' visit? | Produced by David Brannan. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Adventure of the Devil's Foot
By
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
In recording from time to time some of the curious experiences and
interesting recollections which I associate with my long and intimate
friendship with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have continua... | [
"Holmes accidentally kicks over a water pot"
] | 10,016 | narrativeqa | en | null | 00e523b3da92cec012d5262c1d0c98507f6c4b67e3c8aaf4 |
What would Socrates turn into if he agreed to break out of prison? | This etext was prepared by Sue Asscher <asschers@aia.net.au>
CRITO
by Plato
Translated by Benjamin Jowett
INTRODUCTION.
The Crito seems intended to exhibit the character of Socrates in one light
only, not as the philosopher, fulfilling a divine mission and trusting in
the will of heaven, but simply as th... | [
"He would turn into an outlaw."
] | 6,598 | narrativeqa | en | null | b7b3b83227d5bd105ada694c356855ffe9e2a5e09dd613ab |
Who acts as Falder's lawyer? | Produced by David Widger
GALSWORTHY PLAYS
SECOND SERIES--NO. 1
JUSTICE
By John Galsworthy
PERSONS OF THE PLAY
JAMES HOW, solicitor
WALTER HOW, solicitor
ROBERT COKESON, their managing clerk
WILLIAM FALDER, their junior clerk
SWEEDLE, their office-boy
WISTER, a detective
COWLEY, a cashier
MR. JUSTI... | [
"Frome"
] | 22,761 | narrativeqa | en | null | effb0e0c603a8569abcfe4078c09c8c63f3c6f57e85df43c |
Who asks the Ghostbusters for help? | Ghostbusters II
by
Harold Ramis
and
Dan Aykroyd
September 29, 1988
Last revised Feburary 27, 1989
<b>EXT. MANHATTAN ISLAND - DAY
</b>
A high AERIAL SHOT of the island features the Statue of Liberty
prominently in the foreground then TRAVELS ACROSS the harbor, OVER the
Batt... | [
"Dana"
] | 25,086 | narrativeqa | en | null | 0db2f34454b48e055fc1f54e54f6f19c4e2bd41c2e52795f |
What is Soames unhappy about? | Produced by Judith Boss.
Enoch Soames
A Memory of the Eighteen-nineties
By
MAX BEERBOHM
When a book about the literature of the eighteen-nineties was given by
Mr. Holbrook Jackson to the world, I looked eagerly in the index for
Soames, Enoch. It was as I feared: he was not there. But everybody
else was... | [
"the his works are not recognized"
] | 11,194 | narrativeqa | en | null | add987fbf4b13d64b945bf44fb0b7cc5a9284a6a5b75d71c |
What is Mary's mother's name? | E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Janet Blenkinship, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/)
Transcriber's note: The author is Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797).
MARY,
A Fiction
L'exercice des plus sublimes vertus éleve et nourrit le génie.
... | [
"Eliza"
] | 23,312 | narrativeqa | en | null | 971da5c683ec66c727895dbbab133b42bd4aff3e75c8eda5 |
What gang did Rodgers and the other humans fight while he was at the camp? | Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
ARMAGEDDON--2419 A.D.
_By Philip Francis Nowlan_
_Here, once more, is a real scientifiction story plus. It is a story
which will make the heart of many readers leap with joy._
_We have r... | [
"The Hans"
] | 27,516 | narrativeqa | en | null | 7b71f8fab58b267e1a174412725a0d0df25f260d596d9c70 |
Where does Alabama meet Clarence for the first time? | <b><HTML> <HEAD> <TITLE>TRUE ROMANCE</TITLE>
</b><LINK rel="stylesheet" type="text/css">
<META http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1">
<style type="text/css">
BODY { background-color: "#FFFFFF"; font-family: Courier New, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:10.0pt }
DIV { position:absolu... | [
"At a Detroit theater. "
] | 29,635 | narrativeqa | en | null | ac44a02780985754f0c439cdc0fa9b0ed3a9f80e76da0304 |
How is Oscar related to Dana? | Ghostbusters II
by
Harold Ramis
and
Dan Aykroyd
September 29, 1988
Last revised Feburary 27, 1989
<b>EXT. MANHATTAN ISLAND - DAY
</b>
A high AERIAL SHOT of the island features the Statue of Liberty
prominently in the foreground then TRAVELS ACROSS the harbor, OVER the
Batt... | [
"It's her son"
] | 25,086 | narrativeqa | en | null | e1514d530becf70246cb43e50b44a1c615cbbded416ccb15 |
What does Socrates believe about being judged in the after life if he breaks out of prison? | This etext was prepared by Sue Asscher <asschers@aia.net.au>
CRITO
by Plato
Translated by Benjamin Jowett
INTRODUCTION.
The Crito seems intended to exhibit the character of Socrates in one light
only, not as the philosopher, fulfilling a divine mission and trusting in
the will of heaven, but simply as th... | [
"It would have a negative effect"
] | 6,602 | narrativeqa | en | null | fb2d8ee43b24c62eaa479e62d1ac1fabdbb461cc1a60099b |
Madame de Merret threatened to leave her husband if he did what? | Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
LA GRANDE BRETECHE
(Sequel to "Another Study of Woman.")
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Ellen Marriage and Clara Bell
LA GRANDE BRETECHE
"Ah! madame," replied the doctor, "I have some appalling stories in my
collection. But each one has its proper hour in a conver... | [
"Opened the closet"
] | 8,146 | narrativeqa | en | null | 99ff684ab5baa313a2e0a02355fa055b0c4ae1137b44a153 |
Who moved to Chicago to perform mercy killings? | Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
DOCTOR
BY MURRAY LEINSTER
Illustrated by FINLAY
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
... | [
"Seth Lazarus"
] | 8,724 | narrativeqa | en | null | ba3c942a713b66ab70a132aed673b0e9f46faf4727d59f6b |
How does the art-dealer describe Grassou's skill level to Virginie's father? | Produced by John Bickers and Dagny
PIERRE GRASSOU
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
Dedication
To The Lieutenant-Colonel of Artillery, Periollas, As a Testimony of the
Affectionate Esteem of the Author,
De Balzac
PIERRE GRASSOU
Whenever you have gone to take a serious l... | [
"A grand master."
] | 7,902 | narrativeqa | en | null | a1d871fbe70ac6b9dcec5a8c89c6bf0cf26230b0b4f1968b |
What is Grassous biggest disappointment? | Produced by John Bickers and Dagny
PIERRE GRASSOU
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
Dedication
To The Lieutenant-Colonel of Artillery, Periollas, As a Testimony of the
Affectionate Esteem of the Author,
De Balzac
PIERRE GRASSOU
Whenever you have gone to take a serious l... | [
"He doesn't feel he is a true artist."
] | 7,896 | narrativeqa | en | null | 8317d375904e2fcba00401b32177f783d5f8d348a1ef503f |
Who does Don Vincenzo Coccotti work for? | <b><HTML> <HEAD> <TITLE>TRUE ROMANCE</TITLE>
</b><LINK rel="stylesheet" type="text/css">
<META http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1">
<style type="text/css">
BODY { background-color: "#FFFFFF"; font-family: Courier New, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:10.0pt }
DIV { position:absolu... | [
"A mobster named \"Blue Lou Boyle\". "
] | 29,633 | narrativeqa | en | null | dd97ebb3408847191356780310676099e897a13ba1b1b4d0 |
Why did the police come back for Falder after he left prison? | Produced by David Widger
GALSWORTHY PLAYS
SECOND SERIES--NO. 1
JUSTICE
By John Galsworthy
PERSONS OF THE PLAY
JAMES HOW, solicitor
WALTER HOW, solicitor
ROBERT COKESON, their managing clerk
WILLIAM FALDER, their junior clerk
SWEEDLE, their office-boy
WISTER, a detective
COWLEY, a cashier
MR. JUSTI... | [
"He failed to report"
] | 22,768 | narrativeqa | en | null | fa81b8a2b6a29cc83f00088ce2bca908175658075648bad2 |
Who does Falder believe could be murdered by her husband? | Produced by David Widger
GALSWORTHY PLAYS
SECOND SERIES--NO. 1
JUSTICE
By John Galsworthy
PERSONS OF THE PLAY
JAMES HOW, solicitor
WALTER HOW, solicitor
ROBERT COKESON, their managing clerk
WILLIAM FALDER, their junior clerk
SWEEDLE, their office-boy
WISTER, a detective
COWLEY, a cashier
MR. JUSTI... | [
"Ruth Honeywill"
] | 22,766 | narrativeqa | en | null | e3828e0aa23a133903295abea7fdf8d449ce1edf2f202593 |
Where is Alabama's son born? | <b><HTML> <HEAD> <TITLE>TRUE ROMANCE</TITLE>
</b><LINK rel="stylesheet" type="text/css">
<META http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1">
<style type="text/css">
BODY { background-color: "#FFFFFF"; font-family: Courier New, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:10.0pt }
DIV { position:absolu... | [
"Mexico."
] | 29,631 | narrativeqa | en | null | 1842b0ff1882e545a6d41d5caf67bba5312872423fa48e74 |
What does Eliza, on her death bed, request of her daughter Mary? | E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Janet Blenkinship, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/)
Transcriber's note: The author is Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797).
MARY,
A Fiction
L'exercice des plus sublimes vertus éleve et nourrit le génie.
... | [
"That she marry Charles"
] | 23,319 | narrativeqa | en | null | d298b30eedffe37aa3082a45a8be4cc7dfe4f2b9cba5dc96 |
What does Death ask Antonius? | The Seventh Seal
<b>
</b>The night had brought little relief from the heat, and at dawn a hot gust of
wind blows across the colorless sea. The KNIGHT, Antonius Block, lies
prostrate on some spruce branches spread over the fine sand. His eyes are
wide-open and bloodshot from lack of sleep.
Nearby his squire JONS is ... | [
"If Antonius has succeeded in his \"one meaningful deed.\""
] | 18,050 | narrativeqa | en | null | cb76250ae8598592d1baa7ca35e914646a3d5dcbf8220896 |
Who defends Lazarus during his murder trial? | Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
DOCTOR
BY MURRAY LEINSTER
Illustrated by FINLAY
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
... | [
"bennett landsmann"
] | 8,723 | narrativeqa | en | null | 04f150c4bf11012af442b15c455ff708641861c80bd7e7dc |
What is Mary taught after her brother dies? | E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Janet Blenkinship, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/)
Transcriber's note: The author is Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797).
MARY,
A Fiction
L'exercice des plus sublimes vertus éleve et nourrit le génie.
... | [
"accomplishments"
] | 23,315 | narrativeqa | en | null | de0f895b76472481f0f37ea6b4a386d3f6cde97ae64e0516 |
What is death disguised as? | The Seventh Seal
<b>
</b>The night had brought little relief from the heat, and at dawn a hot gust of
wind blows across the colorless sea. The KNIGHT, Antonius Block, lies
prostrate on some spruce branches spread over the fine sand. His eyes are
wide-open and bloodshot from lack of sleep.
Nearby his squire JONS is ... | [
"a priest"
] | 18,050 | narrativeqa | en | null | 3cef32e4b61eee93ced7c533804485d3c49ee09560b72120 |
Why did Mary marry Charles? | E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Janet Blenkinship, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/)
Transcriber's note: The author is Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797).
MARY,
A Fiction
L'exercice des plus sublimes vertus éleve et nourrit le génie.
... | [
"Because her mother requested it on her deathbed."
] | 23,312 | narrativeqa | en | null | cb00113ac346ae33f58e2d4729f7c2bc5ef5a6e32adc193b |
Who does Mortimer blame for the death of his sister? | Produced by David Brannan. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Adventure of the Devil's Foot
By
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
In recording from time to time some of the curious experiences and
interesting recollections which I associate with my long and intimate
friendship with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have continua... | [
"the devil"
] | 10,016 | narrativeqa | en | null | 28e5088749902173994fdcde40990b3f316d69bdbdaea0f8 |
How does Jacob first meet Michael Newman? | <b>"JACOB'S LADDER"
</b>
by
Bruce Joel Rubin
<b>EXT. VIETNAM - DUSK
</b>
A swarm of helicopters swoops out of a yellow sky and deposits an army
of men over a Vietnamese hillside.
The SOLDIERS scramble over the terraced rice paddies for the protection
of the jungle. Falling into coulmns, like strands of soldi... | [
"He treated him in Vietnam."
] | 36,409 | narrativeqa | en | null | eb73d93ce14c59f39742a50530616f774ff426eab7427f99 |
What nationality is Ruth Anvoy? | Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
[Picture: Book cover]
THE
COXON FUND
BY HENRY JAMES
[Picture: Decorative graphi... | [
"American"
] | 22,692 | narrativeqa | en | null | 1cf24ba18f6900bb1f182594f614a8da725a8467d6255e08 |
Rogers destroyed what gang's airship? | Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
ARMAGEDDON--2419 A.D.
_By Philip Francis Nowlan_
_Here, once more, is a real scientifiction story plus. It is a story
which will make the heart of many readers leap with joy._
_We have r... | [
"The Han gang."
] | 27,506 | narrativeqa | en | null | d844057a13c2cc7018e8328dfe10767938b3e28689e359ff |
When does Reiko realize the curse is still unbroken? | <b> THE RING
</b>
Original screenplay by Takahashi Hiroshi
Based upon the novel by Suzuki Kouji
This manuscript is intended for informational
purposes only, and is a fair usage of copyrighted
material.
Ring (c) 1995 Suzuki Kouji
Ring feature film (c) 1998 Ring/Rasen Committee
Distributed by PONY CA... | [
"After her husband calls her"
] | 17,495 | narrativeqa | en | null | 76ebc13c929fa3fb7b51d0c58d1d1f86214b096b53f8351b |
Who traveled to Britain to visit her aunt? | Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
[Picture: Book cover]
THE
COXON FUND
BY HENRY JAMES
[Picture: Decorative graphi... | [
"Ruth Anvoy"
] | 22,695 | narrativeqa | en | null | 16cbcc8b763a701d2c65eb13cb180e3195868e65de706ea5 |
Where do Jim and Dave go after seeing Daisy for the last time? | Produced by Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by the
Library of Congress)
[Transcriber's Note: A few obvious typo's in stage directions have
been fixed, though nothing in the dialogue has been changed.... | [
"They both return to Eatonville, Florida. "
] | 14,768 | narrativeqa | en | null | 1309d6cce29b59587533ab35e031789c33f1186e988ebc91 |
What is the setting of the story? | Produced by Angus Christian
OTTO OF THE SILVER HAND
By Howard Pyle
CONTENTS
I. The Dragon's House,
II. How the Baron Went Forth to Shear,
III. How the Baron Came Home Shorn,
IV. The White Cross on the Hill,
V. How Otto Dwelt at St. Michaelsburg,
VI. How Otto Lived ... | [
"Germany"
] | 27,739 | narrativeqa | en | null | 640cd8b132ca6e7906758f1b7401c6f0512e5350af0ecbbe |
What then happens to Reikos husband? | <b> THE RING
</b>
Original screenplay by Takahashi Hiroshi
Based upon the novel by Suzuki Kouji
This manuscript is intended for informational
purposes only, and is a fair usage of copyrighted
material.
Ring (c) 1995 Suzuki Kouji
Ring feature film (c) 1998 Ring/Rasen Committee
Distributed by PONY CA... | [
"has a heart attack"
] | 17,492 | narrativeqa | en | null | d96a627657534494f9c586e0c1b74d6b746c29e35f12a2c4 |
Where did Falder work after he got out of prison? | Produced by David Widger
GALSWORTHY PLAYS
SECOND SERIES--NO. 1
JUSTICE
By John Galsworthy
PERSONS OF THE PLAY
JAMES HOW, solicitor
WALTER HOW, solicitor
ROBERT COKESON, their managing clerk
WILLIAM FALDER, their junior clerk
SWEEDLE, their office-boy
WISTER, a detective
COWLEY, a cashier
MR. JUSTI... | [
"James How & Son "
] | 22,766 | narrativeqa | en | null | f833f7b0219b25a96177a2aa6c9b30afadcb6d3fc95235f9 |
What is Saltram's living situation? | Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
[Picture: Book cover]
THE
COXON FUND
BY HENRY JAMES
[Picture: Decorative graphi... | [
"Lives with mulvilles "
] | 22,692 | narrativeqa | en | null | 979294831f2e204dd0340f8017a76400d0e67bf7feb92629 |
Where did the lover hide? | Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
LA GRANDE BRETECHE
(Sequel to "Another Study of Woman.")
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Ellen Marriage and Clara Bell
LA GRANDE BRETECHE
"Ah! madame," replied the doctor, "I have some appalling stories in my
collection. But each one has its proper hour in a conver... | [
"In the closet"
] | 8,139 | narrativeqa | en | null | 0a567230f3e2096d313699858dc654ee517ed5acbc9d96ce |
Why is Grassou still resentful, despite his potentially advantageous marriage? | Produced by John Bickers and Dagny
PIERRE GRASSOU
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
Dedication
To The Lieutenant-Colonel of Artillery, Periollas, As a Testimony of the
Affectionate Esteem of the Author,
De Balzac
PIERRE GRASSOU
Whenever you have gone to take a serious l... | [
"He feels as the he is still not a real artist."
] | 7,901 | narrativeqa | en | null | 42a2c14632d52bae9db7d4ba4ee0e76a033d95762dc7b88b |
What is it that the teenagers were discussing? | <b> THE RING
</b>
Original screenplay by Takahashi Hiroshi
Based upon the novel by Suzuki Kouji
This manuscript is intended for informational
purposes only, and is a fair usage of copyrighted
material.
Ring (c) 1995 Suzuki Kouji
Ring feature film (c) 1998 Ring/Rasen Committee
Distributed by PONY CA... | [
"A videotape which is cursed and is rumored to bear a curse that kills the viewer in seven days after watching."
] | 17,494 | narrativeqa | en | null | 24b64b063d69befcdfb40fc1cfedc18591ca72fbf30b8d76 |
What was Alabama's profession? | <b><HTML> <HEAD> <TITLE>TRUE ROMANCE</TITLE>
</b><LINK rel="stylesheet" type="text/css">
<META http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1">
<style type="text/css">
BODY { background-color: "#FFFFFF"; font-family: Courier New, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size:10.0pt }
DIV { position:absolu... | [
"Alabama was a call girl."
] | 29,630 | narrativeqa | en | null | 9b7e93c37eda3b907a9caa5eba250f8b25484613a10f8d95 |
Who was Jezzie? | <b>"JACOB'S LADDER"
</b>
by
Bruce Joel Rubin
<b>EXT. VIETNAM - DUSK
</b>
A swarm of helicopters swoops out of a yellow sky and deposits an army
of men over a Vietnamese hillside.
The SOLDIERS scramble over the terraced rice paddies for the protection
of the jungle. Falling into coulmns, like strands of soldi... | [
"The woman he dated and lived with after the war."
] | 36,405 | narrativeqa | en | null | 968946b19201f80e7a25eab638238ca70ec79b905d22bf38 |
What does Louis tell Jacob that hell burns away? | <b>"JACOB'S LADDER"
</b>
by
Bruce Joel Rubin
<b>EXT. VIETNAM - DUSK
</b>
A swarm of helicopters swoops out of a yellow sky and deposits an army
of men over a Vietnamese hillside.
The SOLDIERS scramble over the terraced rice paddies for the protection
of the jungle. Falling into coulmns, like strands of soldi... | [
"Your memories and attachments."
] | 36,411 | narrativeqa | en | null | 287326088a17e7eb46973099e2a58e3374d50280f6cb1e27 |
What contract would be broken if he had escaped? | This etext was prepared by Sue Asscher <asschers@aia.net.au>
CRITO
by Plato
Translated by Benjamin Jowett
INTRODUCTION.
The Crito seems intended to exhibit the character of Socrates in one light
only, not as the philosopher, fulfilling a divine mission and trusting in
the will of heaven, but simply as th... | [
"The social contract."
] | 6,594 | narrativeqa | en | null | a24cee35ff6ec6914bf94c1ef8b6cd4f9730a77d4caaa8b2 |
How does the art-dealer describe Grassou's skill level to Virginie's father? | Produced by John Bickers and Dagny
PIERRE GRASSOU
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
Dedication
To The Lieutenant-Colonel of Artillery, Periollas, As a Testimony of the
Affectionate Esteem of the Author,
De Balzac
PIERRE GRASSOU
Whenever you have gone to take a serious l... | [
"he calls Grassou a grand master"
] | 7,902 | narrativeqa | en | null | 6400c535cd592c9e7e30d15803baa5c7f98e2c06e7ea1da6 |
Who argues on behalf of Dave? | Produced by Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by the
Library of Congress)
[Transcriber's Note: A few obvious typo's in stage directions have
been fixed, though nothing in the dialogue has been changed.... | [
"Elder Childers"
] | 14,761 | narrativeqa | en | null | 6207b43d3369505e941b78f47a230efea8edde3b68bf50f4 |
What was Jim's punishment for being found guilty? | Produced by Charlene Taylor and the Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by the
Library of Congress)
[Transcriber's Note: A few obvious typo's in stage directions have
been fixed, though nothing in the dialogue has been changed.... | [
"Jim was banished from his town for two years."
] | 14,763 | narrativeqa | en | null | a4d4338ea46bcf775691966f2308ed8e1eae9d4f21581279 |
Which of her children does Eliza favor over the other? | E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Janet Blenkinship, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/)
Transcriber's note: The author is Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797).
MARY,
A Fiction
L'exercice des plus sublimes vertus éleve et nourrit le génie.
... | [
"Eliza favors her son over her daughter."
] | 23,317 | narrativeqa | en | null | 563e90502f5614d7c6767f0d1c54677e8ad7523dd9627bc6 |
Upon his upbringing, what is Otto known for? | Produced by Angus Christian
OTTO OF THE SILVER HAND
By Howard Pyle
CONTENTS
I. The Dragon's House,
II. How the Baron Went Forth to Shear,
III. How the Baron Came Home Shorn,
IV. The White Cross on the Hill,
V. How Otto Dwelt at St. Michaelsburg,
VI. How Otto Lived ... | [
"His wise counsel and peaceful nature"
] | 27,740 | narrativeqa | en | null | de8d64e55be4e4abc78ab3c27e7f28ebd28c7484c111b435 |
Who is Eliza's favorite? | E-text prepared by Jonathan Ingram, Janet Blenkinship, and the Project
Gutenberg Online Distributed Proofreading Team (https://www.pgdp.net/)
Transcriber's note: The author is Mary Wollstonecraft (1759-1797).
MARY,
A Fiction
L'exercice des plus sublimes vertus éleve et nourrit le génie.
... | [
"Her son"
] | 23,311 | narrativeqa | en | null | cb33b635d4a123fa9708b209bbfa323f19af169d0b71bb2f |
Where in Pennsylvania was Buck Rodgers investigating reports of phenomena? | Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
ARMAGEDDON--2419 A.D.
_By Philip Francis Nowlan_
_Here, once more, is a real scientifiction story plus. It is a story
which will make the heart of many readers leap with joy._
_We have r... | [
"Wyoming Valley"
] | 27,511 | narrativeqa | en | null | 5fdcf93eab07256e5d12a724f77d59505203dda0a1b89a0a |
What did T.K. Nupton think of Soames' existance? | Produced by Judith Boss.
Enoch Soames
A Memory of the Eighteen-nineties
By
MAX BEERBOHM
When a book about the literature of the eighteen-nineties was given by
Mr. Holbrook Jackson to the world, I looked eagerly in the index for
Soames, Enoch. It was as I feared: he was not there. But everybody
else was... | [
"He thought he was a fictional character."
] | 11,197 | narrativeqa | en | null | a5a146aef10058746200bd69eda1c3dc093261cc97ec32ce |
Why was Mortimer Trefinnis once estranged from his siblings? | Produced by David Brannan. HTML version by Al Haines.
The Adventure of the Devil's Foot
By
Sir Arthur Conan Doyle
In recording from time to time some of the curious experiences and
interesting recollections which I associate with my long and intimate
friendship with Mr. Sherlock Holmes, I have continua... | [
"The matter of the division of the proceeds from selling the family business."
] | 10,015 | narrativeqa | en | null | 0431126a12d83a266d88603f505ac4f1014bcb3d8cc02c10 |
Where does Dwyer open his in vitro clinic? | Produced by Greg Weeks, Mary Meehan and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
DOCTOR
BY MURRAY LEINSTER
Illustrated by FINLAY
[Transcriber's Note: This etext was produced from
... | [
"Hawaii"
] | 8,724 | narrativeqa | en | null | 5c19d56ccc3fd2563e9d5ff9a5683a6ed8ee9ff506797a01 |
Who does Monsieur Vervelle want his child to wed? | Produced by John Bickers and Dagny
PIERRE GRASSOU
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
Dedication
To The Lieutenant-Colonel of Artillery, Periollas, As a Testimony of the
Affectionate Esteem of the Author,
De Balzac
PIERRE GRASSOU
Whenever you have gone to take a serious l... | [
"Pierre Grassou."
] | 7,900 | narrativeqa | en | null | 82c3336e4f0ee4fc778e163032ecdfcd091dd8c91f50929c |
What did Madam de Merret's husband discover about her? | Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
LA GRANDE BRETECHE
(Sequel to "Another Study of Woman.")
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Ellen Marriage and Clara Bell
LA GRANDE BRETECHE
"Ah! madame," replied the doctor, "I have some appalling stories in my
collection. But each one has its proper hour in a conver... | [
"That she was having an affair. "
] | 8,143 | narrativeqa | en | null | 7284b797cdd8a5d15d986be4fc7ed72512fe1d164bb8c0db |
What hidden message does Reiko find within the video? | <b> THE RING
</b>
Original screenplay by Takahashi Hiroshi
Based upon the novel by Suzuki Kouji
This manuscript is intended for informational
purposes only, and is a fair usage of copyrighted
material.
Ring (c) 1995 Suzuki Kouji
Ring feature film (c) 1998 Ring/Rasen Committee
Distributed by PONY CA... | [
"Frolic in brine, goblins be thine"
] | 17,495 | narrativeqa | en | null | 989c68a5afa115a48dd9edac8b946a517fae775b6062b3be |
What is La Grande Breteche? | Produced by John Bickers, and Dagny
LA GRANDE BRETECHE
(Sequel to "Another Study of Woman.")
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Ellen Marriage and Clara Bell
LA GRANDE BRETECHE
"Ah! madame," replied the doctor, "I have some appalling stories in my
collection. But each one has its proper hour in a conver... | [
"The ruins of an abandoned manor. "
] | 8,139 | narrativeqa | en | null | 78e1602679a5ca1b22f32e665e8c31039b1a0c16a099efe5 |
What happened as a result of Anvoy and her fiance discussing giving the money to Saltram? | Transcribed from the 1915 Martin Secker edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org
[Picture: Book cover]
THE
COXON FUND
BY HENRY JAMES
[Picture: Decorative graphi... | [
"They broke off their engagement."
] | 22,703 | narrativeqa | en | null | d41198bdebd7b9472ae77beecbe8b7e1b7a46dca92d2d8f2 |
What is the name of the character who is from New York? | Transcribed from the 1887 Macmillan and Co. edition by David Price, email
ccx074@coventry.ac.uk. Proofing by Andy McLauchan and David Stapleton.
A BUNDLE OF LETTERS
by Henry James
CHAPTER I
FROM MISS MIRANDA MOPE, IN PARIS, TO MRS. ABRAHAM C. MOPE, AT BANGOR,
MAINE.
September 5th, 1879.
My dear mother--I ha... | [
"Violet Ray."
] | 13,958 | narrativeqa | en | null | 3aeebc5be470ddd2eafefee76cf25d8e6b08cbd669adc9e4 |
Who encourages the farmer to marry the girl he falls in love with? | <html>
<head>
<LINK rel="stylesheet" type="text/css" href="style.css"
title="style1">
<b>
</b><META http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1">
<script>
<b><!--
</b>if (window!= top)
top.location.href=location.href
<b>// -->
</b></script> </HEAD>
<title>DAYS OF HEAVEN by Terry Malick REVISED: 6/... | [
"Bill"
] | 31,699 | narrativeqa | en | null | 9b448b0d8f056d1ddebb9503e4560a913dc529309759b358 |
What are the names of the two teenagers of this story? | <b> THE RING
</b>
Original screenplay by Takahashi Hiroshi
Based upon the novel by Suzuki Kouji
This manuscript is intended for informational
purposes only, and is a fair usage of copyrighted
material.
Ring (c) 1995 Suzuki Kouji
Ring feature film (c) 1998 Ring/Rasen Committee
Distributed by PONY CA... | [
"Masami and Tomoko"
] | 17,497 | narrativeqa | en | null | 9faec974fe4711c5b929ebc90f89336aeafe4ad8c5801872 |
In what war did Rogers learn his battle knowledge? | Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
ARMAGEDDON--2419 A.D.
_By Philip Francis Nowlan_
_Here, once more, is a real scientifiction story plus. It is a story
which will make the heart of many readers leap with joy._
_We have r... | [
"World War 1, or The Great War"
] | 27,510 | narrativeqa | en | null | 33a9901ae9f88659b67c4f203e1a37b1c346d54c42b5b507 |
When invited to Vervelle's home, what does Grassou discover? | Produced by John Bickers and Dagny
PIERRE GRASSOU
By Honore De Balzac
Translated by Katharine Prescott Wormeley
Dedication
To The Lieutenant-Colonel of Artillery, Periollas, As a Testimony of the
Affectionate Esteem of the Author,
De Balzac
PIERRE GRASSOU
Whenever you have gone to take a serious l... | [
"A number of his own forgeries."
] | 7,900 | narrativeqa | en | null | 327947f2fade3b7bda5cfa6d24919d42d2afe66dc15d98d4 |
What event reunites Jacob with the other men from his platoon? | <b>"JACOB'S LADDER"
</b>
by
Bruce Joel Rubin
<b>EXT. VIETNAM - DUSK
</b>
A swarm of helicopters swoops out of a yellow sky and deposits an army
of men over a Vietnamese hillside.
The SOLDIERS scramble over the terraced rice paddies for the protection
of the jungle. Falling into coulmns, like strands of soldi... | [
"Paul's death."
] | 36,413 | narrativeqa | en | null | c0442bb0d481a92b102c0a19f1b9ffeb338f9094d0fdea97 |
What analogy does socrates compare citizens and the law to? | This etext was prepared by Sue Asscher <asschers@aia.net.au>
CRITO
by Plato
Translated by Benjamin Jowett
INTRODUCTION.
The Crito seems intended to exhibit the character of Socrates in one light
only, not as the philosopher, fulfilling a divine mission and trusting in
the will of heaven, but simply as th... | [
"Citizens are bound to laws the same as children are bound to parents."
] | 6,595 | narrativeqa | en | null | b3234117bf4b7f313d5f79d32cb3a7ad90abf474d9baa814 |
What did the Witch throw into a ditch? | Produced by Sue Asscher
The Witch of Atlas
by
Percy Bysshe Shelley
TO MARY
(ON HER OBJECTING TO THE FOLLOWING POEM, UPON THE
SCORE OF ITS CONTAINING NO HUMAN INTEREST).
1.
How, my dear Mary,--are you critic-bitten
(For vipers kill, though dead) by some review,
That you condemn these verses I ha... | [
"A coffin."
] | 5,400 | narrativeqa | en | null | 2f4afd346731e656a9ea321b5a004ffc71da657b2cf2bb5f |
In what year did Rogers awaken from his deep slumber? | Produced by Greg Weeks, Stephen Blundell and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net
ARMAGEDDON--2419 A.D.
_By Philip Francis Nowlan_
_Here, once more, is a real scientifiction story plus. It is a story
which will make the heart of many readers leap with joy._
_We have r... | [
"2419"
] | 27,511 | narrativeqa | en | null | d99cd0d28d5737d137c97f32cd4f4938884b389d7a382687 |
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